Piapot and Other Great Horsemen

The Rhyming Horseman of the Qu'Appelle
Copyright 1978 by Grant MacEwan.
219 pages.

At their last meeting, Piapot placed his hand again on Stanley's shoulder-obviously pleased to find a non-Indian seeking his words and ideals - and said, "My son, you will be a great horseman. That would be good. Horses are what your people and my people can share. Trying to be good horsemen is something we can do together. If we have the same ideas about horses, they will help us to understand each other."

THE PRAIRIE

Way across the windy prairie
'Neath the white-plumed western skies,
Where the waking Flower of Sunrise
Flings her gold at wondering eyes,
All my senses leapt responsive
To the lure of virgin sod,
Breathing in its mystic beauty
With the voiceless word of God.

I have seen the noble promise
Pledged throughout the primal plain,
Grandly made to all who claim it
By the right of brawn and brain;
Where the wheat in flaming ochre
Floods and homestead's league-long field,
And the Oat's soft silken clusters
Ripple like a silvern shield.

Watched the smoke from cabin chimney
Circle through the crystal air,
Once alive with beating tom-toms
And the signal's crimson glare.
All my soul adream with wonder
I have ridden fading trails
Leading once by lodge and teepee,
Bounded now with poplar rails.

Musing, glimpsed Adventure's fmger
Beckon through the purple haze
Round the fairy peaks of fancy
Of my dream's immortal days.
Felt the sun's calm benediction
Pulse behind the evening veils,
Ere the soughing winds of midnight
Crooned above the sleeping trails.

Through the portals of the morning
Garlanded with amber dew,
Watched the wild geese sail like galleons
Silver-flecked against the blue.
Seen the grey form of the coyote
Steal amidst the silent pines
Ere the silver mists have lifted,
Sifted through with golden lines.

Every blade of whispering verdure
On the prairie's rhythmic dunes
Sang its soft poetic quota
To the choiring twilight tunes.
Every pool of mirrored beauty,
Each wet iridescent gem,
Spoke the magic woof of colour
Conjured round each slender stem.

Here I read by tone and symbol
All my weary soul could ask,
Saw my life with Him who gave it
Stripped of all its fooling mask;
And the city's vaunted splendour
Seemed a thing of little loss,
One with all the bawds of glitter,
Blatant speech and worthless dross.

Where the light of Truth and Beauty,
Glowing in omnipotence,
Gave my eyes the clearer vision,
Shamed my life of false pretence.
Questing bravely to Tomorrow,
On the soft sweet-scented air
Beat the wings of Hope and Courage,
Crying to my soul's despair.

'Hope on! Fight on!' came the message,
Tempering fibres sorely tried,
Soothed and bitter thought within me,
Re-attuned my breaking pride!
Bade me cling to youth's ideal
That the grim iconoclast
Life had bruised, battered, broken
Bade me hold the remnants fast.

All the prairie's latent passion
Schooled within her lonely breast,
Breathing with some ancient sorrow,
Stirred my soul to depths unguessed;
Spoke to me with haunting sadness,
Filled my aching heart with tears,
Soothed me, urged to brave endeavour,
Gave me hope of stalwart years.

Thrilling to the tunes of Nature
Pealing through the wilderness,
I have drunk the wine of winter,
Felt the summer's warm caress;
All my being strangely yearning
To the haze of distant miles,
To the clear ecstatic voices
Ringing down the forest aisles.

Every fibre of my being
Thrilled responsive to the Word,
Singing through the airy vastness,
Rising from one Central Chord.
I was one with space and distance,
Brother to the land and trees,
Understanding every heart-beat
Pulsing on the vagrant breeze.

God of all the things of Beauty,
Grant me some day to return
To the garden of the sunset
Where Thy Fires of Freedom burn.
When the west wind lulls the prairie,
When the guns their silence keep,
Give me way across Thy borders,
Speed me Home at last-to sleep.