The Chemawa American, October 01, 1912, Page 13, Image 13

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8
THE
CHEM AW A
AM ERICAN
W hich would warm the blood and
Make th e feasts m ore glad and m erry.
On th e sands the grow ing children,
Braves and klootchm en yet to be,
Played th e livelong day in gladness,
G ladness th a t the sun was sh in in g ,
T h a t sum m er days yet lingered,
T h at the w inter tim e had come not,
T h at the sands were warm and level,
F o r the h earts of children ever
T ake small heed of w hat has come not;
T h in k they only of the present,
Of the present and its pastim es—
N ever th in k they on the future.
A h-de-dah! T h a t tim e is past now.
W here are now those m erry people?
W here th e la u g h ter and the singing,
W here the joy, th e peaceful pleasures?
W ho beguiles th e darksom e w inter
W ith th e legend, song and dancing,
W ith th e tales of days long gone?
W here are th ey w ho peopled
All th e shining sands of Hwulch?
Skyue, w ith its ten ts of cedar,
Shacks of shake and cedar bark,
M ight reply and, m ournful, tell us
W here th e D H A D have pitched th eir tents.
But th e graves of Skyue speak not,
L ike th eir people they are silent,
S ilent for th eir tongues are quiet,
Q uiet w ith the d u st th a t sleepeth
Its long, last, eternal sleep.
S k y u e’s surges sadly sighing,
Tell of days th a t used to be,
Tell of stren g th and war and prowess,
T ell of love and n ig h ts of dream ing
W hen th e moon was at its fullest.
O ’er th e graves th e yew trees m u rm u r
Cadences of grief and sorrow ,
L ike th e ten d er, ten d er crooning
W hich th e d o tin g m other m aketh
T o her babe, in barken cradle,
Drow sy w ith th e slum berous singing.
W here are now the m erry people