FOUR CYCLES: A
CENTENNIAL ODE.
Prepared in commemoration of the
centennial anniversary of
Pickaway County. The Poem is descriptive
of Circleville, the county
seat.
MAY LOWE.
PRELUDE.
The grape vine and the sycamore
Cast shadows long and deep,
On the surface of the river
Near whose banks the thousands sleep-
Men of mystery, who from silence
Of the dim past settled here,
Wrought their mighty deeds of valor,
Left a record written clear
Of their learning and their prowess,
In the circle and the square;
Left a name for future builders,
In the circle and the square.
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Four Cycles. 111
FIRST CYCLE: THE
MOUND BUILDER.
Thou placid river, flowing 'neath the
shade
Of sycamore and wild grape intertwined,
Canst, in thy murmurings, speak of deeds
as strange
As e'er old Greek and Roman annals made
Record of wonder, coming down the years.
Upon thy banks a mighty people dwelt,
Who wrought what, later, men saw with
amaze--.
A structure, in its building so exact
And perfect, that savants who came to
gaze,
And criticize, and measure, went their
way
Silent with awe. They saw that those
whose minds
Had planned these walls were giants in
their day.
Whence come? or whither gone? we ask in
vain;
And thou, oh, stream! immutable as Time,
Dost silence keep.
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Four Cycles. 113
SECOND CYCLE: THE
RED MAN.
Along thy banks another people roamed,
Scioto! finding in thy waters clear
Largess of food; while flint-tipped
arrows brought
Low, in the forest shade, the antlered
deer,
Seeking thy cooling waters in his need.
But not alone in ways of peace excelled
The Red Man; but long has his name come
down
Freighted with weight of craft and deeds
of blood,
Which made the name of every Indian town
A word of terror. But for deeds of hate
And cunning often noble acts and
thoughts
Are chronicled. Each tortured victim's
fate
Logan redeemed and amply satisfied.
For each base, crafty, cruel Captain
Pipe
A wise and noble Cornstalk doth appear,
And ever at his side, Squaw Grenadier,
Mighty as he in council and in war.
E'en though the war-cry echoed o'er and
o'er,
The calumet was smoked along thy shore.
No more their council fires burn on thy
banks,
Nor float their bark canoes upon thy
tide;
Their race is run.
Vol. XX-8.
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Four Cycles. 115
THIRD CYCLE: THE
COMING OF THE WHITE MAN.
Across the Alleghanies slowly came,
Like Argonauts of old, a hardy race
Seeking new homes. Long weeks, with
toilsome pace
They traveled from the East to the far
West,
Hoping, each day, their journey's end to
find.
Each morning, gleamed the sun upon the
band
Of weary pilgrims and their pack-horse
train,
Laden with children and with household
goods;
Each sunset told their hope had been in
vain,
Until thy gleam, Scioto, met their gaze;
Upon thy bank they paused - their quest
was o'er.
Upon the fort they looked with what
amaze
We can but guess; 'tis this alone we
know-
They chose this wondrous spot to be the
site
Of their new town. Deftly they felled
and laid
The giant trees, and from them houses
made;
Followed the conformation of the fort
With rows of dwellings in a circle
placed,
And in their midst, a court house eight
ways faced.
Now, like those mystic builders of the
past,
And the Red Man who followed in their
wake,
They, also, sleep.
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Four Cycles. 117
FOURTH CYCLE: THE GLORY DEPARTED.
A century has passed, with all its woes
And happiness, since first the White Man
staid
His steps upon this spot; since first he
laid,
With pride and hope, his circle village.
Here
He dwelt contented till a longing rose
Among the people for a modern town.
Then was the circle squared and made to
take
The semblance of all other towns of
earth.
No more, Scioto, will thy waters make
Rejoicing for the wonders which here
stood;
But though the glory evermore has fled
Beauty remains, and peace, and
brotherhood.
What though our eyes may long to pierce
the past
And view the marvel of the wondrous fort
Of ancient time, they in content are brought
To bear on temples in this decade
wrought.
Though, in romantic mood, to range the
wood
With dusky savage were a wished-for
thing,
In saner mind, we are content to bring
Fair fields and orchards as an offering.
And though dark war may bear its meed of
fame,
In thankfulness we hold triumphs that
come
Through paths of peace.