THE ROCKY MOUNTAIN SIIEEI 



> •::- 



WILLIAM T. IIORNADAV. 



HIS HOME. 



Around the mountain's frowning crest 



Where lines of rugged rock stand forth, 

 Where Nature bravely bares her breast 



To snowy whirlwinds from the North; 

 High in the clouds and mountain storms, 



Where first the autumn snows appear. 

 Where last the breath of spring-time 

 warms, 



There dwells my gallant mountaineer. 



Perched high on dizzy battlement, 



He proudly views his wild domain. 

 Below his feet, with swift descent, 



The peak drops downward to the plain. 

 Like terraces the rocky walls 



Stretch far across the steep incline; 

 The slopes between, where slide-rock falls, 



Give grudging foothold to the pine. 



Three thousand giddy feet below 



The map-like valley lies revealed. 

 The fettered stream bends to and fro, 



Its voice in icy silence sealed. 

 That speck of dingy white down there, 



Just where the two streams come to- 

 gether — 

 Ah! That's some hunter's canvas lair, 



A Sibley tent for winter weather. 



Upon the mountain's rolling crest, 



Half circled round by pines and cedars 

 Spread open parks and meadows, dressed 



With choice grass for sturdy feeders. 

 These are the pastures for the flocks 



That knife-made ear-marks never bear, 

 Whose only fold is Nature's rocks, 



Above the mountain lion's lair. 



HIS NEIGHBORS. 



The mountain lamb, so small and gray, 



Is cradled in the snow, 

 On rocky ledge, hid far away, 

 Where Mother Ewe guards night and day 



Against each hungry foe. 



The golden eagle, soaring high, 



Marks down the lambkin small, 

 He scans the flock with eager eye 

 When wounded sheep lie down to die, 

 And tears them where they fall. 



The gaunt coyote skulks below; 



No mutton falls to him; 

 But with the big-horn dwells a foe 

 Who stalks him through the drifted snow, 



— The mountain lion grim. 



The shaggy grizzly plods along, 



And seeks his humble fare, 

 To him the roots and grubs belong. 

 For mountain mutton climbs too strong 



To suit a clumsy bear. 



The mountain grouse feed fat up here 



In peace around my sheep. 

 The snow-shoe rabbit feels no fear 



Beside our gallant mountaineer, 

 Upon the rocky steep. 



The Clark's crow flits with rasping cry 



Among the stunted cedars; 

 The raven slow goes croaking by 

 To join the scavenger magpie, 



And feast with unclean feeders. 



HIS FATE— AS IT STRUCK HIM. 



" Look! A something is climbing our 

 mountain ! 

 It seems but a speck far below! 

 It has paused at our half-frozen fountain, 

 To look at our tracks in the snow." 



" It is gray; but it can't be a grizzly, 



Though surely 'tis something to shun. 

 It is high; and its head is all frizzly! 

 Ha! It may be the Man-with-a-Gun! " 



" Let's be moving! Keep close to your 

 leader, 

 And scamper to still higher crags, 

 Quick! The Mother Ewe — follow and 

 heed her, 

 And see that no careless lamb lags." 



''There! In safety once more we are hid- 

 den; 

 Now paw through the snow for your 

 grass. 

 Here we fear not that strangers unbidden 

 Will on these high pastures trespass." 

 * * * 

 (A Spectre rises.) 



"Ho! My flock! A stranger! A 

 stranger, 

 Behind yonder snow-laden pine! " 

 Bang!— "I'm shot! Quick, fly out of 

 danger! 

 Dash down by the nearest incline! " 



% H 5 ^ 



He fell through a distance appalling, 

 Far down to the slide-rock below, 



— Three hundred feet, plunging and roll- 

 ing— 

 And landed stone dead in the snow. 



At sunset the hunter there found him. 

 Five miles from a tent or a bed; 



But he camped with a sheep-skin around 

 him, 

 And dreamed on a mountain ram's head. 



Yes, the Big-Horn still roams o'er the 

 rugged Shoshone, 

 But the game laws are strict, and the 

 range is not free. 

 I am old and rheumatic, life's pathway is 

 stony, 

 But the head of that Ram is a joy unto 

 me. 



♦Copyright, 1898, by W. T. Hornaday. 



