1856.] Ooryi Poetry. 267 



COKN POETRY. 



The West can boast of glorious streams, 



And prairie's grandest lawn — 

 Of lake and forest old and green, 



But most of Indian corn, 

 Large fields of Indian corn. 



'Tis sweet when Summer suns go down, 



When winds have ceased to blow. 

 To list its rustling, crackling sound. 



And think we hear it grow ; 

 It seems so glad to grow. 



I love to pull it from the stalk 



When it is in the milk, 

 And husk it out its sheath, and talk 



Of its soft, shining silk — 

 Its glossy floss, its silk. 



And when at noon aside we dash 



Our work for bell or horn. 

 Give me a dish of succotash 



Or ears of Indian corn — 

 Hot ears of Indian corn. 



I'll take it with a true delight, 



And costlier dishes scorn, 

 For nothing tempts the appetite 



Like ears of roasted corn — 

 Sweet ears of roasted corn. 



Then when its sheaves stand thick about, 



And fruits the fields adorn, 

 How gushes out the merry shout 



From buskers of the corn — 

 The yellow, golden corn. 



Where freedom floats on every breeze. 



And fields of Indian corn 

 Are spread out on the land like seas, 

 I joy that I was born — 

 Blessed land of Indian corn. 



[Iroquois Free Press 



