ON THE TRAIL.
Oh, there's nothing like the prairie
When the wind is in your face,
And a thunder-storm is brewing,
And night comes down apace—
'Tis then you feel the wonder
And immensity of space!
Far in the gathering darkness
Against the dying day
The ghostly hills are lying,
The hills that stand for aye—
How in the dusk they glimmer
And palpitate away!
Behind them still there lingers
A hint of sunset gold;
The trail before you stretches,
A long black ribbon unrolled—
Long and black and narrow,
Where the buffalo trod of old.
Though motionless forever,
The prairies seem to keep
The rolling swell and hollow
Of some undulating deep,
As to the edge of heaven
And still beyond they sweep.
Between your knees the bronco
Goes hotly o'er the plain,
With rhythmic swing and measure
You feel him give and strain,
And on your cheek come stinging
The first wild drops of rain.
How vast the world and void!
No living thing in sight,
As to the lonely prairie
Comes down the lonely night,
But in your heart what freedom—
What sense of buoyant flight!
Once more the pulses quicken
With life's exultant pride,
With hope and high ambition,
As on and on you ride,
Till all the old desires
Come galloping beside!
Oh, there's nothing like the prairie
When the wind is in your face,
And the boom of distant thunder
Comes rolling up apace—
'Tis then you feel the wonder
And immensity of space!