Far out upon the prairie,
Today I idly roam;
This erst was called the hunters' range,
The noble bisons' home.
Here proud of man, he grandly strode,
A monarch in his might.
Fearless he scanned his vast abode,
With keen, far-reaching sight.
Too soon, alas! the whistling ball
Sped swift, upon its way.
Brave to the death, I saw thee fall
And marked thy closing day.
Again thy trail I cross, Alas!
'Twas here I saw thee die.
And here beneath the tangled grass
Thy bleaching bones, espy.