Classic and Contemporary Poetry
DANIEL BOONE'S LAST LOOK WESTWARD, by HUMBERT WOLFE Poet's Biography First Line: I'm only four-score years, my sons, and a few Last Line: Before they hew that northwest into the world. Subject(s): Boone, Daniel (1734-1820); Explorers; Northwest, Pacific; Exploring; Discovery; Discoverers | ||||||||
I'm only four-score years, my sons, and a few To fill the measure up. And so I shouldn't Be shut here like an old hound by the fire To dream of deeds I still have wind to do. Maybe I have performed enough for one man; For there's Kentucky cut from the wilderness And sewed fast to the States by law and order -- Which I'm not saying isn't good for them Who like pullin' in harness with their neighbors. But I keep seein' trails -- runnin' to westward And northwest -- Indian-footed trails That no white man has ever pierced an eye through; And beyond them are prairie lands and forests Which settlers comin' after me could scalp And sell, if silver is the game they're seekin'; And the Almighty means my eyes to see them, Else He'd have made my sight dim and rheumy By now -- and where's the deer or bear that gambols Before my gun and goes away to say so? It's kind of shiftless maybe, I'll allow, To want to keep always beyond the settlements Not in them; ten near families is too many. But the Lord never meant the plough to be My instrument: I get to the end of a furrow And there's the wilderness waitin', all creation, And I just have to find a path across it -- As your ma, there, knows; though I never could tell her The reason, till they took Kentucky in. And then I saw that the cunnin' to be wise With animals and savages was more Than love of powder and shot; and that God used My axe to hew a realm out. And there's more realms Yet to be hewed -- and God's grindin' the axes, I'll tell you that. For, young Lewis and Clark, Sons of my two old friends, are comin' tomorrow With unblazed trails of the Northwest in their eyes; And who knows but that land's as big as Kentucky And Illinois too; and that they're comin' For more than to look at an old hound by the fire? There's one run in me yet; and if I died Somewhere upon a far new trail with them, There's coffin-board saved -- and I'd sleep better... Unless your ma, this time, wouldn't be willin' To pack my kit and draw the latch of the door. She won't eh? Then it's dodderin' here, I reckon, And dreamin'. Put on a fresh log, and let be. Young Lewis and Clark will need a-many like me, though, Before they hew that Northwest into the world. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SHACKLETON by MADELINE DEFREES AMERICA IS HARD TO SEE by ROBERT FROST CONCERNING THE RIGHT TO LIFE by JORIE GRAHAM THE HEAD ON THE TABLE by JOHN HAINES PSALM OF THE WEST: SONNET ON COLUMBUS: 1 by SIDNEY LANIER PSALM OF THE WEST: SONNET ON COLUMBUS: 2 by SIDNEY LANIER PSALM OF THE WEST: SONNET ON COLUMBUS: 3 by SIDNEY LANIER PSALM OF THE WEST: SONNET ON COLUMBUS: 4 by SIDNEY LANIER |
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