 | The poetical works of William H. C. Hosmer |  |
7
PROEM.
Realm of the Senecas! no more
In shadow lies the Pleasant Vale;
Gone are the Chiefs who ruled of yore,
Like chaff before the rushing gale.
Their rivers run with narrowed bounds,
Cleared are their broad, old hunting grounds,
And on their ancient battle fields
The greensward to the ploughman yields;
Like mocking echoes of the hill
Their fame resounded and grew still,
And on green ridge and level plain
Their hearths will never smoke again.
When fade away the summer flowers,
And come the bright autumnal hours,
The ripened grain above their graves
Nods to the wind in golden waves.
Fled are their pomp and power like dreams,
By scribe unmarked, by bard unsung;
But mountains, lakes and rolling streams
Recall their wild rich forest tongue,
And names of melody they bear,
Sweeter than flute-notes on the air.
In shadow lies the Pleasant Vale;
Gone are the Chiefs who ruled of yore,
Like chaff before the rushing gale.
Their rivers run with narrowed bounds,
“That trees are great promoters of lakes and rivers, appears from a well known fact in North America; for, since the woods and forests have been grubbed and cleared, all bodies of water that were considerable a century ago, will not now drive a common mill.” Natural History of Selborne—
Kalm's Travels in North America.Cleared are their broad, old hunting grounds,
And on their ancient battle fields
The greensward to the ploughman yields;
Like mocking echoes of the hill
Their fame resounded and grew still,
And on green ridge and level plain
Their hearths will never smoke again.
When fade away the summer flowers,
And come the bright autumnal hours,
The ripened grain above their graves
Nods to the wind in golden waves.
Fled are their pomp and power like dreams,
By scribe unmarked, by bard unsung;
But mountains, lakes and rolling streams
Recall their wild rich forest tongue,
And names of melody they bear,
Sweeter than flute-notes on the air.
Oblivion swallows, one by one,
Old legends by the sire to son
Around the crackling camp-fire told—
Their oaks have fallen, trunk and bough,
And hut and hall of council now
Are changed to ashes cold.
Toiled have I many a weary day
To gather their traditions gray,
And rescue from effacing time
A few brave deeds and traits sublime.
Now listen, for the tale I tell
Perchance may be remembered well,
Though coarsely framed my sylvan lyre,
Harsh its wild tone, untuned its wire!
Old legends by the sire to son
Around the crackling camp-fire told—
8
And hut and hall of council now
Are changed to ashes cold.
Toiled have I many a weary day
To gather their traditions gray,
And rescue from effacing time
A few brave deeds and traits sublime.
Now listen, for the tale I tell
Perchance may be remembered well,
Though coarsely framed my sylvan lyre,
Harsh its wild tone, untuned its wire!
| The poetical works of William H. C. Hosmer | |