Bluegrass Ballads

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Thus stalking Wrong, with hard and cruel tread, Crushed low the tender blades of fair intent; Then savage whoop with victim's wail was blent.
Meantime the good Marquette and brave La Salle—
The one, religion's zealous devotee, The other, blazing empire's rugged way—
Fought gallantly the fight, till fate's decree Sent both, untimely, to a tragic end ;
La Salle beside the Mexic gulf laid low, From ambush, by a vile assassin's hand;
And Marquette, where Manistee's waters flow, While homeward bound, to seek from pain
surcease, A soldier in the holy war of peace.
Southward, along Lake Michigan's wild shores,
Deep silence reigns again, save when in fight The warring natives meet, and weapons ply
That give, but dully forth, the sounds when might Braves might, to strive upon the battlefield.
High up, the eagle, listless in the air, Lies poised and motionless, on outstretched wing,
And safely sleeps the wolf beside his lair; Unharmed on yonder plain the bison feeds, And softly flow the waters 'mong the reeds.
But lo! what wondrous sight is that away Upon the swelling bosom of the lake ?