Passing With the Sun.
By Fred. A. Dunham.
By Columbia’s mighty river,
Where the cascades leap and roar,
With the warm and mellow sunlight
Shining on his locks of hoar,
Stood a bent and time-worn redman,—
Relic of a passing race,—
And a tinge of mournful sadness
Rested on his careworn face.
All his glory had departed;
Tribe and lands were his no more;
And the river, field and forest
With their free and boundless store
Woke no more the fires within him,—
For his hunting days were done,—
And his sands of life were passing,
Passing with the setting sun.
On the bright and sparkling river,
On the deep and tangled glade,
Where his youth was passed in gladness,—
Where his ancestors were laid,—
Passed his gaze in eager searching,
As for friends he knew of yore,
But the friends of youth and manhood
All had reached that other shore.
Swiftly now the evening shadows
Deepen as they gather round;
Slowly sinks the aged redman,
Staggering, falling to the ground.
For the silver thread is broken,—
Friends of yore he now has met,—
For his mortal life had ended,
And the golden sun had set.
