Songs of the Rockies . ever thus mad. Oh, leaping St. thine eternal rush Ive called ye in sparkling blue lakelets And pools without nameAll seaward are streaming With sluicings and drain—To form your wild water. Oh, bounding St. Vrain. Yet theres one lovely spot. Ye know of, St. Vrain;When I called ye, ye stopped, And strove not in high on the mountains Where snow glaciers reign;Your trickling blue fountain I quaffed in its fast as it melted. Oh, bounding St. Vrain. By that happy instance. Oh, laughing St. Vrain—Like lover whos tasted— 114 Tho not vile prof
Songs of the Rockies . ever thus mad. Oh, leaping St. thine eternal rush Ive called ye in sparkling blue lakelets And pools without nameAll seaward are streaming With sluicings and drain—To form your wild water. Oh, bounding St. Vrain. Yet theres one lovely spot. Ye know of, St. Vrain;When I called ye, ye stopped, And strove not in high on the mountains Where snow glaciers reign;Your trickling blue fountain I quaffed in its fast as it melted. Oh, bounding St. Vrain. By that happy instance. Oh, laughing St. Vrain—Like lover whos tasted— 114 Tho not vile profane;I stroll oft beside ye. As seaward ye refreshing fond love. Oh, bounding St. Vrain. Roll on then, bright water. And verdure the on to the ocean. With wild mountain plunged from the precpice— Yeve sprung from the cloud;Yeve leaped from the gorge rim. Which gray mists roar ye, wild water. And splash your white mane—I love you—I love you. Oh, bounding St. 115 For several ^ears, it was the manifestly unjust andfatally discriminatory law in Colorado, that only deerwith horns could be slain in the legal game seasonbeginning October 1st; which soon resulted—fromdanger of total extinction—of a law wholly closingfor a period of years, the slaughter of deer of anykind. 116 THE GUILT OF BEARING PROUDANTLERED CREST THERE is a law that doomsIn autumn of each yearTo hunters ruthless proudest of the deer. The stag is he, whose lordly horns Proclaim the lawful prey;And I fancy, as Death speeds the ball. His mournful lay: *Fly on, my loved doe, and beauteous offspring to thrive. While I, guilty of bearing proudAntlered crest, must bleeding die.** 117 YE GREEN PINES AND TALL SPRUCESOF WIND RIVER TRAIL OFT in sorrow Ive wanderedIn grief from our Vale,Footing wilds dim remoteNeath the moons misty veil;To wake in sweet transport At the streams limpid I walked the green windingsOf Wind River Trail. Oh, g
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