The Gift Outright
by Robert Frost
The land was ours before we were the land's
She was our land more than a hundred years
Before we were her people. She was ours
In Massachusetts, in Virginia,
But we were England's, still colonials,
Possessing by what we still were unpossessed by,
Possessed by what we now no more possessed.
Something we were withholding from our land of living,
And forthwith found salvation in surrender.
Such as we were we gave ourselves outright
(The deed of gift was many deeds of war)
To the land vaguely realizing westward,
But still unstoried, artless, unenhanced,
Such as she was, such as she would become.
Hopkins, Lee Bennett. Hand in Hand: An American History Through Poetry. NY: Simon and Shuster, 1994.
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Circles
by Carl Sandburg
The white man drew a small circle in the sand
and told the red man, "This is what the Indian
knows," and drawing a big circle around the
small one, "This is what the white man knows."
The Indian took the stick and swept an immense
ring around both circles: "This is where the
white man and the red man know nothing."
Hopkins, Lee Bennett. Hand in Hand: An American History Through Poetry. NY: Simon and Shuster, 1994.
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And My Heart Soars
by Chief Dan George
The beauty of the trees,
the softness of the air,
the fragrance of the grass,
speaks to me.
The summit of the mountain,
the thunder of the sky,
the rhythm of the sea,
speaks to me.
The faintness of the stars,
the freshness of the morning,
the dew drop on the flower,
speaks to me.
The strength of fire,
the taste of salmon,
the trail of the sun,
And the life that never goes away,
They speak to me.
And my heart soars.
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Where Do These Words Come From?
by Charlotte Pomerantz
Hominy, succotash, raccoon, moose.
Succotash, raccoon, moose, papoose.
Raccoon, moose, papoose, squash, skunk.
Moose, papoose, squash, skunk, chipmunk.
Papoose, squash, skunk, chipmunk, muckamuck.
Skunk, chipmunk, muckamuck, woodchuck.
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My Mocassins Have Not Walked
by Duke Redbird
My mocassins have not walked
Among the giant forest trees
My leggings have not brushed
Against the fern and berry bush
My medicine pouch has not been filled
with roots and herbs and sweetgrass
My hands have not fondled the spotted fawn
My eyes have not beheld
The golden rainbow of the north
My hair has not been adorned
With the eagle feather
Yet
My dreams are dreams of these
My heart is one with them
The scent of them caresses my soul.
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Indian
by Rosemary and Stephen Vincent Benet
I don't know who this Indian is,
A bow within his hand,
But he is hiding by a tree
And watching white men land,
They may be gods - - they may be fiends - -
They certainly look rum.
He wonders who on earth they are
And why on earth they've come.
He knows his streams are full of fish,
His forests full of deer,
And his tribe is the mighty tribe
That all the others fear.
-- And, when the French or English land,
-- The Spanish or the Dutch,
They'll tell him they're the mighty tribe
An no one else is much.
They'll kill his deer and net his fish
And clear away his wood,
And frequently remark to him
They do it for his good.
They he will scalp and he will shoot
And he will burn and slay
And break the treaties he has made
- - And, children, so will they.
We won't go into all of that
For it's too long a story,
And some is brave and some is sad
And nearly all is gory.
But, just remember this about
Our ancestors so dear:
They didn't find any empty land,
The Indians were here.
Benet, Rosemary and Stephen Vincent. A Book of Americans. NY: Holt, 1961.
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King Ferdinand's Remarks
by Bobbi Katz
"My lovely Queen, dear Isabella,
who is this crass Columbus fellow,
hanging out here at our palace,
drinking from the royal chalice?
Is that pompous paragon
some relative from Aragon?
A distant cousin from Castille
freeloading for a royal meal?
His accent is too strange to place.
His manners lack a courtly grace.
He argues with our scientists:
"The world is round!" so he insists.
"The world is round!" Imagine that - -
when everybody knows it's flat!
My lovely Queen, dear Isabella,
let's rid Spain of this pesky fells.
