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[22] He's whittling by St. Mary's Falls,
     Upon his loaded wain;
He's measuring o'er the Pictured Rocks,
     With eager eyes of gain.

I hear the mattock in the mine,
     The axe-stroke in the dell,
The clamor from the Indian lodge,
     The Jesuit chapel bell!

I see the swarthy trappers come
     From Mississippi's springs;
And war-chiefs with their painted brows,
     And crests of eagle wings.

Behind the scared squaw's birch canoe,
     The steamer smokes and raves;
And city lots are staked for sale
     Above old Indian graves.

I hear the tread of pioneers
     Of nations yet to be;
The first low wash of waves, where soon
     Shall roll a human sea.

The rudiments of empire here
     Are plastic yet and warm;
The chaos of a mighty world
     Is rounding into form!

Each rude and jostling fragment soon
     Its fitting place shall find,—
The raw material of a State,
     Its muscle and its mind!

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Fort Brady (Michigan, United States) (1)

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