Sonnet: - XVII.

A poem by Charles Sangster

THERE WAS A TIME - and that is all we know!
No record lives of their ensanguined deeds:
The past seems palsied with some giant blow,
And grows the more obscure on what it feeds.
A rotted fragment of a human leaf;
A few stray skulls; a heap of human bones!
These are the records - the traditions brief -
'Twere easier far to read the speechless stones.
The fierce Ojibwas, with tornado force,
Striking white terror to the hearts of braves!
The mighty Hurons, rolling on their course,
Compact and steady as the ocean waves!
The stately Chippewas, a warrior host!
Who were they? - Whence? - And why? no human tongue can boast!

Reader Comments

Tell us what you think of 'Sonnet: - XVII.' by Charles Sangster

comments powered by Disqus

Home | Search | About this website | Contact | Privacy Policy