|
01 Aug 04 - 09:01 PM (#1238614) Subject: Lyr Add: The Riders of the Plains From: Q (Frank Staplin) 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. |
|
02 Aug 04 - 01:33 PM (#1239025) Subject: RE: Lyr Add: The Riders of the Plains From: PoppaGator 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.) |
|
02 Aug 04 - 04:15 PM (#1239126) Subject: RE: Lyr Add: The Riders of the Plains From: semi-submersible The last staza doesn't scan: is there a missing line in the second half? Thanks for posting! |
|
03 Aug 04 - 12:56 AM (#1239387) Subject: RE: Lyr Add: The Riders of the Plains From: Q (Frank Staplin) 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. |