Page:How Marcus Whitman Saved Oregon.djvu/204



The Columbia meets the Pacific tides;

Before him—four thousand miles before— 182

Four thousand miles from his cabin door,

The Potomac meets the Atlantic. On

Over the trail grown rough and steep,

Now soft on the snow, now loud on the rock,

Is heard the tramp of his steed as he rides.

The United States must keep Oregon.

It was October when he left

The Walla Walla, though little heed

Paid he to the season. Nay, indeed,

In the lonely canyons just ahead,

Little mattered it what the almanac said.

He heard the coyotes bark; but they

Are harmless creatures. No need to fear

A deadly rattlesnake coiled too near.

No rattlesnake ever was so bereft

Of sense as to creep out such a day

In the frost. Nay, scarce would a grizzly care

For a sniff at him. Only a man would dare

The bitter cold, in whose heart and brain

Burned the quenchless flame of a great desire;

A man with nothing himself to gain

From success, but whose heart-blood kept its fire

While with freezing face he rode on and on.

The United States must keep Oregon.

It was November when they came

To the icy stream. Would he hesitate?

Not he, the man who carried a State

At his saddle bow. They have made the leap;

Horse and rider have plunged below

The icy current that could not tame

Their proud life-current's fiercer flow.

They swim for it, reach it, clutch the shore,

Climb the river bank, cold and steep,

Mount, and ride the rest of that day,

Cased in an armor close and fine

As ever an ancient warrior wore;

Armor of ice that dared to shine