Οιον το γλυκύμαλον ερεύθεται άκρω επ’ ύσδω άκρον επ’ ακροτάτω: λελάθοντο δε μαλοδρόπηες, ου μαν εκλελαθοντ’, αλλ’ ούκ εδύναντ’ επίκεσθαι. The following narrative, though complete in itself, is designe...

Οιον το γλυκύμαλον ερεύθεται άκρω επ’ ύσδω άκρον επ’ ακροτάτω: λελάθοντο δε μαλοδρόπηες, ου μαν εκλελαθοντ’, αλλ’ ούκ εδύναντ’ επίκεσθαι....

The following narrative, though complete in itself, is designed to be the first piece in a cycle of poems dealing with the fur trade period of the Trans-Missouri region. The Song of Hugh Glass, which ...

Who now reads clear the roster of that band? Alas, Time scribbles with a careless hand And often pinchbeck doings from that pen Bite deep, where deeds and dooms of mighty men Are blotted out beneath a...

Who now reads clear the roster of that band? Alas, Time scribbles with a careless hand And often pinchbeck doings from that pen Bite deep, where deeds and dooms of mighty men Are blotted out beneath a...

When Major Henry went Up river at the head of Ashley’s band, Already there were robins in the land. Home-keeping men were following the plows And through the smoke-thin greenery of boughs The scatteri...

Now came at dawn a party of the Bloods, Who told of having paddled seven nights To parley for their people with the Whites, The long way lying ’twixt a foe and foe; For ever on their right hand lurked...

There was a woman. What enchantment falls Upon that far off revel! How the din Of jangling voices, chaffering to win The lesser values, hushes at the words, As dies the dissonance of brawling birds Up...

Perceptibly, at length, The days grew longer, and the winter’s strength Increased to fury. Down across the flat The blizzards bellowed; and the people sat Fur-robed about the smoky fires that stung Th...

Bull-roaring March had swept across the land, And now the evangelic goose and crane, Forerunners of the messianic Rain, Went crying through the wilderness aloft. Fog hid the sun, and yet the snow grew...

It seemed the end, and yet ’twas not the end. A day that wind of horror and surprise Blew high; and then, as when the tempest dies And only aspens prattle, as they will, Though pines win silence and t...

They made a camp Well up above the crawling valley damp, And where no prowling beast might chance to come. There was no fuel; but a flask of rum, Thanks to the buckskin, dulled the evening chill. And ...

When you are old enough to know The joys of kite and boat and bow And other suchlike splendid things That boyhood’s rounded decade brings, I shall not give you tropes and rhymes; But, rising to those ...

When you are old enough to know The joys of kite and boat and bow And other suchlike splendid things That boyhood’s rounded decade brings, I shall not give you tropes and rhymes; But, rising to those ...

The following narrative is based upon an episode taken from that much neglected portion of our history, the era of the American Fur Trade. My interest in that period may be said to have begun at the a...

If the average student of Western American History in our schools were asked to recall those names which loom large for him during the four decades from the purchase of the Louisiana Territory to the ...

The year was eighteen hundred twenty three. ’Twas when the guns that blustered at the Ree Had ceased to brag, and ten score martial clowns Turned from the unwhipped Aricara towns, Earning the scornful...

The year was eighteen hundred twenty three. ’Twas when the guns that blustered at the Ree Had ceased to brag, and ten score martial clowns Turned from the unwhipped Aricara towns, Earning the scornful...

No one may say what time elapsed, or when The slumberous shadow lifted over Hugh: But some globose immensity of blue Enfolded him at last, within whose light He seemed to float, as some faint swimmer ...

Straight away Beneath the flare of dawn, the Ree land lay, And through it ran the short trail to the goal. Thereon a grim turnpikeman waited toll: But ’twas so doomed that southering geese should flee...

Not long Hugh let the lust of vengeance gnaw Upon him idling; though the tale he told And what report proclaimed him, were as gold To buy a winter’s comfort at the Post. “I can not rest; for I am but ...

The Country of the Crows, Through which the Big Horn and the Rosebud run, Sees over mountain peaks the setting sun; And southward from the Yellowstone flung wide, It broadens ever to the morning side ...

When I began the gift I bear It seemed you weren’t anywhere; But being younger now I know How even fifty moons ago The apple bloom began to seek The proper tinting for a cheek; The skies, aware of thr...

When I began the gift I bear It seemed you weren’t anywhere; But being younger now I know How even fifty moons ago The apple bloom began to seek The proper tinting for a cheek; The skies, aware of thr...

The Song of the Indian Wars is a part of the Epic Cycle of the West upon which I have been working for eleven years. However, as the reader will note, it is complete in itself, as are the two other pa...

At last the four year storm of fratricide Had ceased at Appomattox, and the tide Of war-bit myriads, like a turning sea’s, Recoiled upon the deep realities That yield no foam to any squall of change. ...

At last the four year storm of fratricide Had ceased at Appomattox, and the tide Of war-bit myriads, like a turning sea’s, Recoiled upon the deep realities That yield no foam to any squall of change. ...

Sullenly a gale That blustered rainless up the Bozeman Trail Was bringing June again; but not the dear Deep-bosomed mother of a hemisphere That other regions cherish. Flat of breast, More passionate t...

Serenely now the ghost of summer dreamed On Powder River. ’Twas the brooding time, With nights of starlight glinting on the rime That cured the curly grass for winter feed, And days of blue and gold w...

Long since the column, pushing north again With Carrington, had left the little post On Laramie; unwitting how the ghost Of many a trooper, lusty yet and gay, Disconsolately drifting back that way, Sh...

Meanwhile Where ran the Bozeman Road along the bleak North slope of Lodge Trail Ridge to Peno Creek, Big hopes were burning. Silence waited there. The brown land, even as the high blue air, Seemed emp...

Besieging January made the plain One vast white camp to reinforce the foe That watched the fort. Mad cavalries of snow Assaulted; stubborn infantries of cold Sat round the walls and waited. Wolves gre...

Summer turned. Where blackbirds chattered and the scrub oaks burned In meadows of the Milk and Musselshell, The fatted bison sniffed the winter-smell Beneath the whetted stars, and drifted south. Acro...

Autumn’s goad Had thronged the weed-grown Powder River Road With bison following the shrinking green. Again the Platte and Smoky Hill had seen The myriads nosing at the dusty hem Of Summer’s robe; and...

Meanwhile among the Powder River breaks, Where cottonwoods and plums and stunted oaks Made snug his village of a hundred smokes, Young Crazy Horse was waiting for the spring. Well found his people wer...

Now wheresoever thawing breezes blew And green began to prickle in the brown, There went the tale of Crazy Horse’s town To swell a mood already growing there. For something more than Spring was in the...

Far away, One foggy morning in the midst of May, Fort Lincoln had beheld the marshalling Of Terry’s forces; heard the bugle sing, The blaring of the band, the brave hurrah Of Custer’s men recalling Wa...

Now it came to pass, That late June morning on the Greasy Grass, Two men went fishing, warriors of the Sioux; And, lonesome in the silence of the two, A youngster pictured battles on the sand. Once mo...

Moon wore by, And in the rainless waning of July Ten thousand hearts were troubled where the creeks, Young from the ancient winter of the peaks, Romped in the mountain meadows green as May. The very c...

And now ’twas done. Spring found the waiting fort at Robinson A half-moon ere the Little Powder knew; And, doubting still what Crazy Horse might do When tempted by the herald geese a-wing To join the ...

Pronounced Po-po-zha. ↩...