Oh, 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!
Their red wars were ended, their victories past.
They perished, the cool waters singing below;
“Ho! Ho!” again shouted the Plumes of the blast;
But only the silent Rock echoed “Ho! Ho!”
’Twas so, fever maddened, the Illini died,