Old Druid of the West!
His offering was the fleet wild deer, His shrine the mountain's crest.
Within his wildwood temple's space An empire's towers nod, Where erst, alone of all his race, He knelt to Nature's God.
A dirge for the brave old pioneer!
Columbus of the land!
Who guided freedom's proud career Beyond the conquer'd strand; And gave her pilgrim sons a home No monarch's step profanes, Free as the chainless winds that roam Upon its boundless plains.
A dirge for the brave old pioneer!
The muffled drum resound!
A warrior is slumb'ring here Beneath his battle-ground.
For not alone with beast of prey The bloody strife he waged, Foremost where'er the deadly fray Of savage combat raged.
A dirge for the brave old pioneer!
A dirge for his old spouse!
For her who blest his forest cheer, And kept his birchen house.
Now soundly by her chieftain may The brave old dame sleep on, The red man's step is far away, The wolf's dread howl is gone.
A dirge for the brave old pioneer!
His pilgrimage is done; He hunts no more the grizzly bear About the setting sun.
Weary at last of chase and life, He laid him here to rest, Nor recks he now what sport or strife Would tempt him further west.
A dirge for the brave old pioneer!
The patriarch of his tribe!
He sleeps--no pompous pile marks where, No lines his deeds describe.
They raised no stone above him here, Nor carved his deathless name-- An empire is his sepulchre, His epitaph is Fame.
SECOND LOVE
[From _The Southern Bivouac_ (Louisville, Kentucky, January, 1887)]
Thou art not my first love, I loved before we met, And the memory of that early dream Will linger round me yet; But thou, thou art my last love, The truest and the best.
My heart but shed its early leaves To give thee all the rest.
A ROLLICKING RHYME
[From the same]
I'd lie for her, I'd sigh for her, I'd drink the river dry for her-- But d----d if I would die for her.
THE FAME OF WILLIAM T. BARRY
[From _Obituary Addresses_ (Frankfort, Kentucky, 1855)]
On his accession to the Presidency, General Jackson--with that discerning appreciation of the most available ability and worth in his party which characterized him--called Mr. Barry into his cabinet to the position of Postmaster General. Here, as one of the most distinguished of the council of Jackson, during the greater part of his incumbency, he is entitled to his full share of the fame of that glorious administration. His health, however, failing him under the wasting labors of the toilsome department over which he presided, he was forced to relinquish it before the administration terminated; and General Jackson, unwilling entirely to lose the benefit of his able services, appointed him, in 1835, Minister Plenipotentiary and Envoy Extraordinary to Spain, a post in which, while its dignity did not disparage his civil rank, it was hoped that the lightness of the duties, and the influence of a genial climate, might serve to renovate his impaired health. But it was otherwise ordained above. He had reached Liverpool on the way to his mission, when the great conqueror, at whose summons the strongest manhood, the noblest virtue, the proudest genius, and the brightest wisdom must surrender, arrested his earthly career on the 30th of August, 1835; and here is all that is left to us of the patriot, the orator, the hero, the statesman, the sage--the rest belongs to Heaven and to fame.
Such, fellow-citizens, is a most cursory and feeble memento of the life and public services of the illustrious man in whose memory Kentucky has decreed the solemn honors of this day. It is well for her that she has felt "the late remorse of love," and reclaimed these precious ashes to her heart, after they have slumbered so many years unsepultured in a foreign land; that no guilty consciousness of unworthy neglect may weigh upon her spirit, and depress her proud front with shame; that no reproaching echo of that eloquent voice that once so sweetly thrilled her, pealing back upon her soul amidst her prideful recollections of the past, may appal her in her feast of memory, and blast her revel of glory; that no avenging muse, standing among the shrines of her departed greatness, and searching in vain for that which should mark her remembrance of one she should so devoutly hallow, shall have reason to sing of her as she has sung:
"Ungrateful Florence! Dante sleeps afar; And Scipio, buried by the upbraiding shore."
