As are the residents and local community s. Because we don't live in a vacuum. We live in TWO watershed, environmentally sensitive communities!
I understand the enormity of the consequences of a single mistake. Which impacted him personally, his family and nearby neighbors. It also killed the Matheson's family pet dog, that lay dead 20 feet from where Lori and Shelby slept as very young teenage girls. It desecrated two of Dean and Mandi's prize livestock herds. Once in and the second time in When workers testing the sour gas line, forgot to reinstall a plug the size of a dime and H2S leaked again Dean told me he knew there was a second plume of sour gas Cal Gazdag in So he quickly ran down to tell the ConocoPhillips contractor that they were spilling and dispersing poison again.
The Conoco contractor cussed Dean out and told him to fuck off and leave him. Koss baytexenergy. Miles aer. Helmer aer. Vernon globalnews. Labels: Raffa Dean , Reggae. Playlist For Show Of 27 February. The Orb feat. Labels: Jon Brooks , Zeynep Ozbilen. Grassy Roads, Wandering Feet. Cosmically Hilarious. Labels: Awesomeness. You may have to work for it, however. From Suralaya one could go straight to Kalindi base camp site but most of us were not fit even to cover this approximately 10 kms stretch in a day and crossing a fiercely flowing stream proved to be too time consuming.
Our guide had to cut steps on an ice wall so that stepping on the last step we could reach to a narrow gap over the stream and then could jump over the ferociously flowing water, crossing over to the other side landing on a slippery boulder.
A miss and one could flow with the stream. Luckily no one slipped. We put up our camp near the confluence of Chaturangi and Kalindi glaciers. Next day saw us on Kalindi glacier moving like a zombie, crunching on hard ice, towards Kalindi base campsite. We were at mts; numb and dumb, moving through a sort of haze. Only the thought that we have to move forward kept us going. Though for the first time in my life I was moving over a wide ice field, crunching hard ice under my feet; somehow that sense of adventure, the surrounding beauty, were not registering in.
Fortunately, all road ends. We reached Kalindi base. Next morning, Mohan — our guide, was on fire. It is mandatory to start very early to cross any pass. But till eight we could not move. Everybody was somewhat down with some ailment, especially Dipak who passed blood in urine. A small portion of the ice patch, next to the camp, was red.
In the early morning, Dipak urinated on it. After few hours of hard toiling, snaking upward and upward with wobbling knees and bent waist, we could see Kalindi and Avalanche peak. After four hours of such punishing trek, we were on top of the pass. After taking a few shots, suddenly I could not see a thing through the viewfinder of my camera. Must have kept the lens cap on, I thought. But the cap was off. I shoot with right eye. So to check, I shut my left eye and a black curtain fell — everything became black.
I tested again and again in the vain hope that some miracle may occur and I will have my sight back. But miracle does not happen any more. It must be snow blindness and temporary, I thought. Later, eye surgeons at Kolkata diagnosed that I had a coronary thrombosis attack in both the eyes and numerous blood clots formed in the eyes blocking the vision in the right eye. It is only pure luck that vision of my left eye was not blocked. On Top Of Kalindi Pass.
Well, reaching Kolkata and knowing what happened, I realized that I was extremely lucky but at that time, I was shaky, miserable and disoriented — full of apprehensions. As we started to descend, the visibility dropped to 10 feet. It was a white out. We were paying dearly for the late start. Everybody was madly scampering down and suddenly with a great shake, I found myself drowning in snow; that harbinger of death was slowly swallowing me and I could not find anything under my dangling feet.
I am in a crevasse. The realization paralyzed me. Despite the cold, I was sweating. The rucksack was preventing me from going completely under. In no time, the white death came up to my chest. At this time, Heera and Chadramohan — two of our porters, came running and pulled me out. I could not stand. I just lay down on the ice field oblivious of anything. Next our leader fell, followed by Mohan.
