The Poetical Works of William H C Hosmer

Purchase of this book includes free trial access to www.million-books.com where you can read more than a million books for free. This is an OCR edition with typos. Excerpt from book: INDIAN TRADITIONS AND SONGS. THE BATTLE-GROUND OF DENONVILLE. Oh what secrets are revealed In this ancient battle-field; Round are scattered skull and bone, Into light by workmen thrown . Who across this valley fair For the train a way prepare. Pictures brighten thick and fast On the mirror of the past;...
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Purchase of this book includes free trial access to www.million-books.com where you can read more than a million books for free. This is an OCR edition with typos. Excerpt from book: INDIAN TRADITIONS AND SONGS. THE BATTLE-GROUND OF DENONVILLE. Oh what secrets are revealed In this ancient battle-field; Round are scattered skull and bone, Into light by workmen thrown . Who across this valley fair For the train a way prepare. Pictures brighten thick and fast On the mirror of the past; To poetic vision plain Plume and banner float again? Round are mangled bodies lying, Some at rest, and others dying? Thus the Swan-ne-ho-ont greet Those who plant invading feet On the chase-ground where their sires Long have kindled council-fires. Fragments of the deadly brand, Lying in the yellow sand, With the fleur de lis to tell Of the Frank who clenched it well, When his race encountered here Tameless chasers of the deer; Arrow-head and hatchet-blade, War-club broken and decayed, Belts in part resolved to dust, Gun-locks red with gnawing rust, ? While the buried years awake Eloquent narration make. Other sounds than pick and spade, When this valley lay in shade, Ringing on the summer air Scared the panther from his lair; Other sounds than axe and bar, Pathway building for the car, Buzzing saw, or hammer-stroke, Echo wild from slumber woke, When new France her lilies pale Here unfolded to the gale? Rifle-crack and musket-peal, Whiz of shaft and clash of steel? Painted forms from cover leaping, Crimson swaths through foemen reaping, While replied each savage throat To the rallying bugle-note, With a wolf-howl, long and loud, That the stoutest veteran cowed, Mingled in one fearful din Where these graves are crumbling in. Busy actors in the fray Were their tenants on that day; But each name, forgotten long, Cannot woven be in song. They had wives, perchance, who kept Weary watch for them, and wept Bitter tears at last to learn They would never more ret...