Classic and Contemporary Poetry
THE MEN OF FORTY-NINE, by CINCINNATUS HEINE MILLER Poet Analysis Poet's Biography First Line: Those brave old bricks of forty-nine! Last Line: Who made a pathway with their dust. Alternate Author Name(s): Miller, Joaquin Subject(s): California - Gold Discoveries; Gold Rush; Forty-niners | ||||||||
Those brave old bricks of fortynine! What lives they lived! what deaths they died! A thousand canons, darkling wide Below Sierra's slopes of pine, Receive them now. And they who died Along the far, dim, desert route -- Their ghosts are many. Let them keep Their vast possessions. The Piute, The tawny warrior, will dispute No boundary with these. And I Who saw them live, who felt them die, Say, let their unplow'd ashes sleep, Untouch'd by man, on plain or steep. The bearded, sunbrown'd men who bore The burden of that frightful year, Who toil'd, but did not gather store, They shall not be forgotten. Drear And white, the plains of Shoshonee Shall point us to that farther shore, And long, white, shining lines of bones Make needless sign or white milestones. The wild man's yell, the groaning wheel; The train that moved like drifting barge; The dust that rose up like a cloud -- Like smoke of distant battle! Loud The great whips rang like shot, and steel Of antique fashion, crude and large, Flash'd back as in some battle charge. They sought, yea, they did find their rest. Along that long and lonesome way, These brave men buffet'd the West With lifted faces. Full were they Of great endeavor. Brave and true As stern Crusader clad in steel, They died a-field as it was fit. Made strong with hope, they dared to do Achievement that a host today Would stagger at, stand back and reel, Defeated at the thought of it. What brave endeavor to endure! What patient hope, when hope was past! What still surrender at the last, A thousand leagues from hope! how pure They lived, how proud they died! How generous with life! The wide And gloried age of chivalry Hath not one page like this to me. Let all these golden days go by, In sunny summer weather. I But think upon my buried brave, And breathe beneath another sky. Let Beauty glide in gilded car, And find my sundown seas afar, Forgetful that 'tis but one grave From eastmost to the westmost wave. Yea, I remember! The still tears That o'er uncoffin'd faces fell! The final, silent, sad farewell! God! these are with me all the years! They shall be with me ever. I Shall not forget. I hold a trust. They are part of my existence. When Swift down the shining iron track You sweep, and fields of corn flash back, And herds of lowing steers move by, And men laugh loud, in mute mistrust, I turn to other days, to men Who made a pathway with their dust. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE GOLD-SEEKERS by HAMLIN GARLAND A GOLDEN DREAM by KATHRYN ROESER DUNLAP SUTTER'S FORT, SACRAMENTO by LUCIUS HARWOOD FOOTE BALLAD OF THE GOLD COUNTRY by HELEN MARIA HUNT FISKE JACKSON THE GOLD THAT GREW BY SHASTA TOWN by CINCINNATUS HEINE MILLER TO THE PIONEERS by CINCINNATUS HEINE MILLER THE DAYS OF '49 by CHARLEY RHODES THE YUKON'S SONG OF THE GOLD by AMELIA WOODWARD TRUESDELL A CALIFORNIA CHRISTMAS by CINCINNATUS HEINE MILLER |
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