Luckily, we could pull everybody out. It became a mad scramble to run down the snowfield. Visibility came down to almost zero. For the last few days, we were utterly fed up with boulders but now we were desperate to reach any rock band. Rocks are faithful — at least you know where you are stepping. Utterly exhausted, on the point of collapse, we reached Rajparab — the camping site. Rest of the evening and the night passed under a kind of haze. Next morning, everybody woke late. As I came out of the tent, a few raindrops greeted me.
It was one of those mornings, hazy, cloudy with chances of a few drizzles. Though not visible from the campsite but I still can visualize the pass and with it came the realization — we have crossed the pass — that sweet, heady feeling of achievement. And this is where we erred. This heady feeling of achievement brought in a false sense of pride and security and to reach Ghastoli, the same day, we tried to cover a distance of 25 kms that too in the Arwa valley.
So far, we have not attempted to cover such a long distance in a day and in this case, it is almost impossible owing to the extremely difficult terrain of Arwa valley. We should have done our homework properly before setting up such an unrealistic target. So Mohan, Dipak and another member took off early; we were to follow.
Bachchan- our cook, who has earlier traversed the route once, would be our guide for the day. Trekking the whole day pounding boulders after boulders, under constant drizzle, without any solid food, soaked to the bone, we could not reach Ghastoli. At the end of the day with darkness falling, we realized, we were lost amidst boulders and scree. Our tents and entire provisions were gone with the porters who were somewhere far ahead of us.
No body had any idea. Still we moved ahead under torchlight but soon it became apparent that this was a suicidal effort. So we stopped in front of a small cave, which can hardly accommodate three. We spent the night in that cave, in drench cloth, sharing four sleeping bags and with empty stomachs that rumbled through out the night. We lost all hope. We were too tired to think straight and spent the night in a stupor. The drizzle continued in the next morning; but we had no alternative but to move ahead.
Somewhere ahead lays Ghastoli — our salvation. But let alone trekking, standing upright was hardly possible. We had not eaten for the last 24 hours and the strain and the tension had sapped our resolve. So, instead of walking, we were literally crawling in a daze climbing over one hump, sliding down and then again climbing over the next hump.
We became oblivious of pain and though we were slipping, falling and cutting ourselves, we were still moving ahead. A dull feeling of constant pain took over my body long back and any aggravation simply did not registered. Suddenly, through the haze I saw somebody coming our way. It was Heera, our most able porter and behind him Mohan was running down a ridge, followed by two people in uniform. We embraced each other, crying, like there would be no tomorrow. The two people accompanying them were soldiers of ITBP.
They had brought food and hot tea. Life is so beautiful! Mohan informed, even the porters could not reach Ghastoli. They camped near Ghastoli, on the other side of the Saraswati River and waited whole of the night for us — in vain. When we did not reach even in the morning, they reported the matter to Major Subedar Mr. Puri — the in-charge of the ITBP camp and he immediately sent the rescue party to look for us. Experienced Mr. We had a rousing reception in the ITBP camp and a separate big aluminium tent was allotted to us.
It had some wooden cots. After many days we did not have stone under our bed and blissful sleep followed aided by a few tin of meat — a gift from ITBP. Small things of life, which one is used to and took for granted — a wooden cot to lay, a few pieces of meat and fish to eat, I am a Bengali and love fish assumes significance only when one is deprived of those.
The rest was easy going. As we near Mana village, I could see the crest of the Badrinath temple in the distance. I could not answer. But it kept coming back like the proverbial phoenix.
On the bank of Satopanth Tal I had once asked the same question to my silent ascetic. He was under a vow of silence, so he took up a pen to answer. The journey never really ends. The aim is not to reach but to move on and on. Sun always moves. His light is incessant. So move on. Take Our Poll. They were appearing like two fist sized blots amongst rock debris, on that huge white canvas of a snow wall.
