Cincinnati daily press. [volume] (Cincinnati [Ohio]) 1860-1862, 1861-03-01
MOUND BUILDERS. s.
BY L. VIRGINIA FRENCH.

Central America, with its devastated cities
end forest-covered temples; the valley of the
Mississippi, with gigantic mounds and tu-
null; the slopes of Ohio, Virginia and Ten
nessee, with their remains of ancient fortif-
cations, their long hidden cemeteries and
relic holding caverns; all bear indisputable
record of this 'New Worlds mighty and
mysterious past. Who were the tenants Of
those cities, who worshipped in the dim light
of those temples, who fought behind those
broken bulwBrks, who lie crumbliug back to
dust in those caves and cemeteriesH Science,
ingenuity, curiosity, have essayed in vain to
discover something of their names and histo-
ries. ~
Elouuenta as are those ruins, full of deep
lessons to the 'sons of men," crying ever as
with a mighty voice from the depths of the
wilderness, wailing as it were over the
buried and forgotten grandeurs of the race
who raised them, yet they give back not
even the faintest echo of the name of the
''Eyssho," or "people that are lost" Not a
Vestige of their language, not enc mutilated
psge of their history, not even half whis-
per of the names of their beautiful, their
bIavest, or their best nothing but gray frag-
ments Of once mighty fanes, oak grown ruins
of buried cities, aud century-covered tombs.
"Drowned-drowned" forever beneath
Times rushing river, with only here and
there the summit of some lofty mound, the
wall of some old ruined city lifting up
above the waves TO tell us that they we're
and aIe not. The mind stung by the stimu-
lus of an undeveoped mystery, goes reach
ing back, back into the unknown, searching
for the old mound builders of that forgotten
era, sinking at last in blankness and black
ness like the daring thoughts which we send
forth from time to time, seeking to compre-
bend eternity or to fathom infinitude.
In vain our questioning. In vain we cry
SOho and aphdt were these mound builders
D. Al,aNyt tho 10 fnrah Of fha
sian, the red front of the Indian, or the dusky
form Of the Monaghan? Were they the
tropic. hearted denizens of the spice beltI
of bloom and beauty that gird the Equator?
Were they a remnant of the 'lost tribes" of
Gods chosen people? or were they the an
tiuue mold of the old Morse heroes2 "How
lived, how loved, how died. they2 But the
old green mounds in sunny wales, or by the
river shore, answer not-not a murmer
comes up to US of their builders or their
buried.
Turn we then from those Titanic tombs of
the lost, the mound builders of later and 3
lovelier day. To the high hearted and strong
handed heroes who have builded with their
own great deeds far nooler monumental
mounds than those which grace Virginia's
vales, or stand, long silent sentinels on Mis-
sissippis shores. To those who have reared
themselves monuments visible from every
portion of our broad lsnd-whose heroic de-
Votion, whose ALIEN mbraCiDg charity, or
whose deep. souled nationality has fixed their
memories like firm watch towers even upon
the shifting sands of Time.
To our revolutionary sires, whose mounds
were built of living hearts, and cemented
with fresh, flowing blood. To men "born
with the lions mette and the oceans calm"
whose whole lives have been monumental,
so that even the homes where they once
dWelt loom up like Titanic mounds, builded
IN hair cha int 81;
can heart; mounds like Mount Vernon and
Monticello, and Msrshfield like Sunuyside,
and the Hermitage, and Ashland. The mar
BILE mauseleum of Adrian may have been
fitting receptacle for imperial ashes, yet we
revere with a deeper devotion the small
snow mound that shrouds the dust of Frank
lin, and the green turf that lies upon the
heart of Kane, o'ershadowed as they are
with the insignia of an immortal fame.
Grace Darling and Flora Mcdonald, each
by one brave act, erected for herself me-
mortal purer and brighter far than Napoleon
piled through long years and with hecatombs
of men. HeTndoD, who went down into the
heart of the Atlantic, in that one hour built
himself monument which no ocean can
overwhelm, and which shall exist when
"lhere shall be no more sea-"
The man who could give peace-unwaver
ing, all-satisfying peace-to our Republic at
this juncture, would build up in that peace
his own immortal monument. Have we
among Us the man to do it? Have we the
dominant spirit who shall dare, amid con-
tending factions, to lift up his voice and
swear by the blood of our dead heroes, (as
did Demothenes by those who fell at Mara
thon,) that no national wrong shall be done?
Have we the savior, crowned of him who
walked the waves Of Gallilee, who when the
tide of popular feeling roars around US like
an ocean-stormy, brain shaking, filling the
IL ,la- IL, II.
forth upon the raging billows and calm them
with a Peace, be still ?" Have we the law
giveI who, when section meets section with
defisnt 'front.' lion-like glariDg into each
others very eyes shall step between with a
THUS saith the Lord 'Be still and know
that am GOdP
If time shall prove that that man exists
among us, let his monument, as the Savior
of the Republic stand side by side with the
Father of the Republic himself. Unto him
be rendered the highest honors while living
let his name echo like Eogland's 'drum beat
round the world'-apd when dead may a
new Mount Vernon receive him to its peace
ful shades. Side by side with him who was
our Prophet Priest and Pioneer, he shall
stand ''frst in the hearts of his countrymen."
In the worlds memory he shall lie en-
balmed side by side with him whom the
plOwman Of Marathon blesses as he remem-
bers the struggle of his own land for liberty;
whom the Swiss peasant reverences among
men as be does Mont Blanc among the
mountains; upon whose statue the deep eyed
Italian gazes with an affectionate enthusiasm;
whom France remembers as the bosom friend
Of her Lafayette; who, while Poland has one
patriotic exile, will be loved as the chief who
led on her PulAske and her Kosciusko; the
man whom even "the poor Indian has i'm
Doriaized, by making him the only 'pale
lace who Will ever be allowed by the Great
Spirit to enter the "l,appy hunting ground"
Turn We now TO Death, the mighty mound.
builder for all time. Ah those mounds
low, narrow mounds--he builds them every
day around us. Small they may be, SEEM
ingly, and yet they may hide all the sun
Light from us-nay, hide heaven itself for
season. Very narrow they may be, SEEM
iDgiy, and yet they may hold all our earthly
reasure, leaving us beggared and utterly DESC
late. Very short they may be, seemingly, and
yet the shadow that falls from them may dark.
ndOwn along the weary years Of lifetime:
Whatever mausoleums we may erect for our
felTes nc NIL sutely raise for Us little one