Equip the scamp to sail the sea - -
give him a ship or two or three.
Then when he reaches the world's edge,
his ships will cower on the ledge.
Sea serpents, dreadful to behold,
will make Columbus far less bold.
And if he's lucky he'll return
humble, modest, and taciturn.
"The world is round." Imagine that - -
when everybody knows it's flat!"
Lansky, Bruce. A Bad Case of the Giggles: Kid's Favorite Funny Poems. NY:
Meadowbrook, 1994.
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Christopher Columbus [1446? - 1506]
by R. and S. Benet
There are lots of queer things that discoverers do
But his was the queerest, I swear.
He discovered our country in One Four Nine Two
By thinking it couldn't be there.
It wasn't his folly, it wasn't his fault,
For the very best maps of the day
Showed nothing but water, extensive and salt,
On the West, between Spain and Bombay.
There were monsters, of course, every watery mile,
Great krakens with blubbery lips
And sea-serpents smiling a crocodile-smile
As they waited for poor little ships.
There were whirlpools and maelstroms, without any doubt
And tornadoes of lava and ink.
(Which, as nobody yet had been there to find out,
Seems a little bit odd, don't you think?)
But Columbus was bold and Columbus set sail
(Thanks to Queen Isabella, her self),
For he said "Though there may be both monster and gale,
I'd like to find out for myself."
And he sailed and he sailed and he sailed and he SAILED,
Though his crew would have gladly turned round
And, morning and evening, distressfully wailed
"This is running things into the ground!"
But he paid no attention to protest or squall,
This obstinate son of the mast,
And so, in the end, he discovered us all,
Remarking, "Here's India, at last!"
He didn't intend it, he meant to heave to
At Calcutta, Rangoon or Shanghai,
There are many queer things that discoverers do
But his was the queerest. Oh my!
Benet, Rosemary and Stephen Vincent. A Book of Americans. NY: Holt, 1961.
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Hernando De Soto [1499? - 1542]
by Rosemary and Stephen Vincent Benet
Hernando De Soto was Spanish,
And iron-clad conquistador,
Adventure he knew in the sack of Peru,
But it just made him anxious for more.
Hernando De Soto was knightly,
Hernando De Soto was bold,
But like most of his lot, he'd be off like a shot
Wherever he heard there was gold.
So, with priest and physician and army,
Not to speak of a number of swine,
At Tampa he started a quest, fiery-hearted,
For the gold of a fabulous mine.
And from Florida way out to Texas,
This Don of the single-track mind,
Went chasing his dream over prairie and stream,
And the pigs kept on trotting behind.
He discovered the great Mississippi,
He faced perils and hardships untold,
And his soldiers ate bacon, if I'm not mistaken,
But nobody found any gold.
The buried De Soot at midnight,
Where the wide Mississippi still jigs.
He was greedy for gain but a soldier of Spain.
(I hope someone looked after the pigs.)
Benet, Rosemary and Stephen Vincent. A Book of Americans. NY: Holt, 1961.
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Miles Standish [1584 - 1656]
by Rosemary and Stephen Vincent Benet
Miles Standish was a little man, a soldier from his youth,
He said he'd fought the Spaniards and I think he told the truth,
For he could fire a musketoon and he could build a fort
And the Pilgrims all admired him, though he wasn't quite their sort.
Tom Morton was a merry man and liked a merry frolic,
He said, "These long-nosed Pilgrims give an honest heart the colic!"
He built a place called Merry Mount to serve his merry ends
And danced around a Maypole with a lot of rowdy friends.
The Pilgrims were indignant, for they didn't like his game,
They said his merry Maypole was an idol and a shame,
They vowed that it was scandalous to dance to such a tune,
So they ordered out Miles Standish, with his fav'rite musketoon.
"Ho,ho!" laughed Morton, merrily, "'Tis only Captain Shrimp!"
"Hew down yon idol!" Standish roared and made him feel quite limp
For they hewed the pretty Maypole down, in spite of all his cries,
And chopped it into kindling wood before his very eyes.
