The mound they built where the great creek meets the Tennessee is a perfect and splendid specimen of their custom. Scholars say it was built for religious worship—not to bury their dead within, and it is one of a series in the valley of the Tennessee. What robed, mysterious priest and peoples once worshiped around it? What censers of eternal fire burned always on its summit? What white-robed maidens met a sacrificial death on its summit overlooking the river? What warriors thronged around it, chanting their battle songs and dipping their spear points in the victims’ blood?
“Forever and forever flows the river,
Forever and forever rolls the plain—
Forever shall the pale stars ’round them quiver,
But never shall their past return again.
Hyperion dawns but light their frieze in vain,
And moons peer sadly through the columned way,
The midday glares on what doth yet remain
Of faded glory with a mocking play—
Thus passeth into shadow man’s imperial sway.”