I dream of the wide, wide prairies Touched with their glistening sheen, The coyotes' cry and the wind-swept sky And the waving billows of green! And oh, for a night in the open Where no sound discordant mars, And the marvelous glow, when the sun is low, And the silence under the stars! Ho, wind from the western prairies! Ho, voice from a far domain! I feel in your breath what I'll feel till death, The call of the plains again! The call of the Spirit of Freedom To the spirit of freedom in me; My heart leaps high with a jubilant cry And I answer in ecstasy! _Ethel MacDiarmid._ WHERE THE GRIZZLY DWELLS[4] I ADMIRE the artificial art of the East; But I love more the inimitable art of the West, Where nature's handiwork lies in virginal beauty. Amidst the hum of city life I saunter back to dreams of home. Astride the back of my trusty steed I wander away, losing myself In the foothills of the Rockies. Away from human habitations, Up the rugged slopes, Through the timbered stretches, I hear the frightful cry of wolves And see a bear sneaking up behind. Many nights ago, While herding a bunch of cattle During the round-up season, I lay upon the grass Looking at the mated stars; I wondered if a cowboy Could go to the Unknown Place, The Happy Hunting Ground, When this short life is over. But, here or there, I shall always live In the land of mountain air Where the grizzly dwells And sage brush grows; Where mountain trout are not a few; In the land of the Bitterroot,-- The Indian land,--Land of the Golden West. _James Fox._ [4] Fox is a halfbreed Indian who sent me a lot of verse. Although he had never heard of Walt Whitman, these stanzas suggest that poet. The spelling and punctuation are mine. A COWBOY TOAST HERE'S to the passing cowboy, the plowman's pioneer; His home, the boundless mesa, he of any man the peer; Around his wide sombrero was stretched the rattler's hide, His bridle sporting conchos, his lasso at his side. All day he roamed the prairies, at night he, with the stars, Kept vigil o'er thousands held by neither posts nor bars; With never a diversion in all the lonesome land, But cattle, cattle, cattle, and sun and sage and sand. Sometimes the hoot-owl hailed him, when scudding through the flat; And prairie dogs would sauce him, as at their doors they sat; The rattler hissed its warning when near its haunts he trod Some Texas steer pursuing o'er the pathless waste of sod. With lasso, quirt, and 'colter the cowboy knew his skill; They pass with him to history and naught their place can fill; While he, bold broncho rider, ne'er conned a lesson page,-- But cattle, cattle, cattle, and sun and sand and sage.