Jack Dempsey’s Grave

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Jack Dempsey’s Grave

Far out in the wilds of Oregon,

On a lonely mountain side,

Where Columbia’s mighty waters

Roll down to the Ocean’s tide;

Where the giant fir and cedar

Are imaged in the wave,

O’ergrown with ferns and lichens,

I found poor Dempsey’s grave.

I found no marble monolith,

No broken shaft nor stone,

Recording sixty victories

This vanquished victor won;

No rose, no shamrock could I find,

No mortal here to tell

Where sleeps in this forsaken spot

The immortal Nonpareil.

A winding, wooded canyon road

That mortals seldom tread

Leads up this lonely mountain

To this desert of the dead.

And the western sun was sinking

In Pacific’s golden wave;

And these solemn pines kept watching

Over poor Jack Dempsey’s grave.

That man of honor and of iron,

That man of heart and steel,

That man who far out-classed his class

And made mankind to feel

That Dempsey’s name and Dempsey’s fame

Should live in serried stone,

Is now at rest far in the West

In the wilds of Oregon.

Forgotten by ten thousand throats

That thundered his acclaim⁠—

Forgotten by his friends and foes

That cheered his very name;

Oblivion wraps his faded form,

But ages hence shall save

The memory of that Irish lad

That fills poor Dempsey’s grave.

O Fame, why sleeps thy favored son

In wilds, in woods, in weeds?

And shall he ever thus sleep on⁠—

Interred his valiant deeds?

’Tis strange New York should thus forget

Its “bravest of the brave,”

And in the wilds of Oregon

Unmarked, leave Dempsey’s grave.