THE FIRST PERIODICAL LITERATURE
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Though fair they be, we may not stay,
Fate bids us go—away, away;
Our homes, the tent henceforth must be—
The prairie vast, or forest tree:
Fate bids us go—away, away;
Our homes, the tent henceforth must be—
The prairie vast, or forest tree:
The wolf may wake our poor repose,
Fear may forbid our eyes to close—
The savage yell assail our ear,
And threaten all we value dear.
Fear may forbid our eyes to close—
The savage yell assail our ear,
And threaten all we value dear.
Though war and death, or hunger press,
Our pathway thro' the wilderness,
May health and peace, with plenty dwell,
In your green fields—then, fare ye well.
Our pathway thro' the wilderness,
May health and peace, with plenty dwell,
In your green fields—then, fare ye well.
On Leaving Oregon for the U. S. in 1845, by the Same
I love thee, fair land of the far distant west,
Thy beauties, thy grandeur, thy wilderness, I love them,
And friendships have strengthen'd the tie in my breast,
And memory will treasure forever the gem.
Thy beauties, thy grandeur, thy wilderness, I love them,
And friendships have strengthen'd the tie in my breast,
And memory will treasure forever the gem.
I love the rough shores of thy thundering ocean,
And the high curling waves of thy boundless blue sea ;
I love thy wild main, when the storm is in motion,
But the Home of my fathers is dearer to me.
And the high curling waves of thy boundless blue sea ;
I love thy wild main, when the storm is in motion,
But the Home of my fathers is dearer to me.
I love thy broad rivers, majestic'ly rolling
Their bright crystal waters away to the deep,
And to sit where the foam of thy cataract's pouring,
Like a fiend in its wrath, o'er the rough rocky steep.
Their bright crystal waters away to the deep,
And to sit where the foam of thy cataract's pouring,
Like a fiend in its wrath, o'er the rough rocky steep.
I love thy dark forests the storm never withers,
Fit emblems to sprout on the hills of the free;
I love thy stern sky, when the winter storm gathers,
But the home of my children is dearer to me.
Fit emblems to sprout on the hills of the free;
I love thy stern sky, when the winter storm gathers,
But the home of my children is dearer to me.
I love thy high hills, and their deep dark ravines,
Where the wild beast and savage for shelter retire,
And thy wood- belted prairies with carpets of green,
Thy snow-crested peaks, and thy mountains of fire.
Where the wild beast and savage for shelter retire,
And thy wood- belted prairies with carpets of green,
Thy snow-crested peaks, and thy mountains of fire.
