Past Postings

Previous William Thomas Sherman Info Page postings, quotes, observations, etc.


["Burton Cummings Medley" - Medley with Burton Cummings Randy Bachman and the Manhattan Transfer]





The more money he insists on having and needs to have, the harder it will be for him come the day to do without so very much; all the more so as his own exceeds excessive human greed.


Were I to name my favorite American poet, it would be William Cullen Bryant (1794-1878); there is a depth, sincerity, earthiness yet also sublimity about his visions that I find most moving, and his body of poems as a whole, with its wide variety of subjects, sentiment, and color, is an inspiration to me as a writer. Yet in our more modern day to day life, the life we live is for some a noisy one, and so we lack that special peace and tranquility that makes it possible to best enjoy and appreciate literary works and pieces such as his. The same is true, I find also of so many pre-20th century authors, including novelists. Oh, for the day to when I can once more read and immerse myself in them like I once used to! (Hopefully, it isn't too far away.)

"An Indian at the Burial-Place of His Fathers"

by William Cullen Bryant

"It is the spot I came to seek--
My father's ancient burial-place,
Ere from these vales, ashamed and weak,
Withdrew our wasted race.
It is the spot--I know it well---
Of which our old traditions tell.

"For here the upland bank sends out
A ridge toward the river-side;
I know the shaggy hills about,
The meadows smooth and wide,
The plains, that, toward the southern sky,
Fenced east and west by mountains lie.

"A white man, gazing on the scene,
Would say a lovely spot was here,
And praise the lawns, so fresh and green,
Between the hills so sheer.
I like it not--I would the plain
Lay in its tall old groves again.

"The sheep are on the slopes around,
The cattle in the meadows feed,
And laborers turn the crumbling ground,
Or drop the yellow seed,
And prancing steeds, in trappings gay,
Whirl the bright chariot o'er the way.

"Methinks it were a nobler sight
To see these vales in woods arrayed,
Their summits in the golden light,
Their trunks in grateful shade,
And herds of deer that bounding go
O'er hills and prostrate trees below.

"And then to mark the lord of all,
The forest hero, trained to wars,
Quivered and plumed, and lithe and tall,
And seamed with glorious scars,
Walk forth, amid his reign, to dare
The wolf, and grapple with the bear.

"This bank, in which the dead were laid,
Was sacred when its soil was ours;
Hither the silent Indian maid
Brought wreaths of beads and flowers,
And the gray chief and gifted seer
Worshipped the god of thunders here.

"But now the wheat is green and high
On clods that hid the warrior's breast,
And scattered in the furrows lie
The weapons of his rest;
And there, in the loose sand, is thrown
Of his large arm the mouldering bone.

"Ah, little thought the strong and brave
Who bore their lifeless chieftain forth--
Or the young wife that weeping gave
Her first-born to the earth,
That the pale race, who waste us now,
Among their bones should guide the plough.

"They waste us--ay--like April snow
In the warm noon, we shrink away;
And fast they follow, as we go
Toward the setting day--
Till they shall fill the land, and we
Are driven into the Western sea.

"But I behold a fearful sign,
To which the white men's eyes are blind;
Their race may vanish hence, like mine,
And leave no trace behind,
Save ruins o'er the region spread,
And the white stones above the dead.

"Before these fields were shorn and tilled,
Full to the brim our rivers flowed;
The melody of waters filled
The fresh and boundless wood;
And torrents dashed and rivulets played,
And fountains spouted in the shade.

"Those grateful sounds are heard no more,
The springs are silent in the sun;
The rivers, by the blackened shore,
With lessening current run;
The realm our tribes are crushed to get
May be a barren desert yet."


Oh that look. Oh that sound!

["Grand Funk Railroad Heartbreaker Live 1974 "]