The ragged sky-line high in air Sits boundary to sight And seems to end the world; But topping it by way well worn by braver pioneer, A fertile, home-filled dale is found Where love holds warm, And schools and churches dot the land. But while the slow-drawn old stagecoach With load of dust-clad travelers Crawls over jolting, stone-filled ruts, The puffing beasts, sweat-covered, Winding in and out among the stately pines (Where friendly Nature spreads her yellow moss O'er bleaching arms long since deprived of life), May now be seen a mother deer Half hidden 'mong the sloping boughs; Alert, ears high, eyes wide, body so tense And motionless. In silence all The passengers admire the instinct-love Which not affrights the spotted babe Fast sleeping at her feet. "There are no guns aboard!" says one. "But if there were, how could one's heart Be hard enough to murder mother-love?" Said I. THE SHEPHERD The tired shepherd stands among his ewes That with their lambs are unafraid Of him and keen-eyed dogs; They crouch close in about his feet Whene'er the coyote's cry Or bear's low growl Falls tingling on the timid ear. Himself thrusts gun to elbow-place And peers amid the dust-dressed sage And scented chaparral so dense, To glimpse the fiery eyeballs Of the prowler of the hills; While all awatch the faithful collies stand Prepared to fend e'en with their lives The young and helpless not their own. THE FEATHERED DRUMMER The wooded thicket holds a drum. The air in springtime afternoons Is filled with sharp staccato notes Whose echoes clear reverberate From precipice and timbered hills. No fifer plays accompaniment; No pageant proud or marching throng Keeps step to this deep pulsing bass Whose sullen solo booms afar.