The Decision

The Explorer's tents stood, dim by night, 
      Beneath the guns of Laramie,
Whose guarded walls of gleaming white.
The last defense of civil right, 
      Clove the red sea of savagery,
      To bare a pathway for the free.

Through thick'ning perils, day by day.
      Along the broad Nebraska's side, 
The hardy band had kept their way,
That toward the gates of sunset lay, 
      Where far and wide, in hoary pride,
      High Heaven the Titan hills defied.

An atom, on the Prairie's sea,
      Whose rocky shore no eye could span, 
Where savage wolf, and Wolf-Pawnee, 
Like rav'ning sharks roved, fierce and free — 
      With loaded wain, mule, horse, and man, 
      Slow moved the westering caravan.

Still lengthening out, a thousand miles 
      Of hill and rock and desert track,
To wife's caress, and infant's smiles,
To vine arcades, and garden aisles,
      Stretched far aback, behind the black 
      Night bastions of this bivouac.

 Return!" the home-bound Hunter cried,
      His ranks in savage battle torn; 
"On desert wilds our steeds have died,
Our brothers fallen by our side,
      Our Leader, borne in death, we mourn ;
      Back, ere your widows wail forlorn!"

“Waugh! Long Knives! to your lodges back! 
      But once the Bell-snake's warning rings;
No grass along your further track;
Your beasts will fall, your pulses slacks 
      By dusty springs, where lurks and stings 
      The serpent with invisible wings !"

The wily Indian's snaky eye
      Ran down the lines, with such a smile 
As bodes no good— who dashing by, 
Spoke thus, and waited no reply; 
      A little while, and many a mile 
      Concealed that riddling Priest of guile.

"Alas!" the terror-smitten cried,
      "For us there will be life no more;
 A sea of peril, far and wide, 
Surrounds our band, on every side, 
      And all before without a shore, 
      It darkens, red with human gore!"

"Return! beloved of God and man, 
      Tempt not too far a jealous Fate !"
In sooth the very Braves began
To feel that timid flutter fan
      Their hearts, with great Designs elate, 
      To thoughts that owned them desperate.

Not so the Leader! calm and stern, 
      And star-like in his deep blue eye, 
Fixed Resolution seemed to burn, 
Where even the weakest heart might learn 
      A courage high, that dared to die 
      For Duty, but would never fly.

"Return who will return, I go!"
      He said, and Westward tossed his hand.
"No limbs that quake before a foe,
No timid heart of forest doe,
      Shall shame the Band that opes the grand 
      Rock portals of this Western Land !

"Return who will return! but you
      Who march with me, for life or death, 
Strike tent and harness! ere the dew 
Quit yonder blooms of red and blue." 
      Light moment hath a little breath,
      Against a Hero's heart and faith!

They shout! they leap! no time to sit,
      No thought to turn again, nor stop;
Down fall the tents like birds alit,
And steeds are champing at the bit; 
      One parting sup, the " stirrup-cup," 
      Then to the river, on, and up!

"Hold, Brothers! lo, the speaking Leaf." 
      And round the Leader of our band
Rushed many a tall and stalwart chief,
With greeting thus abrupt and brief,
      And outstretched hand, which meant command, 
      Though tempered with their smiling bland.

Adorned with gaudy paint and plumes,
      And arrows of the Porcupine, 
Their garments, rank with musky fumes,
Had taxed no palpitating looms —
      Yet tall and fine, they seemed divine
      As swarthy gods of Woden's line.

Chief of the chiefs, in silence sat
      BREAKER-OF-ARROWS, stout and grim, 
BLACK-NIGHT thick browed, and OTTER-HAT 
The vain, and BULL’S-TAIL, plumed with that,
      In sooth, to him, as fair and trim 
      As "Horsetails" to the Musselim!

"Return," the White Leaf said," return! 
      These Chiefs your onward march forbid. 
Their Braves have gone to scalp and burn,
And none may 'scape their vengeance stern: 
      As well the kid might hope to thrid 
      The lair-paths where the wolves are hid."

"Wot God," a hoary Sachem said,
      "We love you well, and are right glad 
To greet you, but upon your head 
May fall the blood your kinsmen shed; 
      The time is bad, our warriors, mad, 
      Will bide no check, till blood be had.

"Go to our father's house in peace, 
      And tell him we are poor and bare—
That in good gifts this hate will cease,
For he is rich in all increase,
      And in his care our tribes shall fare, 
      As fits the sire whose sons we are."

So spake the Chief in wiles expert,
      And thus our dauntless Heart replied: 
" Small sway your reverend lips assert,
If whom you love your own dare hurt! 
      We ask a guide, and are denied; 
      What love is that— too weak to ride!

" We will not hear your double tongue;
      Ye are our father's sons no more; 
We heard your evil fame, among 
The dove-cotes, by the swallows sung; 
      And now with gore, it darkens o'er 
      Our vision, redder than before.

"Our youths are tutored to obey;
      We hear the words our Old Men speak; 
They bade us track descending Day 
Across the mountain's rocky way, 
      His bed to seek — and you, too weak 
      To ride or rule, what boots your check ?

"We've thrown our bodies to the gales,
      And we will not turn back, nor swerve! 
And many a lodge will ring with wails, 
And many a youth sleep on their trails, 
      If once they nerve our hands, to serve 
      The vengeance evil deeds deserve.

"If fall we must, as fall we may,
      Your grief will join the loud 'Alas!'
Our father's wrath, in one red day,
Will sweep your villages away,
      A smoking mass, like prairie grass, 
      When the swift fires of autumn pass!"

He spoke, and down the ready line
      A cheer of answering courage ran. T
he faintest heart's-blood flashed like wine, 
As the waved hand's advancing sign 
      Led off the van — and, horse and man, 
      On moved the westering caravan.

The gloomy Chiefs, with silent awe,
      And hearts that inly cheered the Brave,
His dauntless mien and action saw,
And felt his fiery soul as law :
      Ere day's spent wave its shores could lave, 
      Sped to his camp the Guide they gave!

- - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Thus he unlocked the Mountain Gate; 
      And the proud trophy of Success
Wrung from the niggard hand of Fate, 
Till jealous nations named him Great; 
      And realms no less, shall rise, to bless 
      His memory, in the wilderness!