The new Northwest. [volume] (Portland, Or.) 1871-1887, 1877-06-22
THE OREGON PIONEERS.
by sYL c. SIMPSON,

THE following beautiful and suggestive poem
vas written for the annual reunion OF the Pio-
leer Association, but unfortunately was not
eceived in time TO be read at the June meet
ng:l
In the dusk of forgotten years,
And the rain Of their drifting woe,
Where the city OF Priam rears
Dim walls by Scamander's flow,
Lies the harp that old Homer strung
On the fabled and fading shore,
When the story of Troy was young,
And Calv'ry was far before.
In the silence Of eld, and the dew
or the sorrowful mists of time,
As the ages go on and renew
The ehalice of life sublime,
His harp lies at rest, though his song
Is echoing onward still,
OBTAINING the beautiful throng
Of the gods on the classic hill.
But the heroes of war rem ain,
And, alert as the call of fate,
They return to the stormy plain
From the ships and the Scaean gate;
And the groups.Of the glorious gods,
In the court of the thunderer, Jove,
Lean over, and note where mods
Each plume that they hate or love.
Bold hearts that have gained the west
Nor Hector nor Peleus' son
In their knightltest deeds and best
Have rivaled what you have done
For spirit of valor doth yet
In the bosom of manhood burn,
Though the genius of Homer has set
And the gods nevermore return.
In the faces that circle here
Are the signets of toll and care,
But the light of a purpose clear
Yet fingers, like sunset, there;
And 1 read, on your brows of calm,
The record of many q fray,
In the scars that have won the palm,
And the lines that have come to stay.
For read of the toiling train,
And the trail of its dust afar,
And the Crows and the Sioux, again
Are lowering cloud of war
of the graves that you have left, with tears,
In the deserts of sand and sage,
And the sorrow that seams and sears
With a heavier hand than age.
And read of the sweet desires
That you wreathed on the sunsets bars,
As ever your red camp-fres
Were travelling on with the stars
TIL the goal of your hearts was won
In themists of Pacitic's spray,
In the purple tents OF the sun,
And the camp OF the weary day.
Where the forests o'ershadowed, and where
The fountains of crystal are born,
And the mystical voice of the fir
Is singing at eve and at morn,
Your cabin is built in day,
And the wife is enthrOned, TO her Joy,
And you look and rejoice, and you say.
she is fairer than Helen of Troy !"
And the rife, the axe, and the pillow,
Are the texts that you preach to the wild,
And the crests of the forests bow,
And the wastes, by your toll beguiled
Move back with a wider sweep
From orchards and fields of grain,
And you sow. though you may not reap,
In the shadowy days of pain.
For the tocsin of war may call
The tOiler from feEce or field,
And you go where so many fall,
And you fight till the foemen yield -
1t was thus. in the bronze of toll,
And the blood OF the patriots fate,
And deep in the rocks and soil
| You grounded the pillars of State.
| On his throne of the wild Cascades
] Sits the glittering monarch, Hood,
As the days with their wheeling shades,
Pass on in a solemn mood;
| And away to the east and the west,
In the seas Of the golden air,
He may see that mis- wilds are dressed
With a glory of harvests rare.
And the rivers are tracked with foam,
| As the steamers go up and down,
And the glittering spire and dome
Mark many a busy town;
And from myriad homes there springs
A muTmur of sweet content,
And tits there, though no Homer sings,
True souls, you have monument
But by many mansion fair,
In the shade of the dreaming frs,
| Where the spider is weaving her snare
To the music of dropping burs,
Is the cabin you built the days
That tested the fibre of men,
| And the sOfteSt of sunlight plays
On the root that you loved 50 then
So rude, and unIoveIy and old,
By the side of your mansion fair,
1t is clasped in the richest gold
OF the OdOrous summer air;
But a mansion not made by hands,
Is gliding their dreams as il nears,
And the Angel OF Welcome stands
At the door of the Pioneers