“I hear the far-off voyager’s horn;
I see the Yankee’s trail—
His foot on every mountain pass,
On every stream his sail.
...
“I hear the mattock in the mine,
The axe stroke in the dell,
The clamour 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.
...
“Each rude and jostling fragment soon
Its fitting place shall find—
The raw material of a State,
Its muscle and its mind.”