And the old wars are dead, and their passion
In the crystal of culture congeals;
And the wavering flare of the pitchlight,
That illumines your banquets no more,
Will return, like a wandering witchlight,
And encrimson the fancies of yore—
When you danced the "Old Arkansas" gaily
In brogans that had followed the bear,
And quaffed the delight of Castaly
From the fiddle that wailed like despair;
And so lightly you wrought with the hammer,
And so truly with axe and with plow,
And you blazed your own trails through the grammar,
As the record must fairly allow;
But you builded a state in whose arches
Shall be carven the deed and the name,
And posterity lengthen its marches
In the glow of your honor and fame!
In the crystal of culture congeals;
And the wavering flare of the pitchlight,
That illumines your banquets no more,
Will return, like a wandering witchlight,
And encrimson the fancies of yore—
When you danced the "Old Arkansas" gaily
In brogans that had followed the bear,
And quaffed the delight of Castaly
From the fiddle that wailed like despair;
And so lightly you wrought with the hammer,
And so truly with axe and with plow,
And you blazed your own trails through the grammar,
As the record must fairly allow;
But you builded a state in whose arches
Shall be carven the deed and the name,
And posterity lengthen its marches
In the glow of your honor and fame!
THE WIZARD OWL
A New Year's Story in Rhyme
In Portland's far heroic day,
When forest firs disputed sway,
While but a mythic spear was set
To show where spires would glimmer yet,
And all a city's grace and sheen
Arise o'er conquered ranks of green,
A little lonely cabin stood
Within the border of the wood.
When forest firs disputed sway,
While but a mythic spear was set
To show where spires would glimmer yet,
And all a city's grace and sheen
Arise o'er conquered ranks of green,
A little lonely cabin stood
Within the border of the wood.
