Pilgrims of the Plains.
Joaquin Miller
tale half told and hardly understood; - The talk of bearded men that chanced to meet,
- That lean'd on long quaint rifles in the wood,
- That look'd in fellow faces, spoke discreet
- And low, as half in doubt and in defeat
- Of hope; a tale it was of lands of gold
- That lay toward the sun. Wild wing'd and fleet
- It spread among the swift Missouri's bold
- Unbridled men, and reach'd to where Ohio roll'd.
- Then long chain'd lines of yoked and patient steers;
- Then long white trains that pointed to the west,
- Beyond the savage west; the hopes and fears
- Of blunt, untutor'd men, who hardly guess'd
- Their course; the brave and silent women, dress'd
- In homely spun attire, the boys in bands,
- The cheery babes that laugh'd at all, and bless'd
- The doubting hearts with laughing lifted hands!....
- What exodus for far untraversed lands!
- The Plains! The shouting drivers at the wheel;
- The crash of leather whips; the crush and roll
- Of wheels; the groan of yokes and grinding steel
- And iron chain, and lo! at last the whole
- Vast line, that reach'd as if to touch the goal,
- Began to stretch and stream away and wind
- Toward the west, as if with one control;
- Then hope loom'd fair, and home lay far behind;
- Before, the boundless plain, and fiercest of their kind.
- At first the way lay green and fresh as seas,
- And far away as any reach of wave;
- The sunny streams went by in belt of trees;
- And here and there the tassell'd tawny brave
- Swept by on horse, look'd back, stretch'd forth and gave
- A yell of hell, and then did wheel and rein
- Awhile, and point away, dark-brow'd and grave,
- Into the far and dim and distant plain
- With signs and prophecies, and then plunged on again.
- Some hills at last began to lift and break;
- Some streams begain to fail of wood and tide,
- The somber plain began betime to take
- A hue of weary brown, and wild and wide
- It stretch'd its naked breast on every side.
- A babe was heard at last to cry for bread
- Amid the deserts; cattle low'd and, died,
- And dying men went by with broken tread,
- And left a long black serpent line of wreck and dead.
- Strange hunger'd birds, black-wing'd and still as death,
- And crown'd of red with hooked beaks, blew low
- And close about, till we could touch their breath—
- Strange unnamed birds, that seem'd to come and go
- In circles now, and now direct and slow,
- Continual, yet never touch the earth;
- Slim foxes shied and shuttled to and fro
- At times across the dusty weary dearth
- Of life, look'd back, then sank like crickets in a hearth.
- Then dust arose, a long dim line like smoke
- From out of riven earth. The wheels went groaning by,
- The thousand feet in harness and in yoke,
- They tore the ways of ashen alkali,
- And desert winds blew sudden, swift and dry.
- The dust! it sat upon and fill'd the train!
- It seem'd to fret and fill the very sky.
- Lo!'dust upon the beasts, the tent, the plain,
- And dust, alas! on breasts that rose not up again.
- They sat in desolation and in dust
- By dried-up desert streams; the mother's hands
- Hid all her bended face; the cattle thrust
- Their tongues and faintly call'd across the lands.
- The babes, that knew not what the way through sands
- Could mean, did ask if it would end today
- The panting wolves slid by, red-eyed, in bands
- To pools beyond. The men look'd far away,
- And silent deemed that all a boundless desert lay.
- They rose by night; they struggled on and on
- As thin and still as ghosts; then here and there
- Beside the dusty way before the dawn,
- Men silent laid them down in their despair,
- And died. But woman! Woman, frail as fair!
- May man have strength to give to you your due;
- You falter'd not, nor murmur'd anywhere,
- You held your babes, held to your course, and you
- Bore on through burning hell your double burdens through.
- Men stood at last, the decimated few,
- Above a land of running streams, and they?
- They push'd aside the boughs, and peering through
- Beheld afar the cool, refreshing bay;
- Then some did curse, and some bend hands to pray;
- But some look'd back upon the desert, wide
- And desolate with death, then all the day
- They mourned. But one, with nothing left beside
- His dog to love, crept down among the ferns and died.