I dream of the wide, wide prairies
Touched with their glistening sheen,
The coyotes' cry and the wind-swept sky
And the waving billows of green!
And oh, for a night in the open
Where no sound discordant mars,
And the marvelous glow, when the sun is low,
And the silence under the stars!
[p. 173]
Ho, wind from the western prairies!
Ho, voice from a far domain!
I feel in your breath what I'll feel till death,
The call of the plains again!
The call of the Spirit of Freedom
To the spirit of freedom in me;
My heart leaps high with a jubilant cry
And I answer in ecstasy!
Ethel MacDiarmid.
WHERE THE GRIZZLY DWELLS[4]
I ADMIRE the artificial art of the East;
But I love more the inimitable art of the West,
Where nature's handiwork lies in virginal beauty.
Amidst the hum of city life
I saunter back to dreams of home.
Astride the back of my trusty steed
I wander away, losing myself
In the foothills of the Rockies.
Away from human habitations,
Up the rugged slopes,
Through the timbered stretches,
I hear the frightful cry of wolves
And see a bear sneaking up behind.
Many nights ago,
While herding a bunch of cattle
During the round-up season,
I lay upon the grass
Looking at the mated stars;
I wondered if a cowboy
Could go to the Unknown Place,
[p. 175] The Happy Hunting Ground,
When this short life is over.
But, here or there, I shall always live
In the land of mountain air
Where the grizzly dwells
And sage brush grows;
Where mountain trout are not a few;
In the land of the Bitterroot,—
The Indian land,— Land of the Golden West.
James Fox.