FROM THE FAR WEST
3
Gaunt, slinking dingoes snap and snarl,
Watching his slowly-ebbing breath;
Crows are flying,
Hoarsely crying
Burial service o’er the dying—
Foul harbingers of Death.
Full many a man has perished there,
Whose bones gleam white from the waste of sand—
Who left no name
On the scroll of Fame,
Yet died in his tracks, as well became
A son of that desert land.
![](http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/8/8c/Where_the_Dead_Men_Lie_-_From_the_Far_West_-_2.jpg/200px-Where_the_Dead_Men_Lie_-_From_the_Far_West_-_2.jpg)