Publisher's Synopsis
Excerpt from The Sylvan Cabin: A Centenary Ode on the Birth of Lincoln
These gloomy woods, whose blackness stands Up hard against horizon's slope; Grim, spectral, dreaded, and untrod, Save monsters great of savage mein, That prowled or crouched upon their prey; Sent forth a vicious roar that shook Old Sylva far and near, from vale Through crag to mountain peak!
Upon this spot the Redskin oft Has danced his War Dance and his Feast, His face a reddish hue aglow Long locks with eaglets' plumes bedecked His bow and never-failing dart, And scalper dangling at his side! More brightly gleamed his wary eye, As braves the war-hoop loudly yelled A sight more like the fiery fiends From Pluto's ghastly shore returned Than human blood and bone!
They all have gone and left no tale But woe which hurled them ever hence To that shore whence no bark returns. Old Cabin, thou, a landmark art, Of human freedom's onward march!
The fellow is worth while. He may not be the best waiter that waits in the Faculty Club, but it would be interesting to know how many better poets eat there.
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