Wood County reporter. [volume] (Grand Rapids [i.e. Wisconsin Rapids], Wis.) 1857-1923, 1897-03-04
THE OLD INDIAN TRAIL,

A deep worn trail of ancient make
Went out from shore of western lake
An Indian trail of unknown date,
Relic of tribes cut off by fate.
A thousand years before we came
This trail was lit by campfire flame
This trail was red with warriors
blood
Before the pilgrims crossed the flood
Here hero brave, long years ago,
This warpath trod to meet his foe;
Out on these plains along this trail
The dusky warrior must not fail;
The best his savage heart held dear
His home, his tribe, his all were here
The hunters feet in silence came
This way in search of wary game.
And early learned from hunters part
The Indian warriors stealthy art.
No eye more quick, no hand more
def
Where club, Or knife, or arrow cleft
In chase or war he stood supreme,
In love-the forest maiden's dream.
All, love! vast here in ancient day
That Cupid learned the hunters way?
Is this where Cupid found his dart
With aim unerring for the heart?
I'm sure Of this, that wild or tame
The heart Of man is still the same.
That lover here in ancient day
Presaged our daint,T modern way.
Along this trail the mother pressed
Her first born savage to her breast,
Knew all the depth in rougher mold
Of love, mothers heart may hold
Their savage life here swept along
Thro' unknown ages deep and strong,
o, now those silent Indian feet
Wear deep the trail and oft repeat
Their tragedy Of heather fears
Through all those centuries of years
They lived and loved, they warred
and died.
Can nothing but trail abide?
This faded trail perchance began
With ancient, prehistoric man.
What countless millions of their race
Have found oblivion's burial place,
How came they here? No man may
tell,
Oblivion blots that story we'll.
They were-they're gone. Is this
the lot
Of heather tribes, to be forgot?
Some rude primeyal relics found
Inside their ancient burial mound
Some dim traditions light the way
Backward with but feeble ray.
Their generations came and went
ThrO' all those ages, fruitless spent
A heather midnight-over all
Unlighted darkness like a pail
One glimmering ray alone was found
Their hope of Happy Hunting Ground
One single beam, one ray of light,
In all that wilderness Of night,
From Manitou, our COD OF love,
A single message from above.
Along this trail they heard his voice
Perhaps-but dim-made him their
choice.
Too late! their savage reign is passed,
Their day Of doom arrived at last
Along this trail I saw them go
In single le-reluctant-slow
The deadly rife ever pressed
Their steps. reluctant, to the west.
I saw their warriors faint and quail
And fly along his very trail
The last of all their race went by
Nor uttered one despairing cry.
AS silent as their ancient dead
They passed with noiseless Indian
tread,
Forever passed the homes and graves
Ancestral-lOng q line of braves.
This trail-their ancient life's high
way,
Is covered up and lost today,
Like those who made it forced to
yield
A place for white mems teaming field
But looking backwards through the
years
| still recall the hopes and fears
That thrilled a pioneering band
Of early settlers in this land;
[ sometimes dream and see the ghost
Of all that savage countless host
Go by again with silent tread,
The spirit warriors of their dead
S. S. Stub.
Whitewater, Wis