But him who can fond hopes beguile;-
Who can with sly and studied art
Pluck every fear from his stout heart;-
Who can from home and world depart,
While Death wafts up to heaven his smile.
Such man was found. Nor do the years Pass o'er a race of men or age,
In this old world's story, when rage Of lust blots fair History's page, Without some man whom time endears,
As the great savior of his race,
To come and offer up his life.
Not such as told of mythic strife
In ancient lore, or story rife
With deeds that do their gods disgrace;
Nor mighty one among the stars,
In Vedic poem sung; nor vast
Old giant of the earth, to cast
The weighty spear, and then at last
Forsake mankind, like bloody Mars;
But came then forth a man inspired
With holy, grand, immortal sense
Of love, which goes like sweet incense
Up to heaven, and is recompense
Alone for all of life required.
In pity, then, this fable told
The savage sage to save his race:
That far away some hallow'd place
Was known to him, where the white-face Doth dwell and dress in silks and gold;
And that they eat from golden plates,
With silver spoons and forks and knives;
That fairies live with men as wives;
That mankind live enchanted lives,
Where want comes not nor strifes nor hates;
That he will lead o'er hills and dells,
To that fair land where cities old
Are filled with tons of wealth untold;
To where a king is clad in gold,
And sleeps 'neath trees with golden bells.
Brave savage guide! his story told,
Dupes Coronado, and his train
Of idol worshipers. In vain
Shall death appall; he shall be slain,
And save mankind, like gods of old.
Then brought he forth the pipe of peace,
And lit the sacred fire, and said:
"This pipe I smoke, that our brave dead,
Whose souls move round the mountain red
May come and give our woes release.
"Now will you go to old Quivira;
To that fair land of our red pipe,
Where you may reap your harvest ripe Of brilliant hopes, and joyous wipe All care away; where rests the weary?"
"I go," quoth he, "to clutch the spoil."
And thus the pious fable wrought
Into the fancies of his thought,
And led him on, till he was taught
The solid facts of Kansas soil.
O'er the vast plains, upon the trail
Of cld commercial bands, who bring
The northern fur, for the bright wing
Of tropic bird, they go wandering;
Far from their stores or friendly sail.
Through herds of buffalo, who came
With savage look and shaggy mane,
To question why this warlike train
Should here molest their ancient reign;
By whose command, and in what name.
Prophets they came, to tell these savage
Monarchs of the grassy fields
That the hard hand of Time, that wields
The destiny of worlds, and shields
A race of men though born to ravage,
Now soon shall strike, and savage beast
And savage man shall hear their doom:
Give way! stand back! pass off! give room
To the weird sisters of the Loom!
Hail! mighty Genius of the East.
Thus to Kansas Coronado came,
With pious Turco for his guide;
O'er blinding sands and rivers wide;
Through valleys gay and rich they ride;
And find, not Fortune fair, but Fame.
"Bring forth my Indian guide,"
Where is thy shining gold?
Shake mute thy head? Here goes to hell
Thy soul!" and the firm savage fell,
The first fruits of the golden tree. "
Thus the host of Coronado
Entered on the plains of Kansas, Thus they made the first advances, Not to possess her fields and ranches, But to grasp a golden shadow.
Nor was the kingdom that he sought
Filled with wisdom's storied page;
Nor ruled by hoary-headed sage;-
Here was no land to quench the rage
Of fancies that his brain had wrought.
He stopped far short of that famed land,
Which princely Madoc's children name;
Whose beauteous face and manly frame
Bespoke a race of Cimric fame;
Long lost on the Atlantic strand. 10
He found Quivira wild and fair,
Nature's rude child; yet in her face
Might see the vision of a race
That, clasped within her fond embrace,
Should conquer earth, and sky, and air.
His was the life and his the era,
When Fancy pictured Fancy's child;-
A land where Summer, soft and mild,
Cast flowers upon the Year, and smiled
To thus bedeck her fair Quivira.
Here on the banks of dark Missouri 11
The peaceful country found, but here
For unrequited toil paid dear;
The golden tree found not, nor tear
From savage eye, for savage story.
Here stayed his course, and waved the rod
Of empire over Kansas, young
And fair; and the dear cross where hung The Christ was raised, and hymn was sung, In honor of his race and God.
|