They sent him back to England and they told him to stay there.
--They didn't like those gentlemen with perfume in their hair.
--They didn't like wild gentlemen with mischief in their port.
But they always liked Miles Standish, though he wasn't quite their sort.
He lived with them and fought for them and drove their foes away,
A bold Cock-robin of a man whom nothing could dismay,
And, when he died, they mourned him from the bottom of their hearts.
For it isn't where your inches stop. It's where your courage starts.
Benet, Rosemary and Stephen Vincent. A Book of Americans. NY: Holt, 1961.
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Southern Ships and Settlers [1606-1732]
by Rosemary and Stephen Vincent Benet
O, where are you going, "Goodspeed" and "Discovery"?
With meek "Susan Constant" to make up the three?
We're going to settle the wilds of Virginia,
For gold and adventure we're crossing the sea.
And what will you find there? Starvation and fever.
Well eat of the adder and quarrel and rail.
All but sixty shall die of the first seven hundred,
But a nation begins with the voyage we sail.
O, what are you doing, my handsome Lord Baltimore?
Where are you sending your ""Ark" and your "Dove?"
I'm sending them over the ocean to Maryland
To build up a refuge for people I love.
Both Catholic and Protestant there may find harbor,
Though I am a Catholic by creed and by prayer.
The South is Virginia, the North is New England.
I'll go in the middle and plant my folk there.
O, what do you seek, "Carolina" and "Albermarle"
Now the Stuarts are up and the Roundheads are down?
We'll seek and we'll find, to the South of Virginia,
A site by two rivers and name it Charles Town.
And in South Carolina, the cockfighting planters
Will dance with their bellies by a tropical star.
And, in North Carolina, the sturdy Scotch-Irish
Will prove at King's Mountain the metal they are.
O, what are you dreaming, cock-hatted James Oglethorpe?
And who are the people you take in the "Anne"?
They're poor English debtors whom hard laws imprison,
And poor, distressed Protestants, fleeing a ban.
I'll settle them pleasantly on the Savannah,
With Germans and Highlanders, thrifty and strong.
They shall eat Georgia peaches in huts of palmetto,
And their land shall be fertile, their days shall be long.
All
We're the barques and the sailors, the bread on the waters,
The seed that was planted and grew to be tall,
And the South was first won by our toils and our dangers,
So remember our journeys. Remember us all.
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Indian Names
by Lydia Huntley Sigourney
Ye say they all have passed away,
That noble race and brave;
That their light canoes have vanished
From off the crested wave;
That, mid the forests where they roamed,
There rings no hunters' shout;
But their name is on your waters,
'Tis where Ontario's billow
Like ocean's surge is curled,
Where strong Niagara's thunders wake
Where red Missouri bringeth
Rich tribute from the west,
And Rappahannock sweetly sleeps
On green Virginia's breast.
Ye say their conelike cabins,
That clustered o'er the vale,
Have disappeared, as withered leaves
Before the autumn's gale;
But their memory liveth on your hills,
Their baptism on your shore,
You everlasting rivers speak
Old Massachusetts wears it
And broad Ohio bears it
Connecticut hat wreathed it
Where her quiet foliage waves,
And bold Kentucky breathes it hoarse
Through all her ancient caves.
Wachusett hides its lingering voice
And Allegheny graves its tone
Throughout his lofty chart.
Monadnock, on his forehead hoar,
Doth seal the sacred trust,
Your mountains build their monument,
Though ye destroy their dust.
Lansky, Bruce. A Bad Case of the Giggles: Kid's Favorite Funny Poems. NY:
Meadowbrook, 1994.
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Battle Won Is Lost
by Phil George
They said, "You are no longer a lad."
They said, "Enter the council lodge."
The said, "Our land's at stake."
They said, "We are at war."
They said, "Prepare red war symbols."
They said, "Count coups."
They said, "You'll see friends die."
They said, "Desperate warriors fight best."
The said, "Some will be wounded."
They said, "To die is glorious."
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