Weekly Chemawa American., March 13, 1903, Image 1

The Chemawa American,
Published Weekly.
Idle Rhymes Of an Idle
Tellow.
DYING DREAMS
And then increasing fury marked the fight,
The day was won and lost a hundred times;
The Bird of Victory made uncertain flight,
But now he hovers o'er the rebel lines.
I sea the Union men, in lines of blue,
Fight desperately to chock the pressing
tide;
I see the rebel hordes press on anew,
And place their banner on the farthest
trench.
I see that loyal band brave men,
Outnumbered three to one, make stand
And hue with ready hand, a certain end.
But yet the conquering legion rushes on, -The
Union leaders fall before the storm,
And left without a champion in the strife,
The little army waits in deadly-plight.
Without champion? Nay, I meau not so,
ForseelTbey've found a leader in the ranks I
Naught but a youth! 0 gallant youth!
See how he leads the veteran warriors on!
And plunges foremost 'gal net the rebel line!
Kee how the soldiers rally at hie call!
And see the rebel chargers backward ' falll
llrave lad, press oul Force back the
shattered foe I
For victory ever comes BUcll as you.
But see! Alas, he's down! A sabre's thrust!
And yet the day Is won, for God is just.
Ere long the moon rose o'er the battle's
And shone upon the harvest lying there;
Its countenance, so cairn and so seiene,
Cast radiance o'er the dead and dying
. there;
And fondly gazing up into her face,,
A tender youth lay wrapt in death's
embrace.
The end creeps on apace and mem'ry brings
Before his fading vision countless scenes
That marked a sad and bitter lot in life.
In dying dreams he's now a lad of four,
He sits upon a loving father's knee.
And hears the tales of wond'rous men of
yore,
Or babbles childish rhymes in childish
glee. -His
fancy brings his mothei'a song, as o'er
His cradle bending, Bhe croons an ancient
lullaby,
Her sweet carresses lending, ,
The loving song now turns to bitter tears,
A darkness steals upon his childhood days;
The first bereavement of biB younger yearB,
A father's coffin lowered In the grave.
Now poverty and sorrow claim their rule,
His boyish toil supports a stricken
mother.
Until, O, fate, how cruel! How unkind!
Bhe passes from his lonely life forever.
Forgotten scenes in quick succession fly
On rapid wing, before his fading eye,
Of hardship nobly fought, of triumphs won,
Success so dearly bought, by patience won.
And now h holds in love's last fond
embrace.
His sweetheart's dying form and sees her
face
In halo looking down on him from Heaven;
And like an angel, smiles and calls his
And then he passes o'er the shadow'y river,
To meet the ones he loved and stay forever.