From the Grand Forks Daily Herald, July 23, 1915. By Walter Scott.
He is gone on the mountain,
He is lost to the forest,
Like a summer dried fountain,
When our need was the sorest.
The font reappearing
From the raindrops shall borrow
But to us comes no cheering,
To Duncan no morrow!
The hand of the reaper
Takes the ears that are hoary,
But the voice of the weeper
Wails manhood in glory.
The autumn winds rushing
Waft the leaves that are serest.
But our flower was flushing
When the blighting was nearest.
Fleet foot on the correi,
Sage counsel in cumber,
Red hand in the foray,
How sound is thy slumber!
Like the dew on the mountain,
Like the foam on the river,
Like the bubble on the fountain,
Thou art gone, and forever!