 | The select poems of Dr. Thomas Dunn English (exclusive of the "Battle lyrics") |  |
235
“FOR THE SAKE OF HIS MOTHER.”
We looked for his sign in the mountains,
And hunted him there far and wide,
The last of the band of marauders
Who had harried the country-side.
Too long of the land a terror,
We said, if we met with him,
A rope and a hickory sapling
Should rid us of Terrible Jim.
And hunted him there far and wide,
The last of the band of marauders
Who had harried the country-side.
Too long of the land a terror,
We said, if we met with him,
A rope and a hickory sapling
Should rid us of Terrible Jim.
Worn out by our steady pursuing,
We caught him asleep one day,
And one of us, up to him creeping,
Stole gun and revolvers away.
But his knife, in a desperate fury,
He used on so many around,
That our leader replied with his rifle,
And brought the mad wretch to the ground.
We caught him asleep one day,
And one of us, up to him creeping,
Stole gun and revolvers away.
But his knife, in a desperate fury,
He used on so many around,
That our leader replied with his rifle,
And brought the mad wretch to the ground.
But he said, on his hand half-rising—
“Let your rope be a strong one, hounds!
Jim is six feet, one, in his stockings,
And weighs over two hundred pounds!”
He looked at the blood that was flowing
From the ugly wound in his side,
And murmuring softly—“mother!”
Sunk back on the earth, and died.
“Let your rope be a strong one, hounds!
Jim is six feet, one, in his stockings,
And weighs over two hundred pounds!”
He looked at the blood that was flowing
From the ugly wound in his side,
And murmuring softly—“mother!”
Sunk back on the earth, and died.
Had we kept the same pitiless feeling
We felt for the man we had slain,
In that desolate rift of the mountain
His corse had been left to remain;
We'd have left it behind us unburied,
Alone where the blue billet smote,
As feast for the ravaging vulture,
As food for the howling coyote.
We felt for the man we had slain,
In that desolate rift of the mountain
His corse had been left to remain;
236
Alone where the blue billet smote,
As feast for the ravaging vulture,
As food for the howling coyote.
But the word that he uttered in dying
Our memory carried that day
To the hearth-stones and roof-trees of childhood,
And bitterness melted away.
Each thought of his far-away mother;
“He was some mother's son,” it was said;
So we dug him a grave, and we laid him
To wait till they summon the dead.
Our memory carried that day
To the hearth-stones and roof-trees of childhood,
And bitterness melted away.
Each thought of his far-away mother;
“He was some mother's son,” it was said;
So we dug him a grave, and we laid him
To wait till they summon the dead.
Since then thirty years have passed over,
And Terrible Jim is forgot,
Except when some wandering hunter
Shall happen to pass by a spot
Where he finds a long slab of white marble—
Who brought it there never was known—
With the words, “For the sake of his mother,”
Cut deep in the face of the stone.
And Terrible Jim is forgot,
Except when some wandering hunter
Shall happen to pass by a spot
Where he finds a long slab of white marble—
Who brought it there never was known—
With the words, “For the sake of his mother,”
Cut deep in the face of the stone.
| The select poems of Dr. Thomas Dunn English (exclusive of the "Battle lyrics") | |