Image from Wyoming Tales and Trails
The Shadowy Huntsman.
ORIGINAL BY JE-AN.
Behind the lofty mountains head,
The drowsy sun, had gone to bed,
But e’re its light began to fail,
The rising moon was on its tail.
Broad was the plains on either side,
The mountains shadow strove to hide,
And in the distance through the haze,
A herd of bison on it grazed.
But hark! along their flank and rear
A dismal sound, strikes them with fear,
Tis Wolves! whose stormy jubilee,
Warns the dark herd, that they must flee
From danger; worse than Indians skill,
Whose unrelenting arrows kill.
They start, and lo, a rumbling sound
Like distant thunder, shakes the ground,
The wolves persue, and when one falls
Hold o’er the dead, their carnival.
But while then glutting on their prey,
A moon-beam, o’er the carcas stray’s,
Revealing full, a hunters form,
With rifle, slung across his arm.
A bullet sent by steady hand,
Struck terror to the prowling band,
A gleaming torch; lit by the same
Rap’t the prairie in a flame.
The wolves affrighted, stood amazed,
A fiery girdle round them blazed,
Scared at the huntman’s dread appeal,
They left it, for the vultures meal.
Confusion for a moment reigned,
Then all was silent on the plain.
Hillsdale Whig Standard (Hillsdale, Michigan) Jul 7, 1846