Jaisingh and Dalbahadur were slowly proceeding across the sno w slope, carefully stomping hard with each step. The wall rose a few hundred meters above us. Below, was a massive bowl of a snow field. We were standing on a rocky platform, ahead of which opened this vast amphitheatre. Tum sure ho? Oopar se rock girta hai na.. Phir woh oopar jahan se rock-slabs hai.. I somehow found the entire matter utterly incredulous. However packed the snow might be?
Ek ek karke aa jao… Baraf theek hai. Oopar se rock girta hai. Thoda dekh ke araam se aana.. He and Dalbahadur were appearing like two tiny dots now almost near the overhanging rock ledges near top of the ridge. Several more minutes of pleading with him to explore another alternate route over the rocky slopes yielded no result. And I followed…. We committed ourselves to the final climb to the top, a long single file of the four of us. A confident Karan was leading, Krushi and I in the middle following in silent yet careful steps and Rachit following last — whimpering badly from an Asthma attack that was increasing in intensity.
My intention at that time was to find a high altitude challenge that I intended to take up in the monsoons of The M pass is formed by a depression on the rocky ramparts of the Eastern periphery of the Banderpunch Massif. This Massif is the largest watershed area that feeds the mighty Yamuna; the twin sister to her more famous counterpart- Ganga. Since the upper most parts of the route are above the permanent snowline and along the banks of an icefall, the recommended period of trekking is from monsoons till autumn when there is no cover of powdery snow and the crevasses are visible.
The name and the very place somehow lend an air of eeriness to the whole trek. We were to experience that first hand, a decade after I read about it the first time.
After my first posting of a thread in the forum in the month of April , several people opted in and out and finally a team of 5 remained. All six of us, having queried, debated and discussed all various aspects of the trek, eventually agreed on a start date of 12 th June.
We were an interesting band of six. Apart from me in my late thirties, the others were:. Rachit Mangal — The ever smiling Haryanvi with a NRI touch in his late twenties was the Corpo Guy in the team, who, as I realised later during the trek, was also this incredible romantic!! We were to all arrive from different parts of the country at different times and all were to meet together as a team for the first time while boarding my car to begin our journey!!
However, given the Bali Pass experience and my initial interaction with most of the members, I was reasonably confident that we shall rock together as a team! Day 0 and 1- Delhi- Uttarkashi- Jhala. There certainly was a palpable air of preparation in the couple of weeks that led up to the start.
But somehow we all managed to pack ourselves into my Scorpio at Hrs and off we went, hoping to reach Uttarkashi by lunchtime. With advice from my Physician uncle Krushi and Chirag took those and were perfectly fine without a sign of journey-sickness during the 10 Hour dash to Uttarkashi.
Chirag spent all that time in relative discomfort at the back. I think we kinda bullied him into the agony of the rear seats, which he managed by way of sleeping throughout the route from Delhi till Uttarkashi. He woke up enough to manage time for breakfast, a leak, a photo-shoot and about 5 precise minutes of conversation.
By the time we settled around the first floor lunch-table at GMVN Uttarkashi, it was hrs and the Restaurant Chef had to be cajoled and coaxed to prepare the lunch spread. By we were ready to go, in two Jeeps that were to take us till Jhala. Chandan ensured safekeeping of my Scorpio. In what sounded like a neat arrangement to me, he also offered to get the vehicle sent till Barkot -our planned end point of the trek.
After some tedious and agonisingly slow progress through the repeatedly broken highway all because of the NTPC Hydel project in the area we reached Jhala at , all of us eager to end the day long drive. The walk from the Jeep-stand till the camp, located in the school compound, was for about a kilometre.
Within a couple of minutes of walk I found myself by the wide open banks of Bhagirathi- that characteristic signature of the Harsil Valley. I stood for a moment looking at the shimmering waters in the faint rays of moonlight… took a deep breath and sucked the air in…. I was home!!!! Day 2- Jhala — Jadunga Camp. All of the previous evening, Chirag had been complaining of a troubling throat and tonsillitis.
