NIGHT ON THE PRAIRIE.
I.
The sable garb of darkness clothes the land,
And twilight's sickly hue bids day farewell;
The prairie's vast expanse on either hand
Marks solitude's domain. O'er hill and dell,
And wide-extended plain, I cast my eyes,
To view, perchance, some grove or fav'ring stream,
And hie me thitherward while yet the gleam
Of day's fast-failing light bepaints the skies
With tints scarce seen, —for there I'd seek repose,
But for them look in vain; so here, alone,
Wearied and worn, I sit me down and close
My tiresome wanderings, —nor bate to own
The chilling thrill of terror o'er me creeps,
And from my mind all thoughts of slumber keeps!
II.
Oh, Solitude! First-born of Night! 'Tis here
Thy reign is undisputed! Here no noise
Of human feet doth greet thy list'ning ear,
Save chance as mine, or savage want enjoys
His arms at chase or rage at bloody war!
Here haunts the beast of prey. The starved wolfs howl
In ceaseless concert swells! The midnight owl
Joins in his dolesome lay;—the raven's caw
Loud mingles with the panther's yell, —and then
The hoarse-toned bison grunts his bass, and makes
Thy dismal realm more drear to lonely men.
Æolus here his fresh-form'd wind awakes,
And marks its speed unchecked; whose whistling moan
O'er thy domain makes loneliness more lone!
III.
My thoughts, now kindred to the scene, arise
In hurried flight, whose hideous aspects wake,
Full quick, imagination's sleepless eyes,
That conjure up such frightful forms as shake
The boldest hearts with dread. In every herb
Of prouder growth, —whose prongs the sweeping blast
Hath taught to move, —some foe of savage cast
Appears and threatens ill, as if to curb
The onward progress of the god of sleep:
(For here man sees his fellow man, unknown,
As foe; and, arm'd for fight, he minds to keep
The strictest watch, lest, from advantage shown,
He tempt unlucky war.) So hurriedly
I snatch my arms to fight each form I
