NO longer moves the wagon train through clouds of rolling dust,
No longer speaks the musket, foul caked with yellow rust,
Wild days have passed; the yelping brave has vanished in the mists of time,
Wild fights are o’er, the valiant scout has ceased to cheer the firing line.
The brutish bison herds are gone—the lean coyote sneaks here and there,
Where once the pronghorn fed in peace, and shyly roamed the grizzly bear.
The elk are dead—the puma, too, no longer shrieks his wailing cry,
Where trapper’s fires are blazing clear, and sharply light the dark’ning sky.
From out the past, pale forms arise, the shapes of those who fought and bled
On treeless plains of alkali, and bravely found a gory bed.