John Filson had no sepulcher, Except the wildwood dim; The mournful voices of the air Made requiem for him. The druid trees their waving arms Uplifted o’er his head; The moon a pallid veil of light Upon his visage spread. The rain and sun of many years Have worn his bones away, And what he vaguely prophesied We realize today. Losantiville, the prophet’s word, The poet’s hope fulfils,-- She sits a stately Queen to-day Amid her royal hills! Then come, ye pedagogues, and join To sing a grateful lay For him, the martyr pioneer, Who led for you the way. And may my simple ballad be A monument to save His name from blank oblivion, Who never had a grave. JOHNNY APPLESEED. A Ballad of the Old Northwest. A midnight cry appalls the gloom, The puncheon door is shaken: “Awake! arouse! and flee the doom! Man, woman, child, awaken! “Your sky shall glow with fiery beams Before the morn breaks ruddy! The scalpknife in the moonlight gleams, Athirst for vengeance bloody!” Alarumed by the dreadful word Some warning tongue thus utters, The settler’s wife, like mother bird, About her young ones flutters. Her first-born, rustling from a soft Leaf-couch, the roof close under, Glides down the ladder from the loft, With eyes of dreamy wonder. The pioneer flings open wide The cabin door, naught fearing; The grim woods drowse on every side, Around the lonely clearing. “Come in! come in! nor like an owl Thus hoot your doleful humors; What fiend possesses you, to howl Such crazy, coward rumors?” The herald strode into the room; That moment, through the ashes, The back-log struggled into bloom Of gold and crimson flashes. The glimmer lighted up a face, And o’er a figure dartled, So eerie, of so solemn grace, The bluff backwoodsman startled. The brow was gathered to a frown, The eyes were strangely glowing, And, like a snow-fall drifting down, The stormy beard went flowing. The tattered cloak that round him clung Had warred with foulest weather; Across his shoulders broad were flung Brown saddlebags of leather. One pouch with hoarded seed was packed, From Pennland cider-presses; The other garnered book and tract Within its creased recesses. A glance disdainful and austere, Contemptuous of danger, Cast he upon the pioneer, Then spake the uncouth stranger: “Heed what the Lord’s anointed saith; Hear one who would deliver Your bodies and your souls from death; List ye to John the Giver. “Thou trustful boy, in spirit wise Beyond thy father’s measure, Because of thy believing eyes I share with thee my treasure.