The bird of prey is vanquished by the dove, And thoughts of b.l.o.o.d.y strife give place to thoughts of love.
L.
The mighty plains, devoid of whispering trees, Guard well the secrets of departed seas.
Where once great tides swept by with ebb and flow The scorching sun looks down in tearless woe.
And fierce tornadoes in ungoverned pain Mourn still the loss of that mysterious main.
Across this ocean bed the soldiers fly-- Home is the gleaming goal that lures each eager eye.
LI.
Like some elixir which the G.o.ds prepare, They drink the viewless tonic of the air, Sweet with the breath of startled antelopes Which speed before them over swelling slopes.
Now like a serpent writhing o"er the moor, The column curves and makes a slight detour, As Custer leads a thousand men away To save a ground bird"s nest which in the footpath lay.
LII.
Mile following mile, against the leaning skies Far off they see a dull dark cloud arise.
The hunter"s instinct in each heart is stirred, Beholding there in one stupendous herd A hundred thousand buffaloes. Oh great Unwieldy proof of Nature"s cruder state, Rough remnant of a prehistoric day, Thou, with the red man, too, must shortly pa.s.s away.
LIII.
Upon those spreading plains is there not room For man and bison, that he seals its doom?
What pleasure lies and what seductive charm In slaying with no purpose but to harm?
Alas, that man, unable to create, Should thirst forever to exterminate, And in destruction find his fiercest joy.
The G.o.ds alone create, G.o.ds only should destroy.
LIV.
The flying hosts a straggling bull pursue; Unerring aim, the skillful Custer drew.
The wounded beast turns madly in despair And man and horse are lifted high in air.
The conscious steed needs not the guiding rein; Back with a bound and one quick cry of pain He springs, and halts, well knowing where must fall In that protected frame, the sure death dealing ball.
LV.
With minds intent upon the morrow"s feast, The men surround the carca.s.s of the beast.
Rolled on his back, he lies with lolling tongue, Soon to the saddle savory steaks are hung.
And from his mighty head, great tufts of hair Are cut as trophies for some lady fair.
To vultures then they leave the torn remains Of what an hour ago was monarch of the plains.
LVI.
Far off, two bulls in jealous war engage, Their blood-shot eye b.a.l.l.s roll in furious rage; With maddened hoofs they mutilate the ground And loud their angry bellowings resound; With s.h.a.ggy heads bent low they plunge and roar, Till both broad bellies drip with purple gore.
Meanwhile, the heifer, whom the twain desire, Stands browsing near the pair, indifferent to their ire.
LVII.
At last she lifts her lazy head and heeds The clattering hoofs of swift advancing steeds.
Off to the herd with c.u.mb"rous gait she runs And leaves the bulls to face the threatening guns.
No more for them the free life of the plains, Its mating pleasures and its warring pains.
Their quivering flesh shall feed unnumbered foes, Their tufted tails adorn the soldiers" saddle bows.
LVIII.
Now into camp the conquering hosts advance; On burnished arms the brilliant sunbeams glance.
Brave Custer leads, blonde as the G.o.ds of old; Back from his brow blow cl.u.s.tering locks of gold, And, like a jewel in a brook, there lies, Far in the depths of his blue guarded eyes, The thought of one whose smiling lips up-curled, Mean more of joy to him than plaudits of the world.
LIX.
The troops in columns of platoons appear Close to the leader following. Ah, here The poetry of war is fully seen, Its prose forgotten; as against the green Of Mother Nature, uniformed in blue, The soldiers pa.s.s for Sheridan"s review.
The motion-music of the moving throng, Is like a silent tune, set to a wordless song.
LX.
The guides and trailers, weird in war"s array, Precede the troops along the gra.s.sy way.
They chant wild songs, and with loud noise and stress, In savage manner savage joy express.
The Indian captives, blanketed in red, On ponies mounted, by the scouts are led.
Like sumach bushes, etched on evening skies, Against the blue-clad troops, this patch of color lies.
LXI.
High o"er the scene vast music billows bound, And all the air is liquid with the sound Of those invisible compelling waves.
Perchance they reach the low and lonely graves Where sleep brave Elliott and Hamilton, And whisper there the tale of victory won; Or do the souls of soldiers tried and true Come at the bugle call, and march in grand review?
LXII.
The pleased Commander watches in surprise This splendid pageant surge before his eyes.
Not in those mighty battle days of old Did scenes like this upon his sight unfold.
But now it pa.s.ses. Drums and bugles cease To dash war billows on the sh.o.r.es of Peace.
The victors smile on fair broad bosomed Sleep While in her soothing arms, the vanquished cease to weep.
=BOOK THIRD=
[There is an interval of eight years between Books Second and Third.]
I.