He had a history of the ailment and it was bothering him now. The problem was, he had run out of the few antibiotics he had got with him. By we were all through with our breakfast and ready to go. The sky was clear, the sun blazing overhead and the thin mist that veiled the waters of the Bhagirathi earlier in the morning was beginning to lift. The track leading out from the school compound winds leisurely along the right bank of Bhagirathi and passes through the Jhala village.
We were still checking out the functioning of the Walkie -Talkie radio sets and passing general words of advice to each other. Jaisingh guided the team carefully across two different log bridges to get us to the left bank of this relatively unknown tributary of the Bhagirathi. One look at the furiously flowing waters got me thinking awhile on what lies ahead, for this was the very river we were to re-cross after three days, closer to its point of origin.
Soon we were walking up the left bank along a steeply rising bridle path. With several switchbacks. After about three hundred meters of rise the trail eased out a bit.
We had our first casualty by that time. The tonsil problem of the previous night probably aggravated the impact and he was in no mind to proceed ahead. We all evaluated the issue and decided that it was probably best for the team that Chirag went back to base at Jhala. The collateral damage in this process was Pramod since he had to be with Chirag else the youngman would be all alone outside the group, having started together with all that enthusiasm from Mumbai.
After a quick lunch and several minutes of emotional speeches by almost all members in turn carefully recorded in the camcorder Pramod and Chirag turned back with Pradeep and Dalbahadur.
The Indian, Nature's simple child, Dwelling amid the forests wild, Untrammeled by the white man's lore, Trusted and loved Manitou's power ; But, long ago, their footsteps strayed From 'neath the oak tree's sacred shade ; A false life sweeps them to the grave. Resistless as the ocean wave.
The spring boils furiously at times, as also the bed of the little streftn into which it runs. The place was evidently a favorite camping ground for the red men, now gone from it for ever. Manitou gave you sinews strong As buffalo's thrice twisted thong ; With skill to conquer, in the wood, The wild game made for red man's food. And here and there, by every stream. Bright as the spirit of a dream, Manitou set, in circling hills. The planting grounds the red man tills ; And, with Manitou's gift of com.
The red man laughs grim want to scorn. When deepening snows lie on the plain, And sounding footsteps scare the game. For you, Manitou raised the trees. And laid their green leaves on the breeze, Spread His blue blanket o"'er your head.
And spangled it with golden thread. From damp, dark clods, the golden maize. Hong up the silver moon on high To gather dew drops in the sky, And scatter them with queenly hiuid, As blessings, o'er a parching Jand, When storm-clouds send their treasured rain.
To cool the sun god's fevered brain. Manitou gave you big owl's sight, Unerring in the darkest night; And, for the day, the eagle's gaze. Unflinching in the sun's bright rays. And led you by the running stream. Or where bright lakes 'mid forests gleam ; And gave you all this wide-spread land, Made for you by His loving hand ; With antlered buck and bounding doe.
The wild bear and the buflalo, A plenteous chase for red man's feet. Within the wild wood's cool retreat. And sweetly, by the babbling streams. To red man's sleep came pleasant dreams. As morning's gleaming drops of dew.
Now Manitou has hid his face. In darkness, from the red man's race. And now the white man's feet shall shove The red man's foot from every path ; Manitou speaks it in his wrath. When my poor people's straying feet Have gone the western wave to meet ; But thou, lone pine, beside the shore. Shall scorn the white man's puny power!
Manitou loves the pine tree's song. Till the last form shall fade that knew The legend of the Sleeping Dew ; Then Manitou's own hand will take The pine tree from the gleaming lake. Then Big Owl laid his stately head Upon the green earth's genial bed, Composed his limbs in qniet rest, With folded anQS across his breast, And peacefully, as good men die. Went on his journey to the sky.
