The Poems of John Rollin Ridge
by Jeff Ward

Originally Published by Henry Payot & Company, Publishers.

Far in a Lonely Wood

[*This untitled poem was signed "Yellow Bird," and dated "Osage, July 18, 1847. It was reprinted in the Arkansas Gazette, July 20, 1941.]

Far in a lonely wood I wandered once,
Where warbling birds of melancholy wing
And music sad rehearsed their melancholy songs.
All else was silent save the whispering leaves
Strewn by autumnal winds, or here and there
A stream which ever poured a mournful sound
Amid those solitudes so dim, where shadows
Vast and tall, eternal threw their flickering
Darkness. Retrospection sadly turned my mind
To scenes now painted on the map of Time
Long past. And as I wandered on, I mused
On greatness fall'n, beauteous things destroyed;
When suddenly my footstep paused before
A mound of moss-grown earth. I wondered,
For a while, what mortal here had found
A resting place? But soon I minded me,
That many years agone a noble race
Had roamed these forest-wilds among and made
These mountain fastnesses rebound to shouts
Of liberty untamed, and happiness
That knew no bounds. I recollected now,
That, save but a few, they all had fled,
And, fleeing, left some bones behind; the only
Mark that this fair land was once their heritage.
By Nature's gift to her untutored sons.
Then thought I, "This must be the grave of one
Who ranked among the warriors of the
Wilderness!–And when he saw his country
Doomed, his tribe o'erthrown, and his strong arm
Grown weak before his pale-faced foes; and when
He knew the hour was come, in which his soul
Must leave the form it once had moved to noble
Deeds, and travel to the hunting-grounds, where erst
His fathers went, he here had dug his grave,
And singing wild his death-song to the wind,
Sunk down and died!"
Sleep on, dark warrior.
Whoe'er thou art! My hand shall not disturb
The slightest stem that takes its nutriment
From thee. The white man's share may plough some other
Mounds where Red men sleep, round which no mourner
Stands in watch to guard the relics of a friend;
But no rude step, and no rude hand shall e'en
Despoil the beauty of this silent spot;
Or sacrilegiously disturb the rest
Of one lone Indian form. Sleep on!
The storms that howled around thy head long,
Long ago, and tutored thy stern heart
To agony, have ceased. A thousand cities
Stand, where once thy nation's wigwam stood,
And numerous palaces of giant strength
Are floating down the streams when long ago
Thy bark was gliding. All is changed.
Then sleep thou on! Perchance this peace, denied
In life, within the lonely grave is found.

The Poems of John Rollin Ridge by Jeff Ward

Originally Published by Henry Payot & Company, Publishers.

Far in a Lonely Wood

The Poems of John Rollin Ridge
by Jeff Ward