Page:Poems Davidson.djvu/28

But round thy grave the western storm,
 With music harsh, and sad, and drear,
Will whistle o'er thy mouldering form,
 And howl its anthem o'er thy bier.
The panther's fangs shall harm thee not—
The prairie wolf shall pass the spot;
 Too noble game for them lies here!

Quite different in its character, and evidently more carefully written, are the lines entitled "Longings for the West," composed a few months before his death; but not published in the "Southern Literary Messenger" (from the pages of which we take them) until after his decease, namely, in the number for February, 1843, where they are prefaced by complimentary remarks from the editor.

LONGINGS FOR THE WEST.

O! that the poet's mystic power were mine,
Harmonious words in thrilling verse to join;
What sweeter music than to strike the chords,
To paint the beauties of the West in words,
And sing in praise that sweetest spot of earth,
Home of the wild and free,—dear Leavenworth.
Be still, my heart! let mem'ry's touch divine,
Bring back past joys to glad this soul of mine,
And spread the kindly veil o'er doubt and pain.
I would not call back grief's but pleasure's form again.
How oft I've sat in melancholy mood,
Where mad Missouri rolls his reckless flood,
To watch the mighty stream with wond'ring eye,