Or that such curling rings of hair The treacherous Pale Face used to wear ; ' So Wahnegah gave him to one. Who gladly hailed him as his son. The spirit of the winter came. And scattered snow along the plain ; The springy amid the naked trees. With breezy fingers wove green leaves ; And summer flung its robe of flowers Around the golden-tinted hours ; Then autumn walked with solemn tread, Among the grasses sere and dead ; But all the changing seasons smiled Upon Kaontah's orphan child, 'Till, like the oak, his limbs grown strong.
Bore him with stately tread along. The way big chief alone may walk. Called by the council-fire to talk. Wah-ne-gah thought Naontah's eyes Gleamed ever from the starry skies. And ever, with their holy light, Guided her boy by day and night. In no stray paths his feet went by.
He was the light of each brave's eye; Old warriors blessed him when they died. And young braves watched his steps with pride. Young children came, and sweetly smiled Upon Naontah's noble child ; But,' all this time, the ,white man's hands Were gathering up the red man's lands. May be, pale face may never know What feelings in the bosom grow.
When trampling feet tread out the light, That made the spirit's pathway bright; May be, pale face has never known What 't was to wander from her home, And know her feet would never more Come back to find the home of yore ; If pale face loves the buds that fling Their beauty in the lap of spring ; If pale face loves the flowers that grow; The free wild winds that fitful blow ; If pale face loves the voice of floods, The solemn murmur of the woods ; If pale face loves the wild birds' song, Warbled by sunny meads along ; If pale face loves the starry night, Or crystal dew drops' gleaming light;-— '60 WAB-AH-BEB.
Let pale face close her eyes for aye, To all the grandeur of the sky ; Forever quench the sun's bright beams, And hush the murmur of the streams ; See not the glorious earth again, Save in memory's mournful strain ; And voiceless, sightless, helpless drift Down some dark chasm's dismal rift.
Then, maybe, pale face's heart can guess. Somewhat of red man's wild distress, When, from his helpless hands were rent. The bright scenes where his youth was spent. And ruthlessly the plow share crept O'er green graves, where his fathers slept I Ashes, by trails, lie cold and deep, Where council fires were wont to leap. And wearily my people stray. Fading, like summer clouds, away. The white man holds, with tightening hands.
These running streams and broad spread lands. And crowds the red man's lingering form Nearer the land where sleeps the storm. The pale face should not wonder if. Goaded by wrongs, his hands uplift ; Or sometimes, in the dark midnight. And asked to buy our streams and woods.
With knives and beads, and useless goods ; Said ' Big White Father ' loved red skin ; And wished great happiness to him. And fiery rum, with free hand plied, For days, by Gathering Waters' tide. But every brave chief, Indian bom, Turned from the brother's talk with scorn, 'Till Wab-ah-see, seduced by gold, The red man's birthright from him sold. Wild consternation filled each band Of warriors, scattered through the land, When Indian runners, on each trail.
Sped forth, to spread the direful tale. And of the wise men form a band. To hunt the traitor through the land. The Pxjbsuit. None knew where he had sought to hide. Along the streams and forests wide ; But, when the red man seeks his foe. The trampled blade of grass replies To his quick-seeing, piercing eyes ; Even a pebble, stirred but slight, Reveals a human footstep's flight; The startled cry of owlet heard. The sudden flitting of a bird. The passage of a beast of prey. Flying across the woods by day, The slightest wreath of curling smoke, The faintest sound of paddle stroke, Tells to the red man's listening ear, The lurking foeman's footsteps near : Thus on and on brave Wab-ah-see Was tracked along the land and lee, Until, one mellow autumn day.
The traitor chief was brought to bay. The wild deer startled in the fell. By stag hound's bay or hunter's yell, Will pause not in his rapid flight. Except upon some friendly height, Where, sheltered by a leafy screen, Seeing the foe, himself unseen.
