A SONG FOR THE SOLDIERS.
93
Hush! Let the present fade; let the distance die; let the last year stand:
We are far to the West, in Montana, on the desolate plains of Montana
We ride with the cavalry troopers on the bloody trail of the Cheyennes,
Forty braves of the tribe who have leaped from the reservation
Down on the mining camps in their desecrated valleys,
Down to their fathers' graves and the hunting-ground of their people.
Chilled with the doom of Death they gaze on the white men's changes:
Ruthless the brutal force that has crushed their homes and their manhood,
And ruthless the hearts of the Cheyenne braves as they swoop on the camps of the miners!
