 | Poems by John Howard Bryant |  |
83
THE EMIGRANT'S SONG.
Away, away we haste
Vast plains and mountains o'er,
To the glorious land of the distant West,
By the broad Pacific's shore.
Vast plains and mountains o'er,
To the glorious land of the distant West,
By the broad Pacific's shore.
Onward, with toilsome pace,
O'er the desert vast and dim,
From morn till the sun goes down to his place
At the far horizon's brim.
O'er the desert vast and dim,
From morn till the sun goes down to his place
At the far horizon's brim.
By the wild Missouri's side—
By the lonely Platte we go,
That brings its cold and turbid tide
From far-off cliffs of snow.
By the lonely Platte we go,
That brings its cold and turbid tide
From far-off cliffs of snow.
The red deer in the shade
Shall fall before our aim,
And at eventide shall our feast be made
From the flesh of the bison's frame.
Shall fall before our aim,
And at eventide shall our feast be made
From the flesh of the bison's frame.
And when our feast is done,
And the twilight sinks away,
We will talk of the deeds of the days that are gone,
And the friends that are far away.
And the twilight sinks away,
We will talk of the deeds of the days that are gone,
And the friends that are far away.
84
We heed not the burning sun,
Nor the plain winds wild and bleak,
And the driving rain will beat in vain
On the emigrant's hardened cheek.
Nor the plain winds wild and bleak,
And the driving rain will beat in vain
On the emigrant's hardened cheek.
Still onward, day by day,
O'er the vast and desolate plain,
With resolute hearts we plod our way,
Till our distant home we gain.
O'er the vast and desolate plain,
With resolute hearts we plod our way,
Till our distant home we gain.
And when at last we stand
On the wild Nevada's side,
We'll look afar o'er the lovely land
And the heaving ocean's tide.
On the wild Nevada's side,
We'll look afar o'er the lovely land
And the heaving ocean's tide.
Of the past we'll think no more,
When our journey's end is won,
And we'll build our house by the rocky shore
Of the mighty Oregon.
When our journey's end is won,
And we'll build our house by the rocky shore
Of the mighty Oregon.
| Poems by John Howard Bryant | |