All the village of Rikawrus Is a pageant of mirth, As a band of Cheyenne warriors, With their painted shield and girth, Ride and chant a song of triumph, All in war paints bloody red, With a crest of eagle feathers Bristling gayly from each head. Hear the dance and savage music— Roman revel gone insane— Old and young in gaudy trappings— Painted demons "raising Cain." Scalps and trophies, shields and banners Deck the wigwams and the trees— Shouting heralds spread the tidings Of the recent victories. Bonfires glare in garish glee, Ghoulish shadows farther crawl, Till a silence suddenly O'er the feasting seems to fall. From the bleak and barren mountain, Looming grim upon the plain, Comes a wail upon the night wind Like a desert ghost in pain. Worse than wail of starving panther, Dismal as from doomèd souls, Louder, longer, wilder, weirder, Wave on wave the anguish rolls. They are poor, defenseless women— Women wailing for their dead— Hungry, cold, and all forsaken— Winter's blast upon their head. One by one had they departed, When a runner first revealed That a husband, son, or lover Had been left upon the field. Lonely Chip-pe-wy-an Mountains Mock the cadence of their cry— If the wolf-pack soon assembles They will neither fight nor fly. Tell me not, O sordid Saxon, That an Indian cannot feel— That the "font of his affections Has been frozen cold as steel." True, he has been dwarfed and hardened— Made to drink life's bitter mead, Made the target of the tempest, And the victim of our greed. But, Shoshone or Cheyenne, Sioux, Nez Percé, Powhatan— Still beneath the stoic breast Beats the aching heart of man. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE FLOWER BOAT by ROBERT FROST THE COLOR SERGEANT by JAMES WELDON JOHNSON THE THREE MUSICIANS by AUBREY BEARDSLEY FROM MY WINDOW by BERTHA SCOFIELD BRADBURY TO THOS. FLOYD by ROBERT SEYMOUR BRIDGES O, FOR ANE-AND-TWENTY by ROBERT BURNS A HINT TO CHRISTIAN POETS by JOHN BYROM |