From the recording The Trackless Wild


The shepherd's abode on the Pampa Plains

Is a small humble rustic cot

In which domestic happiness reigns

When contented with his lot.
A solitary life he is doomed to spend

In retirement's fond embraces

To pleasure's lure he seldom bends

For to his care his mind retraces.

Tho' the tempest's howl and the lightning's flash

Their dire alarms don't him annoy
His Rancho old stood many a crash

Those rough mud walls and posts of ñandubay.
And when the tempest's blast lulls him to sleep

Till bright sol emerges from the East

Then out of his cot you'll see him peep

On the broad landscape his eyes to feast.

Such a pleasant scene then meets his view

At the change all nature seems to smile

The camp rich decked in a verdant hue

Reminds him of his native Isle.
Tho' remote from friends his Native Land

He still breathes hope that he may see

And touch again her distant strand

That Emerald Isle Sweet-Gra-Ma-Cree.

'El Monitor de la Campaña' N° 33 (Capilla del Señor,
5 April 1872)