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A price thy nation never gave
Shall yet be paid for thee;
In lands beyond the sea."
To shred his locks away ;
Before the victor lay.
And deftly hidden there
The dark and crisped hair. “ Look ! feast thy greedy eye with gold,
Long kept for sorest need;
And say that I am freed.
Weeps by the cocoa-tree,
And ask in vain for me."
Thy fetters fast and strong,
Thy wife will wait thee long."
The captive's frame to hear,
Was changed to mortal fear.
At once his eye grew wild-
Whisper'd, and wept, and smiled.
Yet wore not long those fatal bands;
And once, at shut of day,
The foul hyena's prey !
THE LAST OF THE RED MEN.
TAE sun's last ray was glowing fair, on crag, and tree, and
flood, And fell in mellow softness where the lonely Indian stood. Beneath his eye, in living gold, the broad Pacific lay; Unruffled there, a skiff might hold its bright and fearless
way. Far, far behind him, mountains blue in shadowy distance
And far beyond, the dark woods grew, where his fore
fathers dwelt! No breathing sound was in the air, as, leaning on his
bow, A lone and weary pilgrim there, he murmur'd stern and
low:“Far by Ohio's mighty river, bright star, I've worshipp'd
thee! My native stream—its bosom never the red man more
The pale-face rears his wigwam where our Indian hunters
roved ; His hatchet fells the forest fair our Indian maidens loved. A thousand warriors bore in war the token of my sires; On all the hills were seen afar their blazing council-fires !
The foeman heard their war-whoop shrill, and held his
breath in fear; And in the wood, and on the hill, their arrows pierced the
deer. Where are they now £—the stranger's tread is on their
silent place! Yon fading light on me is shed —the last of all my race ! Where are they now ?in summer's light, go seek the
winter's snow! Forgotten is our name and might, and broken is our bow! The white man came; his bayonets gleam where sachems
held their sway; And, like the shadow of a dream, our tribe has pass'd
THE DISINTERRED WARRIOR.
GATHER him to his grave again,
And solemnly and softly lay
The warrior's scatter'd bones away.
The homage of man's heart to death :
Once hallow'd by the Almighty's breath.
The soul has quicken'd every part
That remnant of a martial brow,
That strong arm—strong no longer now.
Spare them, each mouldering relic spare,
Of God's own image; let them rest, Till not a trace shall speak of where
The awful likeness was impress'd.
For he was fresher from the hand
That form'd of earth the human face, And to the elements did stand
In nearer kindred than our race. In many a flood to madness tossid,
In many a storm has been his path; He hid him not from heat or frost,
But met them and defied their wrath
Then they were kind—the forests here,
Rivers and stiller waters paid A tribute to the net and spear
Of the red ruler of the shade.
Roots in the shaded soil below,
The still earth warn'd him of his foe.
A noble race ! but they are gone,
With their old forests wide and deep, And we have built our homes upon
Fields where their generations sleep. Their fountains slake our thirst at noon,
Upon their fields our harvest waves, Our lovers woo beneath their moon
Then let us spare, at least, their graves.
ANSWER me, burning stars of night,
Where is the spirit gone,
Even as a breeze hath flown?
In light and power on high-
Ask things that cannot die !"
Thou art a wanderer free ;-
Far over mount and sea ?
“ The blue deep have I cross'd, And met its barks and billows high, —
But not what thou hast lost!" Ye clouds ! that gorgeously repose
Around the setting sun,Answer,—be ye a home for those
Whose earthly race has run ?
We vanish in the sky:
For that which cannot die !"
Thou of the deep low tone !
Where is the spirit flown ?