He gathers up his panting breath, And flies again the hand of death. Thus Wab-ah-see had paused to rest Upon the highland's lifted crest. Among the trees A light smoke floated on the breeze; And just a taint of broiling meat, The hungsy hunters' nostrils greet ; There, sheltered by a swelling mound, The chief lay stretched upon the ground, A cordon of brave warriors crept Around the big chief, while he slept. Unheard, behind the hill they meet. And hem him in, with stealthy feet ; Each warrior, armed with knife and thong, Slowly but surely crept along.
A moment more, a dozen hands Would bind the chief in captive bands. When, lo! Loosened, adown the hill side sped : Slight sound it made along its route.
But echo caught it with a shout. And ringing back, from wood and lakes. The mimic sounds, the warrior wakes, Coniused, and startled by the noise. He brought his stately form to poise. And with presented weapons stood.
Peering along the silent wood. The Captuee. Old hunters know liow pulses leap, What thrills along the muscles creep, When, just upon the path, the prey, Hard pressed, is fiercely brought to bay; But where's the language meet to tell, What feelings in the bosom swell. There stood the chief, with flashing eye, His muscles tense to fight or fly ; His foot firm planted on the ground, His head half bent to catch each sound ; His splendid form against the sky.
Outlined upon each warrior's eye. Whose feelings grew akin to awe. While gazing on the brave outlaw. Death stared each warrior in the face Who dared to leave his hiding place ; And every brave, with crouching form, Shrank from the bursting of that storm. That surged, in waves of fearful ire, Through Wab-ah-see's fierce heart of fire. Full weU they knew his mighty power. His prowess in the battle hour, When Im was like the lightning's stroke. Who dares to meet his anger now, When dark despair sits on his brow?
Conistoga, with a thong. In lasso noose, creeps slow along ; On, on, then, with a tiger bound. Sends forth the cord, with whizzing sound, And, when the thong his sure hand flingis, His fearful war-cry fiercely rings. True to its aim, the thong fell down. And brought the pinioned chief to ground. With yells that burst like thunder pent, 'Till sheer exhaustion stayed the clang.
That through thfe sounding wild woods rang, As scores of warriors pressed to see The prostrate form of Wab-ah-see. And, gloating o'er the big chief's fall. They dragged him to the council hall. Where thronging chiefs and watriors came, With boding eyes, and hearts aflame, Eager to seal their deathless hate. With blood of one revered so late.
When, surging up the western sky, A fearful storm cloud meets the eye ; Just as we know its shadows deep. But hide the tempest's trampling feet, So Wab-ahrsee was well aware. That vengeance moved each dusk form there, Though every warrior took his place With no emotion on his face ; Knew it before Cogmosa grim, Laid black paint on his tawny skin, And turned him in the big chief's place, To show the death vote on his face.
The Rspbibyb. No word the sullen warriors speak. As each one stains his dusky cheek. Until Conote, the Red Chief, stood, And asked to stay the vote oft blood.
The gold is in the White Swan's hands. Where shall we seek it when he sleeps, And forth his guilty spirit creeps? Warriors, forbear the vote of death, And let us grant our brother breath. One walk beyond the bright lake's breast, From north to south, from east to west. All artifice was tried, in vain. To draw from him his ill-got gain. Sometimes 't is Sunny Hours pleads, Anon, his daughters ask for beads ; And then his son would go to school ; But Wab-ah-see was 'no big fool.
Great many warriors slept and ate. With Wab-ah-sjee beside the lake, When snows lay deep along the wood. Where White Swan's many lodges stood. Great many times, when summer's sheen Wrapped all the earth in deepest green. Pursued the bounding deer with him. O'er sunny slopes, through valleys dim, But never once, in heat of chase, Did he forget to note the place. And never once his footsteps strayed Past land marks by the council made.
But time sped onward down the years,. Warriors whose feet were free to roam, Saw, gathering still, the white man come ; But Wab-ah-see, beside the shore. Saw not the white man's crushing power ; Knew not, with every moon's return. Fiercer each savage bosom burned, As maddened by the growing throng, Each warrior nursed his deadly wrong, 'Till, wakened by the white man's feet, Swift Vengeance would no longer sleep.
