Ohio History Journal

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.

(109)

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.

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.

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.

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.