454 ISAAC H. JULIAN. [1850-60. Ye dusky dwellers of the woods ! Your glory's but a name ; Awaken from your slumbers, Awake or perish all — The foe is on your hunting-grounds, The herald of your fall ! In vain — the tide of life flows in On the daring hunter's track, And not the Indian's high emprise Can turn the current back. Fierce battled he with force and fraud, Like a savage beast at bay — But his star of empire went down In many a bloody fray. Bright wave thy fields, Kentucky, In graceful culture now ; The red man, like thy mighty woods. Has seen his glory bow. And by the dark Missouri, The lone hunter passed to rest — Till him thy " late remorse " called home To slumber on thy breast.* THE TRUE PACIFIC LINE. 'Mid the evening twilight gathering. O'er my native Western plain, I mark the fierce careering Of the far-sounding railway train ; Shrieking and thundering and clanging. It startles the rural scene, Like the storm-god's sudden appearing On the summer eve serene. As I sit and gaze, and listen To the yet unwonted sound, Busy Fancy backward wanders To the Past's enchanted ground ;
- It will be generally recollected, that a few years since
the remains of Daniel Boone and his wife were removed from Missouri to Kentucky, and recommitted to the earth with distinguished funeral honors. When, where yon smoke-steed courses, And tugs at his fiery rein, The dim aisles of the forest Knew ne'er a ruder strain. Than the wild bird's merry carol. Or the wild deer's stealthy tread ; While leaped the sportive squirrel 'Neath the green arch overhead. Sunk 'neath the ax of the woodman. That forest no longer waves ; Though a pioneer here and there lingers Yet, 'mid his fellows' graves. And I think how this chain of iron Ere long all our country shall bind, And waft its life and its commerce More swift than the lagging wind ; Aye, away to the far-distant sunset 'Twill point the unerring hne, Over mountain and valley, To the vast Pacific's brine. How the fire-steed will hasten, Ever away — away — Over the boundless prairies, Where the elk and bison stray — Over the wandering rivers — Through proud States yet to be — And through the mountain passes, Prone to the Western Sea. And while yet the startled echoes Are sounding their terror back. How the wide world's wealth and empire Shall hasten on the track ; O, the panoramic ages Shall pale their storied power ; And if ]Iammon is to rule the earth. Now comes his crowning hour ! But I seem to hear a murmur, On the breath of evening cast. From the bright, yet shadowy Future, From the melancholy Past ; A " still, small voice " — I hear it Like gentle music fall —
