The poetical works of Edwin Oscar Gale . you is not fit to lead a bandWho cant enforce his own command. As thunders rumble in the skyEen after lightnings quiver by,In nmrmurs deep did warriors ventThe passions they within them not a man dared strike a blowAgainst their crushed and bleeding foe. 209 Thus did Tecumsch to his nameAlready bright add lasting fame:Taught magnanimity to thoseWho boast of theirs to conquered while mankind will Proctor blame,Link England with his deeds of patriot, chieftain, noble sage,Tccumseh lives on historys page. March, 1866
The poetical works of Edwin Oscar Gale . you is not fit to lead a bandWho cant enforce his own command. As thunders rumble in the skyEen after lightnings quiver by,In nmrmurs deep did warriors ventThe passions they within them not a man dared strike a blowAgainst their crushed and bleeding foe. 209 Thus did Tecumsch to his nameAlready bright add lasting fame:Taught magnanimity to thoseWho boast of theirs to conquered while mankind will Proctor blame,Link England with his deeds of patriot, chieftain, noble sage,Tccumseh lives on historys page. March, 1866. UPON DISINTERRING THE MOUNDBUILDERS Suggested by seeing Mr. Kemiicott, of the Academyof Sciences, working in the mounds on the Desplaines riverbank in the fall of 1869. With reverence lift the sod,With care displace the images of GodWere these in days of dust by His own breathWas hallowed ages in the realms of death—Due homage pay that prince. Seek ye to know the race. To learn their class and clan? 210. O o o ?J-: Z. i; a; ?^ JZ In these frail relics traceThe standard of the man ?To know how long theyve sleptBeneath this billowed earth ?Who lingered and who wept ?What is such knowledge worth ? Hath this dull dust a tongue,These bones a language quaint,Are signs along them strung,In symbols true though faint,Which can to thee conveyThe record of mankind?Canst thou midst such decaySome useful knowledge find ? Friend, thou who in this clayWouldst know an extinct raceCanst learn as much to-dayIn thine own neighbors aims, the hopes, the passions fitful flameAre ours, as they were theirs—In every age the same. Spare then these scars of TimeOn Natures wrinkled husbandman divinePrepared this place for no more these clods, 211 These wild-wood billows ! leave these flowery sodsTo (jods own loving care. Amidst the winters gloomThese trees in grief will bend,And on each silent tombWill leaves like tears d
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