FORT DEARBORN, CHICAGO, 1881.
Here, where the savage war-whoop once resounded,
Where council fires burned brightly years ago,
Where the red Indian from his covert bounded
To scalp his pale-faced foe:
Here, where grey badgers had their haunts and burrows,
Where wild wolves howled and prowled in midnight bands,
Where frontier farmers turned the virgin furrows,
Our splendid city stands.
Here, where brave men and helpless women perished,
Here, where in unknown graves their forms decay;
This marble, that their memory may be cherished,
We consecrate today.
No more the farm-boy's call, or lowing cattle.
Frighten the timid wild fowl from the slough:
The noisy trucks and wagons roll and rattle
O'er miles of pavement now.
Now are our senses startled and confounded.
By screaming whistle and by clanging bell.
Where Beaubien's merry fiddle once resounded
When summer twilight fell.
Here stood the fort with palisades about it.
With low log block-house in those early hours;
The prairie fair extended far without it.
Blooming with fragrant flowers.
About this spot the buildings quickly clustered;
The logs decayed, the palisade went down.
Here the resistless Western spirit mustered
And built this wondrous town.
Here from the trackless plain its structures started.
And one by one, in splendor rose to view.
The white ships went and came, the years departed,
And still she grandly grew.
Till one wild night, a night each man remembers.
When round her homes the red fire leaped and curled.
The sky was filled with flame and flying embers.
That swept them from the world.