It is not now at balmy eventide hour
    I stand upon Mount Vanity's brown crest,
To picture in the vale some Eden bower,
    Or watch the sun's low dip in distant West,
As oft I did in other, happier days,
    Watching the changing hues till light was gone,
Building castles fair on golden rays;
    Then see them fade and vanish one by one.

But on this seared hill today I stand
    With heartbeat still and reverent soul bent low,
The noontide sun ablaze on all the land;
    Unlike the glory of the evening's gIow.
No fancied Eden meets my searching eye,
    I build no castles now on perfumed air;
My thoughts divided between earth and sky,
    I cannot write and may not bow in prayer.

There to the South in memory I see
    The Frontier Gem - as once the post was styled,
But now ungainly spot! no shrub nor tree
    Is left to tell thy beauty undefiled.
Historic ground! Van Dorn there once held sway,
    And chivalrous Hood, his first command in thee,
And Kirby Smith there sang his roundelay,
    In chorus joined by gallant Fitzhugh Lee

And many a lesser light in thee did shine,
    And many a heart as true are let unsung,
The fate of many is as hard as thine,
    Heart silent, they - like viols all unstrung.
There to the right a woman lone doth dwell
    Bearing her soul in silent ways along,
Who, if her story in some lands we'd tell,
Her deeds would be the glory of immortal song.

Amid night's darkness and the savage yell
    When strong men shrunk from duty and succumbed
        to fear,
The call for help in agonizing accents fell
    Borne on the breezes to her listening ear,
When to the rescue through the gloom she sped
    On mercy's wing - and guided by God's eye.
Before her flitting form the savage fled,
    The boy was rescued but bro't in to die.

And this is one in many of such deeds;
    But one's enough to make a heroine.
Her conscious soul possesses all her needs;
    She needs no praise from a pen like mine.
Then nearer by at the foot of yonder hill,
    A straggling ruin marks the lonely spot,
Close to Jim Ned's waters dark and still,
    Where once stood Father Childress's frontier cot.

He was the first those hills and vales among
    (While yet by lavish Nature beautified.)
To loud proclaim the gospel - praises sung -
    To God, his Master, Jesus crucified.
He's with us yet, but changed with changing time,
    No longer as in days of old with zeal possessed,
Defying danger in the cause sublime -
    He rides alone (if one soul may be blessed.)

He totters now - the frost of eighty years
    Have turned his locks to rival purest snow;
He waits the call and waiting has no fears,
    His stewardship finished, his talents all to show.
And where look next? Adown in memory
    The halls are hung with pictures such as these;
Endless would seem the dreamy reverie -
    Where every spot is marked - the rocks, the trees.

And each one cherished as a trusty friend
    Who simply smiles when fortune favors show;
But one on whom you ever may depend
    In darkest hour when adverse tempests blow.
Meandering stream with verdant border fringed
    Serated hill and mesquite-covered dale.
Oak lined glen with gold and crimson tinged,
    Have reminiscences all, and all a tale.

Yet one more spot! Ah, why did I look here?
    See to the left where the great live-oaks spread!
Beneath their shade in the chambers dark and drear
    Slumber the mortal of the loved and dead.
Now this idle dreaming of the past must end,
    Be calm my soul; Oh, heart, thy rendering hide!
There where the branches and clematis blend.
    Our Paul and Willie slumber side by side.

Note from Ralph Terry, the editor:  This was written by J. J. Callan (sometime between 1870 when Dudley Johnson died and 1884 when Laura died) on a return trip from Menard to old Camp Colorado. The incident relative to Mrs. Johnson rescuing the scalped boy, who afterwards died, is history known to the oldtimers. Paul and Willie, mentioned in the poem, were the first two children of J. J. and Margaret (Maggie) Callan.