Xavier my name in the Gascon country till
My great grandsires came to England, and were called
Sevier in the rough English speech, but lost
No chivalry of their ancient name. I loved
The praise of men in hunting-shirts who cheered
For Nolichucky Jack at Watauga Old Fields
And followed me through night and the dripping forest
To King's Mountain. We were the backwoods hornets
Crowding the rocky slopes and buzzing death
To that gaudy lion, Ferguson. Elsewhere
It was the same. The sword of the Lord and of Gideon
In my hands smote the Indian villages
To dust and ashes till I lived in peace,
Governing my country, loving my Bonny Kate,
And seeking the praise of men. But where are they?
Where are Shelby and Campbell? Where is Cosby?
Where are the rifles and the lean hunters
Who strode the long trail with me? Have they left
No tall sons to hate what should be hated
And love what should be loved - the praise of men
Speaking with quiet eyes behind long rifles?
-Donald Davidson, from The Tall Men
No comments:
Post a Comment