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Page: of 8
Vv
Perchance some whisperings prophetic stole
Into the silent musings of a few;
Perchance none caught the deep, portentous roll
Of purposes imperial, nor knew
Themselves as instruments of such great plan
As ne’er before had seized and swept a nation
Full fronting westward to the setting sun.
Oh, ne’er before to man
Was proffered nobler prize of gratulation
Than in the race reserved for you to run!
VI
A weary way, a long and weary way,
Was youts to traverse, fraught with perils thick,
Untried, undreamt of; hardly durst ye stay
To lay the dead to rest, or soothe the sick,
Lest from invisible ambuscade should pour
With raucous devil-howls a murderous throng,
Lithe, painted tiger-forms, joying to kill
Your babes, and drive before
In mad stampede your frightened oxen strong,
Leaving the wagons desolate and still.