II. THE PIONEER

I creep along, but silently,

For, oh, the dawn is coming;

I creep along, for I have heard

A flint-tipped arrow, humming;

And I have heard a snapping twig,

Above the wind's low laughter;

And I have known — and thrilled to know,

That swift THEY followed after!

The forest turns from black to grey,

The leaves are silver-shining;

But I have heard a far-off call —

The war-whoop's sullen whining.

And I have been a naked form,

Among the tree trunks prowling;

And I have glimpsed a savage face,

That faded from me, scowling.

A rosy color sweeps the sky,

A vagrant lark is singing,

But, as I steal along the trail,

I know that day is bringing

A host of red-skins in its train,

Their tommy-hawks are gleaming —

I SEE THEM NOW; or can it be

The first pale sunlight beaming?