And redly their night-torches danced through the gloom
At their feasts on the Rock of the blue Illinois:
The gray rock that hung
O’er the billows of blooms,
Where the rain-plover sung
In the dark under glooms,
And cool, cool ran the prairie river!
That Rock was the Indian’s glory and pride,
The crown of the venturous chiefs, massive and strong,
The prairies beneath it, and dimpling beside