"How can the red men be forgotten, while so many of our states and territories, bays, lakes and rivers, are indelibly stamped by names of their giving?"
Ye say they all have passed away, That noble race and brave,That their light canoes have vanished From off the crested wave;That, mid the forests where they roamed, There rings no hunter's shout,But their name is on your waters, Ye may not wash it out.
'Tis where Ontario's billow Like Ocean's surge is curled,Where strong Niagara's thunders wake The echo of the world.Where red Missouri bringeth Rich tribute from the west,And Rappahannock sweetly sleeps On green Virginia's breast.
Ye say their cone-like cabins, That clustered o'er the vale,Have fled away like withered leaves Before the autumn gale,But their memory liveth on your hills, Their baptism on your shore,Your everlasting rivers speak Their dialect of yore.
Old Massachusetts wears it, Within her lordly crown,And broad Ohio bears it, Amid his young renown;Connecticut hath wreathed it Where her quiet foliage waves,And bold Kentucky breathes it hoarse Through all her ancient caves.
Wachuset hides its lingering voice Within his rocky heart,And Alleghany graves its tone Throughout his lofty chart;Monadnock, on his forehead hoar Doth seal the sacred trust,Your mountains build their monument, Though ye destroy their dust.
Ye call these red-brown brethren The insects of an hour,Crushed like the noteless worm amid The regions of their power;Ye drive them from their father's lands, Ye break of faith the seal,But can ye from the court of Heaven Exclude their last appeal?
Ye see their unresisting tribes With toilsome step and slow,On through the trackless desert pass, A caravan of woe;Think ye the Eternal's ear is deaf? His sleepless vision dim?Think ye the soul's blood may not cry From that far land to him?