Here, beneath the sunshine of the land he loved, and amid the scenes which he consecrated with his genius, he will sleep well. Sadly, yet proudly will his fond foster-mother receive within her bosom to-day this cherished remnant of the child she nursed for fame; doubly endeared to her, as he expired far away in a stranger land, beyond the reach of her maternal embrace, and with no kindred eyes to light the gathering darkness of death, no friendly hand to soften his descent to the grave, no pious orisons to speed his spirit on its long journey through eternity. Gently, reverently let us lay him in this proud tabernacle, where he will dwell embalmed in glory till the last trump shall reveal him to us all radiant with the halo of his life. Let the Autumn's wind harp on the dropping leaves her softest requiem over him; let the Winter's purest snows rest spotless on his grave; let Spring entwine her brightest garland for his tomb, and Summer gild it with her mildest sunshine. Here let the marble minstrel rise to sing to the future generations of the Commonwealth the inspiring lay of his high genius and his lofty deeds. Here let the patriot repair when doubts and dangers may encompass him, and he would learn the path of duty and of safety--an oracle will inhabit these sacred graves, whose responses will replenish him with wisdom, and point him the way to virtuous renown. Let the ingenuous youth who pants for the glories of the forum, and "the applause of listening Senates," come hither to tune his soul by those immortal echoes that will forever breathe about this spot and make its silence vocal with eloquence. And here, too, let the soldier of liberty come, when the insolent invader may profane the sanctuary of freedom--here by this holy altar may he fitly devote to the infernal gods the enemies of this country and of liberty.
We will now leave our departed patriot to his sleep of glory. And let no tear moisten the turf that shall wrap his ashes. Let no sound of mourning disturb the majestic solitude of his grand repose. He claims no tribute of sorrow. His body returns to its mother earth, his spirit dwells in the Elysian domain of God, and his deeds are written on the roll of Fame.
"Let none dare mourn for him."
FOOTNOTES:
[9] Some versions show the following stanzas at this point:
Who heard the thunder of the fray Break o'er the field beneath, Knew well the watchword of that day Was "Victory or Death."
Long had the doubtful conflict raged O'er all that stricken plain, For never fiercer fight had waged The vengeful blood of Spain; And still the storm of battle blew, Still swelled the gory tide; Not long, our stout old chieftain[10] knew, Such odds his strength could bide.
'Twas in that hour his stern command Called to a martyr's grave The flower of his beloved land, The nation's flag to save.
By rivers of their fathers' gore His first-born laurels grew, And well he deemed the sons would pour Their lives for glory too.
Full many a norther's breath has swept O'er Angostura's plain,[11]
And long the pitying sky has wept Above its mouldered slain.
The raven's scream, or eagle's flight, Or shepherd's pensive lay, Alone awakes each sullen height That frowned o'er that dread fray.
Sons of the Dark and Bloody Ground, Ye must not slumber there, et cetera.
[10] Gen. Zachary Taylor.
[11] Near Buena Vista.
SARAH T. BOLTON
Mrs. Sarah Tittle Bolton, author of _Paddle Your Own Canoe_, was born at Newport, Kentucky, in 1820. When she was about three years old, her father removed to Indiana, settling first in Jennings county, but later moving on to Madison. When a young woman, she contributed poems to the Madison newspaper which attracted the editor, Nathaniel Bolton, so strongly that he married the author. They moved to Indianapolis, and Mrs. Bolton soon gained a wide reputation as a poet. Her ode sung at the laying of the corner-stone of the Masonic Temple, in 1850, won her a loving cup from the Masons of Hoosierdom. Two years later her poem in honor of the hero of Hungary, Louis Kossuth, increased her fame. In 1855 Mr. Bolton was appointed consul to Geneva, Switzerland, and his wife accompanied him to his post. They remained in Switzerland for three years, during which time Mrs. Bolton acted as correspondent for the Cincinnati _Commercial_. In 1858 she and her husband returned to Indianapolis, in which city he died some months later. Her _Poems_ (New York, 1856) brought her newspaper and periodical verse together; and a complete collection, with a notice of her life, was published at Indianapolis in 1886. Mrs. Bolton was Indiana's foremost female singer for many years. She died at Indianapolis in 1893. Of her many poems _Paddle Your Own Canoe_ is the best known, although _Left on the Battlefield_ is admired by many of her readers.
BIBLIOGRAPHY. _The Poets and Poetry of the West_, by W. T.
Coggeshall (Columbus, 1860); _The Hoosiers_, by Meredith Nicholson (New York, 1900).
PADDLE YOUR OWN CANOE
[From _The Poets and Poetry of the West_, edited by W. T.
Coggeshall (Columbus, Ohio, 1860)]
Voyager upon life's sea, To yourself be true, And where'er your lot may be, Paddle your own canoe.
Never, though the winds may rave, Falter nor look back; But upon the darkest wave Leave a shining track.