They sought, yea, they did find their rest Along that long and lonesome way, These brave men buffeting the West With lifted faces. Full were they Of great endeavor. Brave and true As stern Crusader clad in steel, They died a-field as it was fit. Made strong with hope, they dared to do Achievement that a host to-day Would stagger at, stand back and reel, Defeated at the thought of it. What brave endeavor to endure! What patient hope, when hope was past! What still surrender at the last, A thousand leagues from hope! how pure They lived, how proud they died! How generous with life! The wide And gloried age of chivalry Hath not one page like this to me. Let all these golden days go by, In sunny summer weather. I But think upon my buried brave, And breathe beneath another sky. Let beauty glide in gilded car, And find my sundown seas afar, Forgetful that 'tis but one grave From eastmost to the westmost wave. Yea, I remember! The still tears That o'er uncoffin'd faces fell! The final, silent, sad farewell! God! these are with me all the years! They shall be with me ever. I Shall not forget. I hold a trust. They are a part of my existence. When Adown the shining iron track You sweep, and fields of corn flash back, And herds of lowing steers move by, And men laugh loud, in mute distrust, I turn to other days, to men Who made a pathway with their dust. XV. At last he pass'd all men or sign Of man. Yet still his long black line Was push'd and pointed for the west; The sea, the utmost sea, and rest. He climbed, descended, climbed again, Until he stood at last as lone, As solitary and unknown, As some lost ship upon the main. O there was grandeur in his air, An old-time splendor in his eye, When he had climb'd the bleak, the high, The rock-built bastions of the plain, And thrown a-back his blown white hair, And halting turn'd to look again. And long, from out his lofty place, He look'd far down the fading plain For his pursuers, but in vain. Yea, he was glad. Across his face A careless smile was seen to play, The first for many a stormy day. He turn'd to Ina, dark and fair As some sad twilight; touch'd her hair, Stoop'd low, and kiss'd her silently, Then silent held her to his breast. Then waved command to his black men, Look'd east, then mounted slow, and then Led leisurely against the west. And why should he, who dared to die, Who more than once with hissing breath Had set his teeth and pray'd for death, Have fled these men, or wherefore fly Before them now? why not defy?