Wab-ah-see Betrayed. On plains where slept our slaughtered dead. And where our council lodge then stood, Beside the mighty river's flood, Our gathered bands were wont for days To hold the feast of the green maize. Then maddened braves, with many lies. And oft averted, crooked eyes. S9 Urged him, for sake of his old braves, To feast beside the rushing waves, And with the merry dance and song, Help fipeed the lagging hours along. But grim Distrust sat in the door, And spumed the tempters from the shore, 'Till by-gone hours, a ghostly band, Assailed the chief on every hand, And thronging memories rushed to tell.
How, once, his warriors loved him well, While maidens bright their offering flung. And praises of his great deeds sung. Insidious, to his weak heart sung, 'TUl grim Distrust fled from her post. And Wab-ah-see, the chief, was lost. May be, the white squaw's cheek would pale, If Wah-ne-gah should tell the tale ; And may be, too, her heart would ache. For Wab-ah-see, of yon bright lake. Who, straying from its sunny shore. Would never see its bright waves more.
May be, her heart would scorn the lie That lured the traitor chief to die. May be, white squaw would hail him lord. With folded amis across his breast, Defiant eye and lifted crest; And dauntless, 'mid the savage clang. His brave deeds in a death song sang. May be, pale face would love that soul. That dared the taunt of ' hidden gold ;' And brought the murderous weapon down. That stretched him bleeding on the ground.
White Swan knew well that never more His feet would press yon sunny shore ; Or follow more, in winding trace, The glad streams in their rapid race; That never more the sun, for him. Would light the arching heaven's rim ; Or stars smile downward in his face, From their far-distant homes in space. White Swan knew well a heart of fire Lit up' each baleful face with ire, And, scorning them, with lofty pride. Like a true warrior.
White Swan died. But hate pursued him when he fell. And louder grew each savage yell. Till Reason, reft of her control. Far from the frantic conclave stole ; Until the deepening shades of night Took from the stream its glinting light ; And, palsied by excess, red braves, Prone senseless, slept beside the waves. But, from that night of shameful sleep, Slowly, at last, the shadows creep ; Slowly the beaming morning came, With flashing wheels of golden fiame.
That reached and roused the stulted brain Of redmen, sleeping on the plain. And, slowly, recollection told. That Wab-ah-see was stark and cold. Thb Bubial of Wab-ah-sbb. Relentless still, to lure its prey. But when his voice in death was still. Memories thronged the heart to thrill ; And many feet, with silent tread.
Moved slow, in honor of the dead. Their pleasant hunting grounds he sold. But, when the dark night shadows came, With many torchlights' glaring flame, They bore the big chief to his rest, Upon the highland's lifted crest-; They placed him sitting on the hill,f That he might see the white man till The broad plains where his fathers sleep, When gone were all his people's feet ; They placed him sitting in his grave. Where he could see the gleaming wave. And watch the white man's big canoe, When faded were the forms he knew ; They placed him by the white man's trail, Where he might see the stranger pale, And where his passing feet should be A long rebuke to treachery!
The remains were visible in their sitting position until about 27 yean ago, when they were buried by the whites. They roofed his grave with little trees, And bade him wait and watch through these. But wofully the red men rued, The day their hands in blood were brued. For ever, at the feast of corn.
Was heard his voice of taunting scorn ; And here and there his vengeful soul, Led on the hunt for hidden gold ; When, in some lone and tangled fell. Would ring his wild, unearthly yell. Each new moon, in his grave was laid, Tobacco, to appease his shade ; But still, the chief who laid him low.
Grew nerveless as an unstrung bow. And, when the White Swan's drooping head Told Indian that his soul had sped. He went not on the death trail lone. The Red Chief, too, had with him gone I Conclusion. White squaw, my people's race is run, Few wander near the setting sun ; Few wait beside the great lake's shore. The death canoe, to bear them o'er. Broken, yet grand in its decline. White fiqnawy some moons ago iMs tree.
