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NIGHT ON THE PRAIRIE.

I.

The sable garb of darkness clothes the land,

And twilight's sickly hue bids day farewell;

The prairie's vast expanse on either hand

Marks solitude's domain. O'er hill and dell,

And wide-extended plain, I cast my eyes,

To view, perchance, some grove or fav'ring stream,

And hie me thitherward while yet the gleam

Of day's fast-failing light bepaints the skies

With tints scarce seen, —for there I'd seek repose,

But for them look in vain; so here, alone,

Wearied and worn, I sit me down and close

My tiresome wanderings, —nor bate to own

The chilling thrill of terror o'er me creeps,

And from my mind all thoughts of slumber keeps!

II.

Oh, Solitude! First-born of Night! 'Tis here

Thy reign is undisputed! Here no noise

Of human feet doth greet thy list'ning ear,

Save chance as mine, or savage want enjoys

His arms at chase or rage at bloody war!

Here haunts the beast of prey. The starved wolfs howl

In ceaseless concert swells! The midnight owl

Joins in his dolesome lay;—the raven's caw

Loud mingles with the panther's yell, —and then

The hoarse-toned bison grunts his bass, and makes

Thy dismal realm more drear to lonely men.

Æolus here his fresh-form'd wind awakes,

And marks its speed unchecked; whose whistling moan

O'er thy domain makes loneliness more lone!

III.

My thoughts, now kindred to the scene, arise

In hurried flight, whose hideous aspects wake,

Full quick, imagination's sleepless eyes,

That conjure up such frightful forms as shake

The boldest hearts with dread. In every herb

Of prouder growth, —whose prongs the sweeping blast

Hath taught to move, —some foe of savage cast

Appears and threatens ill, as if to curb

The onward progress of the god of sleep:

(For here man sees his fellow man, unknown,

As foe; and, arm'd for fight, he minds to keep

The strictest watch, lest, from advantage shown,

He tempt unlucky war.) So hurriedly

I snatch my arms to fight each form I