. The calumet of the Coteau, and other poetical legends of the border. ong years again shall vanish,And Custer, Cook, and Blue,— Their honors none would banishFrom lists of heroes true. And Reynolds,—noble Charley,—And Mandan,—Bloody-Knife,— Who ever scorned to parley,But fighting gave their life ! THE DYING TRAPPER. Peerless the park of fountains ! Far, oh, far belowIts circling crests of mountains, Begirt with ice and snow ! 8 Hard by those spouting fountains, Far, oh, far away !Done with his frays and scoutings,A dying trapper lay : One reared in wealth and kindness,— Sad, oh, sad the day !
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. The calumet of the Coteau, and other poetical legends of the border. ong years again shall vanish, And Custer, Cook, and Blue, — Their honors none would banishFrom lists of heroes true. And Reynolds, —noble Charley, —And Mandan, —Bloody-Knife, — Who ever scorned to parley, But fighting gave their life ! THE DYING TRAPPER. Peerless the park of fountains ! Far, oh, far belowIts circling crests of mountains, Begirt with ice and snow ! 8 Hard by those spouting fountains, Far, oh, far away !Done with his frays and scoutings, A dying trapper lay : One reared in wealth and kindness, — Sad, oh, sad the day !When blighted love and blindness Allured his feet astray. Long years have come and vanished, — Time, oh, time has flown !Since rudely scorned and banished To tread the wilds alone. But on that gloomy morning Screams, oh, screams, and yells, — Of death and ravage warning, —Rang through the glades and dells! 81 $2 THE DYING TRAPPER. Gory and scalped around him, Cold, oh, cold and dead ! Were cherished friends who bound himTo home and vision fled. (.Vifcs. THE DYING TRAPPER. Remnant soon of comrades rally, — Few, oh, few, and sad !Boys, he says, dark seems the valley, Oh, gently raise my head ! THE DYING TRAPPER. g$ Brothers, Lifes crimson tide is flowing, — Soon, oh, soon twill cease !Lone through canon dark Im going To gulch of Woe or glen of Peace. Comrades, long weve roamed together! Drear, oh, drear, we part!Deadly storms scowl oer the heather, — Dims the trail to Heavens Park. But portrait from my bosom never Death, oh, death, shall part !Piercing arrow does not sever, But pinions Laura to my heart! By thy beckning hand invited, Love, oh, love, I come !Severed in life, —in death united, Well evermore be one ! BOZEMAN BOLD. A tale of guide, who daring bandFrom Platte led safe through desert sand, Wild Big-horn gulch and canon lone, To mountain gate of Yellowstone ;No bridge, no boat, no friend to hail, And painted warriors on their trail. Mild autumn days are w