Rhymes of the Rockies

by James W. Whilt

THE TRAPPER'S STORY

The trapper sat in his cabin

With grizzled beard and hair,

Yet straight as any soldier's

Were his massive shoulders square.

Eyes as clear as a mountain spring

That could pierce you at a glance,

Sharp as a pointed arrow

Or Indian warrior's lance.

"Pard, will you kindly tell me

Why you seek the hills,

Why you love the solitude

The lakes and crystal rills?

I don't want to be inquisitive,

Or pry into your life,

But;—did you ever have a sweetheart,

Did you ever have a wife?"

The trapper turned his eyes on me,

'Twas with a friendly smile:—

"Yes, Pal, I had a sweetheart,

Also a wife and child.

We had a little cabin,

With plenty to wear and eat;

We were richer far than any king,

'Twas love so pure and sweet.

And Oh! how she loved the forest,

And how she would sing all day;

Happier far than the spotted fawns

That on yonder hillside play.

Then she told me the news one evening,

That made me feel so proud;

A child was soon to crown our joy;

Say;—I walked along a cloud!

Now, Pard, I can't explain to you,—

How am I going to tell

Of the joy within our cabin

That we both had loved so well?

But God loves the best and purest,—

Say, my eyes are growing dim—

He took her up to Heaven

Along with Little Jim!

So now I seek the forest

For I know her Spirit is here,

For very often on the trail

I feel her presence near.

And as long as the Creator

Will let me cruise around,

It will always be the woods for me,

I think them sacred ground."

TO THE ROBIN

Dear little, sweet little robin

Dressed in nice grey coat

With your warm red sweater about you

Drawn close around your throat.

With your bright pink stockings,

That you keep so clean;

Don't you ever stain them

In the grass so green?

Eyes so dark and beautiful,

Bright as they can be,

Can spy a worm upon the ground,

And you high in a tree.

And the songs you sing me!

I remember every note,

All so sweet and silver pure,

Warbled from your throat.

When you sing at break of dawn

Heralding the day,

Tell of hearts so young and true

With your sweetest lay.

Then again at eventide

When the sun is low

You sing your sweetest lullaby

Crooning, soft and low.

Then it starts me thinking

Of the One above

Who put you here to sing to us

Telling of His love.

THE PLACE WHERE I WAS BORN

There's a little old log cabin,

And its walls have fallen down,

Snow has broken down its rafters,

Not one log that's left is sound.

The brush obscures the doorway,

Everything looks so forlorn,

'Tis the little old log cabin,

The place where I was born—

Briers o'errun the pathway

Which leads to the crystal spring,

That cradled the tiny brooklet

Where the oriole used to sing.

The hills are fields and pastures

Where I roamed when but a child;

It was all unbroken forest,

And it stretched out far and wild.

The meadows ran in wavelets,

When the wind so wild and free

Blew o'er their level surface

Like a green and billowy sea.

There was childhood's shout and laughter

Within that cabin small;

But to me it was a palace,

With wide and stately hall.

Our pleasures there were sweeter

Than a rose without a thorn,

In that little old log cabin,—

The place where I was born.

Oh!—the little old log cabin!

Where the air was sweet and cool,

Where our school-house was the forest,

And we went to Nature's school;

Could I but re-trace my footsteps

Over life's uncertain road,

Could I go back to that cabin,

Lighter far would be my load.

MY JEWELS

The jewels of life are many,

But the jewel most sacred to me

And the one that I prize the highest,

Is the jewel of memory.

My jewel of love that I cherished,

And cared for day by day,

Faded just like a flower

And finally passed away.

My jewel of hope lost its lustre.

It sparkles for me no more,

Yet it tells me that I will meet her,

Across on the other shore.

My jewel of faith was the smallest,

Yet it's growing year by year,

And as I gaze upon it,

I can feel some presence near.

When I am alone in the twilight,

And weary with cares of the day,

I look out upon the meadows,

Where the fire-flies are at play,—

And I open this cherished casket,

Where I keep these jewels rare,

And when I gaze upon them

My troubles pass into the air.

I like to look up at the stars

That sparkle up above,

And wonder if she is up there,

The one that I fondly love.

Then this jewel I call memory,

So crystal-clear and deep,

I clasp to my breast and hold it,

Till at last I fall asleep.

THE RAINSTORM

Here in the deep tangled forest

All is quiet and still,

While far to the west the thunder,

Re-echoes from hill to hill.

And the lightning's flash, ever vivid,

In great gashes knives the air;

The rain comes down in torrents,

A deluge everywhere!

Bathing the heat-sick flowers

That they may bloom once more;

Painting the grass a greener hue,

That grows by our cabin door;

Making the pastures fresher,

For the cows and shepherd's herds,

Making the pools by the road-side,—

Bath tubs for the birds.

Then the thunder peals louder and louder,

Firing its shrapnel of rain.

The clouds charge after each other,

And the drouth is defeated again.

Then through a rent in the clouds

The sun's searchlight casts its ray,

And the Rain-God looks over the valley

And sees the result of the fray.

And as He sees his conquest,

His victory's flag is unfurled,

In a beautiful colored rainbow,—

He is telling all of the world,

What a victory was his, what a triumph!

It's flashed down the milky way,

Then the sentinel stars dot the heavens,

And the dew-drops sound taps for the day.