With its broad branches, sheltered thee ; Bat yonder, rolling np the west, The fearfal storm cloud heaves its breast. Charged with the lightning's fiery breath. To strike this old tree to its death! Fierce sweep the howling winds along, And wilder grows the pine tree's song, 'Till, from the storm-cloud's sable breast, A bolt of thunder cleaves its crest ; And, yielding to Manitou's power.
The pine lies shattered on the shore. Where fearful tempests never break. I know a patriarch has gone, An aged friend has passed From scenes in which he mingled long, A useful member 'mid the throng With whom his lot was cast.
Full well I know an empty chair Awaits your tearful gaze ; And lonely hours are thronging there, And vacant places everywhere Remind of other days. And feel with you to grieve ; But still my lines refuse to flow In sympathetic strains of woe ; A nobler verse I weave. My soul starts up in glad surprise, And eager pen leaps on.
To tell the joys that meet my eyes, Through pearly gate way in the skies. Where our loved friend has gone.
Youth stands upon the gleaming shore. Beyond the sullen tide. And waits the boat with muffled oar. Bearing the aged pilgrim o'er, That wandered from your side. Andj with a wonder-working wand. Will bid his manhood's might Enwrap him, like a garment grand. When he shall reach the shining strand Beyond Death's chilling night How can I sing a mournful strain, While, gazing on that shore, I hear, above the solemn main. Or breakers roar, the soul's refrain, Life's song, for evermore?
Lay my form down in the cold, cold ground, And leave it to sleep in the dust ; For only the casket the coffin hath bound, I Neath the clods ye so nicely adjust. Lay me to rest where rolling plains spread, And the forests are waving nigh ; But, mind ye, my soul sleepeth not with the dead ; ThcU hath sped to its home on high.
Lay me down here, to sleep in the ground. And hallow my grave with a sigh ; But journeying on past the world's weary bounds. Come meet me, in mansions on high. Oh, Man! The strange mysterious forms of clay, "We bury in our graves ; Build up, and bear the soul away.
To death's baptismal waves. But while this strange wrought house of clay Builds, and bears on the soul, Hid in Life's comer stone away There is a record scroll. Time's hand the ponderous stone shall raise. Beyond death's billows, angels greet Thee, with a joyous shout; And many loved to-day ye meet, Who long ago went out Sometimes we gaze on the shining sands Thy risen feet may press ; And catch the gleam of pure white hands, That soothe thy soul's distress. Where in that far-off spirit world, Beyond our Central 'Sun ; Life's gorgeous banners are unfuiied, When Time's weird march is done.
Dispelling Error's night! Blest soul! I almost long to be. An earth -bonnd child no more ; As, gazing through the mists, I see Thy form upon yon shore! Farewell 1 farewell! In the realms of endless day. Thy hands we have gently folded, On thy still and pulseless breast, Cheered thy little spirit homeward, To the land of quiet rest. Now thy infant feet are pressing. Paths that wind mid heavenly bowers, And thy ears are charmed with music, — Music of the Holy Hours. Birds for thee, of gorgeous plumage.
Trill sweet notes within those bowers; Idving'diamonds gleam and sparkle Neath thy feet, amid the flowers. Angels fold thee to their bosoms.
By the crystal Sea of Life; Teach thee God's most holy lessons. Free from earthly sin and strife. And beneath the holy sunligKt, Of that fairer world than this, Te will gfbw to perfect stature, Knowing only truth and bliss. WriUenfor the Funeral of T. Last mom he joined his hands with those I, Who long ago went o'er ; And from the whirlpool, death, arose, Safe on the spirit shore.Kodi Archive and Support File Vintage Software APK Community Software MS-DOS CD-ROM Software CD-ROM Software Library. Console Living Room. Software Sites Tucows Software Library Software Capsules Compilation Shareware CD-ROMs CD-ROM Images ZX Spectrum DOOM Level CD. Featured.