Page:Poems Cook.djvu/184

And the Spirit who gave the bird its nest,
 Made me a home as well.
Then back, go back from the red-skin's track,
 For the hunter's eyes grow dim,
To find the white man wrongs the one
 Who never did harm to him.

Oh! why does the pale-face always call
 The red man "heathen brute?"
He does not bend where the dark knees fall,
 But the tawny lip is mute.
We east no blame on his creed or name,
 Or his temples, fine and high;
But he mocks at us with a laughing word
 When we worship a star-lit sky.
Yet, white man, what has thy good faith done,
 And where can its mercy be,
If it teach thee to hate the hunter one
 Who never did harm to thee?

We need no book to tell us how
 Our lives shall pass away;
For we see the onward torrent flow,
 And the mighty tree decay.
"Let thy tongue be true and thy heart be brave,"
 Is among the red-skins' lore;
We can bring down the swift wing and dive in the wave,
 And we seek to know no more.
Then back, go back, and let us run
 With strong, unfetter'd limb;
For why should the white man wrong the one
 Who never did harm to him?

We know there's a hand that has fix'd the hill
 And planted the prairie plain;
That can fling the lightnings when it will,
 And pour out the torrent rain.

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