I rode into town on a Saturday morn,
To procure some coffee, some flour and corn.
I tied up my pony at Smith’s Mercantile,
Where an angelic vision did stand me quite still.
‘Twas a woman of substance, her physique, I mean,
She was broad at the shoulders and nowheres too lean.
And light chestnut curls ’round the shoulders did spill,
Of this stout, ample beauty, Miss Hazel O’Neill.
I watched all amazed as she hefted a bag,
Of oats by a poundage that most men would drag.
In her wagon she throwed it like pillows of down,
Then reached for another with narry a frown.
I says to myself, “This ain’t right, not at all,
A woman might stumble, might fracture, or fall.”
I stepped in to help her, and if looks could kill,
A murdress she’d be, Miss Hazel O’Neill.
Her eyes branded through me, and out of her mouth,
Came words few and sharp, such as make men ride south.
“Get out of my way drifting cowboy, be gone,
I don’t want your help, you just leave me alone.”
But I wasn’t set back, I was smitten instead,
My heart was my pilot, instead of my head.
I stepped in there bold and her wagon did fill,
Then she drove off in silence, Miss Hazel O’Neill.
Now I couldn’t shake her, I couldn’t erase,
That figure so sturdy, that delicate face.
All curried and dandied, my boots spit and shined,
I rode out next Sunday for romance to find.
But she weren’t for porch swings or formal pretense,
The key to her heart was a quarter-mile fence.
So I stretched wire and set posts from the barn to the hill,
With this beauty beside me, Miss Hazel O’Neill.
When the fencin’ was done and we’d burned up the day,
I gathered my voice and proceeded to say,
“Excuse me, Miss Hazel, can I come again?”
Then I waited her answer to my romance plan.
She said, “If you must, ’bout same time next week.”
I rode off all heady and flushed in the cheek.
And sure enough Sunday I rode down the hill,
Spent all day a’branding with Hazel O’Neill.
For Sunday and Sunday, I worked at her side,
And thought “This is hard work, this winnin’ a bride.”
Till one day I did it, while dredging her well,
I said, “Ma’am, Miss Hazel, I sure think you’re swell.
And I was just wondering, I mean, so to say,
Perhaps we should team up our horses some day.”
Her face went all ashen, I saw a tear spill,
And then came these dark words from Hazel O’Neill.
“There once was another, a drover like you,
Who came here a courtin’, and swore his heart true.
For five months I had him ’till his driftin’ heart,
Yearned for the trail and did tear us apart.
Now you’ve been here four months, next Sunday starts five,
And soon you’ll be wanting for cattle to drive.
I would it were different, but I must say no.
‘Cause wandering cowboys must saddle and go.”
And wander I have, and wander I will,
But I’ll never forget her, Miss Hazel O’Neill.
Note: From the award-winning one-man play, “The Last Cowboy,” and the companion recording, “The Last Cowboy – His Journey,” performed by R.W. Hampton. You can listen to “The Ballad of Hazel O’Neill” (Track 13) and other selections – and order the CD – at: The Last Cowboy.