In St. Francisco located was Nathan Jehoiakim Bowie;
Down by the wharf on the harbour he traded in liquors and dry goods,
Darned hard knot at a deal, at Meetin’ a powerful elder.
There at his store, in the shade, they met, onbraced and enlightened
Traders and trappers and captings, and lawyers and editors also.
Freely they liquored and chewed, indulgin’ in expectoration,
Rockin’ with heels over heads, and whittling’, laborious, the counter.
Like dough-nut at a frolic, or yellow-pine stump in a clearin’,
Sharp as a backwoodsman’s axe, and cute as a bachelor beaver,
Glimmer’d, through clouds of Virginny, the cypherin’ mug of Nathaniel.