Lyr Add: The Riders of the Plains

Subject: Lyr Add: The Riders of the Plains
From: Q (Frank Staplin)
Date: 01 Aug 04 - 09:01 PM

This boastful poem was written by a member of the North-west Mounted Police soon after the force was formed in 1873. The purpose of the force was to show the flag (Americans, this is our territory!) and protect the Indians from exploitation by American whiskey-sellers. Within ten years, this force had the task of keeping the western settlers lawful, and the Metís (the Canadian half-breed) and the Indians under control. Some of the 'mounties' looked beyond their job, and gained land and cattle for themselves as the ranching industry built up, or found opportunities in business in the expanding West. Some were fresh from Britain; one was a son of the author, Charles Dickens. Much later (about 1920) they became the Royal Canadian Mounted Police.
I have heard a few, so far unsuccessful, attempts at making a song of it. It is also too long. It belongs to the time when the first cowboy songs were being written, but also is an expression of loyalty to the British Empire. It may interest some of you.

The Riders of the Plains

So wake the prairie echoes with
The ever welcome sound;
Ring out the "boot and saddle" till
Its stirring notes resound.
Our chargers toss their bridled heads,
And chafe against the reins.
Ring out! ring out the marching call
For the Riders of the Plains.

O'er many a league of prairie wild
Our trackless path must be,
And round it rove the fiercest tribes
Of Blackfoot and of Cree.
But danger from their savage bands
A dauntless heart disdains-
'Tis the heart that bears the helmet up,
Of the Riders of the Plains.

The prairie storms sweep o'er our way,
But onward still we go,
To scale the weary mountain range,
Descend the valley low,
We face the broad Saskatchewan,
Made fierce with heavy rains,
With all his might he cannot check
The Riders of the Plains.

We tread the dreaded cactus land,
Where, lost to white man's ken,
We startle there the creatures wild
With the sight of armed men.
For whereso'er our leader bids
The bugle sounds its strains;
Forward in sections marching go
The Riders of the Plains.

The fire king stalks the prairie,
And fearful 'tis to see
The rushing wall of flame and smoke
Girdling round us rapidly.
'Tis then we shout defiance
And mock his fiery chains;
For safe the cleared circle guards
The Riders of the Plains.

For us no cheerful hostelries
Their welcome gates unfold;
No generous board, no downy couch
Await our troopers bold.
Beneath the star-lit canopy
At eve, when daylight wanes,
There lie these hardy wanderers-
The Riders of the Plains.

In want of rest, in want of food,
Our courage does not fail,
As day and night we follow hard,
The desperado's trail.
His threatened rifle stays us not,
He finds no hope remains,
And yields at last a captive to
The Riders of the Plains.

We've ta'en the haughty feathered Chief,
Whose hands were red with blood,
E'en in the very Council Lodge
We seized him as he stood.
Three fearless hearts faced forty braves,
And bore the Chief in chains,
Full sixty miles to where were camped
The Riders of the Plains.

But that which tries the outrage sore,
Of horseman and of steed,
Is want of blessed water,
Blessed water in our need.
We'll face like men whate'er befalls,
Of perils, hardships, pains;
Oh God! Deny not water to
The Riders of the Plains.

And death, who comes alike to all
Has visited us here,
Filling our hearts with bitter grief,
Our eyes with many a tear.
Five times he drew his fatal bow,
His hand no prayer restrains;
Five times his arrows sped among
The Riders of the Plains.

Hard by the Old Man River,
Where freshest breezes blow,
Five grassy mounds lie side by side,
Five riders sleep below.
Neat palings closed the sacred ground,
No stranger's step profanes
Their deep repose, and they sleep well
These Riders of the Plains.

There is no marble column,
There is no graven stone
To blazon to a curious world
The deeds they might have done.
But the prairie flower blows lightly there,
And creeping wild rose trains
Its wreath of summer beauty o'er
The Riders of the Plains.

Sleep on, sleep on, proud slumberers
Who died in the Far West,
No prancing steed will feel your hand,
No trumpet break your rest.
Sleep on, till the great archangel
Shall burst death's mortal chains,
And you hear the great "Reveillé"
Ye Riders of the Plains.

We bear no lifted banners,
The soldiers care and pride,
No fluttering flag waves onward
Our horsemen as they ride.
Our only guide is "duty's" call,
And well its strength sustains
The dauntless spirits of our men,
Bold Riders of the Plains.

In England's mighty Empire
Each man must take his stand;
Some guard the honoured flag at sea,
Some bear it well by land;
'Tis not our part to fight its foes-
Then what to us remains?
What duty does our Sovereign give
Her Riders of the Plains?

Our mission is to plant the reign
Of British freedom here,
Restrain the lawless savage,
And protect the pioneer.
And 'tis a proud and daring trust
To hold these vast domains
With but three hundred mounted men-
The Riders of the Plains.

And though we win no praise or fame
In the struggle here alone-
To carry out good British law
And plant old England' throne;
Yet when our task has been performed,
The peaceful settler long will bless
The Riders of the Plains.

Printed in Charles P. Mulvaney, 1886, The History of the North-West Rebellion of 1885, 440 pp. Pub. A. H. Hovey, Toronto.

There are several other poems with this title, including another about the Mounted Police by the part-Indian Canadian poet, Pauline Johnson, written about 1903.

Subject: RE: Lyr Add: The Riders of the Plains
From: PoppaGator
Date: 02 Aug 04 - 01:33 PM

Maybe somone could make up a contemporary parody, "Riders of the Planes," addressing the problems of clearing airport security, not getting meals anymore, etc.

(It wouldn't be necessary to write quite so many verses.)

Subject: RE: Lyr Add: The Riders of the Plains
From: semi-submersible
Date: 02 Aug 04 - 04:15 PM

The last staza doesn't scan: is there a missing line in the second half?

Thanks for posting!

Subject: RE: Lyr Add: The Riders of the Plains
From: Q (Frank Staplin)
Date: 03 Aug 04 - 12:56 AM

A line is missing, last stanza. Sorry!

And though we win no praise or fame
In the struggle here alone-
To carry out good British Law
And plant old England's throne;
Yet wnen our task has been performed,
And law and order reigns,
The peaceful settler long will bless
The Riders of the Plains.