BY JENNIE M. FOWLER.
Beautiful tower! famous in history,
Rich in legend, in old-time mystery,
Graced with tales of Indian lore,
Crowned with beauty from summit to shore.
Below, winds the river, silent and still,
Nestling so calmly 'mid island and hill,
Above, like warriors, proudly and grand
Tower the forest-trees, monarchs of land.
A land-mark for all to admire and wonder,
With thy history ancient, for nations to ponder,
Boldly thou liftest thy head to the breeze,
Crowned with thy plumes, the nodding trees.
Years now are goneþforever more fled,
Since the Indian crept, with cat-like tread,
With moccasined foot, with eagle eyeþ
The red men our foes in ambush, lie.
The owl, still his nightly vigil keeps,
While the river, below him, peacefully sleeps,
The whip-poor-will utters his plaintive cry,
The trees still whisper, and gently sigh.
The pale moon still creeps from her daily rest,
Throwing her rays oe'r the river's dark breast,
The katy-did and cricket, I trow,
In days gone by, churruped, even as now.
Indian! thy camp-fires no longer are smouldering,
Thy bones,'neath the forest-moss long have been mouldering,
The "Great Spirit" claims thee! He leadeth thy tribe,
To new hunting-grounds not won with a bribe.
On thy Watch Tow'r, the "pale-face" his home now makes,
His dwelling, the site of the forest-tree takes,
Gone are thy wigwams, the wild deer long fled,
Black Hawk, with his tribe, lie silent and dead.
Rock Island, Aug. 18, 1882.