Down came the Oregonian dew; Down mountain sides the torrents pour'd, The streamlets rose, the rivers roared— Still sung the youth, with webbed toes, 'Neath umberell, in rubber clothes— "They're going to build, I feel it, yet, A bridge across the Willamette." A Modoc chief, in pure Chinook, Cried, "Klahowyah, tumtum, mamook; Huju tyee yah muckamuck, Nowitka nika teka cumtux; All the same white man, nika klonas, Gum stick mamook, skookum hyas;" But silent grew his savage tongue, For high above his war whoops rung— "They're going to build, I feel it, yet, A bridge across the Willamette." A citizen from Yarmany, Who heard him from the brewery, Sang out, "Young fellow, shtop dot shouet! Dot pridge, you bet, vas pout blayed ouet; Some dings I know I dold you soons, Dem land agents vas d— shmart coons, Dot eye vas in my pridge, you bet! Dot pridge agross dot Willamette!" So winter rains and summer flowers Passed on, with sad and pleasant hours; Yet still sat on the river bank, A man, bald-headed, lean and lank, Grown old, still singing the same tune— "'Tis coming, coming, coming soon! They're going to build, I feel it, yet, A bridge across the Willamette." Years pass'd there came a traveler roun' To visit our East Portland town;
