The Men of Forty-Nine
by Joaquin Miller
hose brave old bricks of forty-nine!
- What lives they lived! what deaths they died!
- A thousand canyons, darkling wide
- Below Sierra's slopes of pine,
- Receive them now. And they who died
- Along the far, dim, desert route--
- Their ghosts are many. Let them keep
- Their vast possessions. The Piute,
- The tawny warrior, will dispute
- No boundary with these. And I
- Who saw them live, who felt them die,
- Say, let their unplow'd ashes sleep,
- Untouch'd by man, on plain or steep.
- The bearded, sunbrown'd men who bore
- The burden of that frightful year,
- Who toil'd, but did not gather store,
- They shall not be forgotten. Drear
- And white, the plains of Shoshonee
- Shall point us to that farther shore,
- And long, white, shining lines of bones,
- Make needless sign or white mile-stones.
- The wild man's yell, the groaning wheel;
- The train that moved like drifting barge;
- The dust that rose up like a cloud-
- Like smoke of distant battle! Loud
- The great whips rang like shot, and steel
- Of antique fashion, crude and large,
- Flash'd back as in some battle charge.
- They sought, yea, they did find their rest.
- Along that long and lonesome way,
- These brave men buffet'd the West
- With lifted faces. Full were they
- Of great endeavor. Brave and true
- As stern Crusader clad in steel,
- They died a-field as it was fit.
- Made strong with hope, they dared to do
- Achievement that a host to-day
- Would stagger at, stand back and reel,
- Defeated at the thought of it.
- What brave endeavor to endure!
- What patient hope, when hope was past!
- What still surrender at the last,
- A thousand leagues from hope! how pure
- They lived, how proud they died!
- How generous with life! The wide
- And gloried age of chivalry
- Hath not one page like this to me.
- Let all these golden days go by,
- In sunny summer weather. I
- But think upon my buried brave,
- And breathe beneath another sky.
- Let Beauty glide in gilded car,
- And find my sundown seas afar,
- Forgetful that'tis but one grave
- Yea, I remember! The still tears
- That o'er uncoffin'd faces fell!
- The final, silent, sad farewell!
- God! these are with me all the years!
- They shall be with me ever. I
- Shall not forget. I hold a trust.
- They are part of my existence. When
- Swift down the shining iron track
- You sweep, and fields of corn flash back,
- And herds of lowing steers move by,
- And men laugh loud, in mute mistrust,
- I turn to other days, to men
- Who made a pathway with their dust.