



The prairie grasses grow close and sweet 

 Where the prong-horn is bounding wild and fleet. 

 And the sod is worn in deep-lined maze 

 With the mighty bison's forsaken ways. 

 Bones of the race that was swept away 

 Await 'mid thr- herbage their slow decay, 

 But the bleaching skull and the mould'ring horn, 

 To tell of the herds by these pastures borne- 

 Ghastly tokens spread o'er the land 

 To prove the work of the butcher's hand. 



But sense prevailed in the time of need, 



And fettered the bloody hands of greed, 



Ere the nobler quarries of hunters aim 



Were swept for aye from their native plain. 



The elk still leads his stately bands, 



And the moose calls loud in the forest-lands, 



And the shore of eacfi lake and streamlet clear 



Is deeply trod by the herding deer, 



And the mink and otter and beaver play 



Where the streams flow down on their devious way. 



Far or, the prairie's unmeasured field, 



Lakes unnumbered are bright revealed, 



And the air is filled with rush of wing, 



Where the myriad wild fowl wheel and swing. 



Westward majestic Rockies pile 



Their mighty barriers mile on mile, 



Where grizzly and goat and mountain sheep 



Roam at will o'er ravine and steep. 



Head, horn, and skin each a matchless prize, 



But gained in this Sportsman's Paradise. 



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