 | Poems by John Howard Bryant |  |
72
SENATCHWINE'S GRAVE.
Twelve or fifteen years since, Senatchwine was an eminent
chief of the tribe of Pottawatomies, in Illinois, enjoying
more influence and a greater reputation for talents than
any other. The Indian traders, who knew him well, say
he was a truly great man and orator and warrior. He died
at an advanced age, in the year 1830, and was buried by a
small stream which bears his name, and which runs through
the south-eastern part of Bureau County. His hunting
grounds are in that vicinity. The circumstance alluded to
in the line,
And here the silken blue-grass springs,
is familiar to the western people, who have a proverbial saying
that the blue-grass springs up wherever an Indian foot
has stepped. Though this may not be literally true, yet it
is certain that the blue-grass is always found growing where
the Indians have encamped, though it might have been only
for a few days. This kind of grass makes a soft rich turf,
thick with blades, in which respect it is very different from
the common coarse grass of the prairies.
[This note was written in 1845.]
Twelve or fifteen years since, Senatchwine was an eminent chief of the tribe of Pottawatomies, in Illinois, enjoying more influence and a greater reputation for talents than any other. The Indian traders, who knew him well, say he was a truly great man and orator and warrior. He died at an advanced age, in the year 1830, and was buried by a small stream which bears his name, and which runs through the south-eastern part of Bureau County. His hunting grounds are in that vicinity. The circumstance alluded to in the line,
And here the silken blue-grass springs,
is familiar to the western people, who have a proverbial saying
that the blue-grass springs up wherever an Indian foot
has stepped. Though this may not be literally true, yet it
is certain that the blue-grass is always found growing where
the Indians have encamped, though it might have been only
for a few days. This kind of grass makes a soft rich turf,
thick with blades, in which respect it is very different from
the common coarse grass of the prairies.
[This note was written in 1845.]
He sleeps beneath the spreading shade,
Where woods and wide savannahs meet,
Where sloping hills around have made
A quiet valley, green and sweet.
Where woods and wide savannahs meet,
Where sloping hills around have made
A quiet valley, green and sweet.
A stream that bears his name and flows
In glimmering gushes from the west,
Makes a light murmur as it goes
Beside his lonely place of rest.
In glimmering gushes from the west,
Makes a light murmur as it goes
Beside his lonely place of rest.
And here the silken blue-grass springs,
Low bending with the morning dew;
The red-bird in the thicket sings,
And blossoms nod of various hue.
Low bending with the morning dew;
The red-bird in the thicket sings,
And blossoms nod of various hue.
Oh, spare his rest! oh, level not
The trees whose boughs above it play,
Nor break the turf that clothes the spot,
Nor clog the rivulet's winding way.
The trees whose boughs above it play,
Nor break the turf that clothes the spot,
Nor clog the rivulet's winding way.
For he was of unblenching eye,
Honored in youth, revered in age,
Of princely port and bearing high,
And brave, and eloquent, and sage.
Honored in youth, revered in age,
Of princely port and bearing high,
And brave, and eloquent, and sage.
73
Ah! scorn not that a tawny skin
Wrapped his strong limbs and ample breast:
A noble soul was throned within,
As the pale Saxon e'er possessed.
Wrapped his strong limbs and ample breast:
A noble soul was throned within,
As the pale Saxon e'er possessed.
Beyond the broad Atlantic deep,
In mausoleums rich and vast,
Earth's early kings and heroes sleep,
Waiting the angel's trumpet blast.
In mausoleums rich and vast,
Earth's early kings and heroes sleep,
Waiting the angel's trumpet blast.
As proud in form and mien was he
Who sleeps beneath this verdant sod,
And shadowed forth as gloriously
The image of the eternal God.
Who sleeps beneath this verdant sod,
And shadowed forth as gloriously
The image of the eternal God.
Theirs is the monumental pile,
With lofty titles graved on stone,
The vaulted roof, the fretted aisle—
He sleeps unhonored and alone.
With lofty titles graved on stone,
The vaulted roof, the fretted aisle—
He sleeps unhonored and alone.
A scene he loved around him lies,
These blooming plains outspreading far,
River, and vale, and boundless skies,
With sun, and cloud, and shining star.
These blooming plains outspreading far,
River, and vale, and boundless skies,
With sun, and cloud, and shining star.
He knew each pathway through the wood,
Each dell unwarmed by sunshine's gleam,
Where the brown pheasant led her brood,
Or wild deer came to drink the stream.
Each dell unwarmed by sunshine's gleam,
Where the brown pheasant led her brood,
Or wild deer came to drink the stream.
74
Oft hath he gazed from yonder height,
When pausing 'mid the chase alone,
On the fair realms beneath his sight,
And proudly called them all his own.
When pausing 'mid the chase alone,
On the fair realms beneath his sight,
And proudly called them all his own.
Then leave him still this little nook,
Ye who have grasped his wide domain,
The trees, the flowers, the grass, the brook,
Nor stir his slumbering dust again.
Ye who have grasped his wide domain,
The trees, the flowers, the grass, the brook,
Nor stir his slumbering dust again.
| Poems by John Howard Bryant | |