Poems (Chitwood)/The Indian's Farewell
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THE INDIAN'S FAREWELL.
Is it farther west? Is it farther west?
The isle of peace, and the land of rest
I had thought to lie where my fathers lie,
Where my fathers died I had thought to die;
And the notes of my death song, low and clear,
To die away in my strong heart here,
The isle of peace, and the land of rest
I had thought to lie where my fathers lie,
Where my fathers died I had thought to die;
And the notes of my death song, low and clear,
To die away in my strong heart here,
But in vain the hope—the wish in vain—
I turn my steps to the West again:
I turn from the mound so green and low,
Where the sunlight falls, and the south winds blow,
While waves of agony shake my breast,
To the distant West, to the far off West.
I turn my steps to the West again:
I turn from the mound so green and low,
Where the sunlight falls, and the south winds blow,
While waves of agony shake my breast,
To the distant West, to the far off West.
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I have journeyed long, o'er hills and plains,
O'er rivers wide, o'er mountain chains;
I have slept while the light of the stars was bright,
In the broad blue tent of the skies at night;
And heard the strong north wind that blows
From the icy lips of the god of snows.
O'er rivers wide, o'er mountain chains;
I have slept while the light of the stars was bright,
In the broad blue tent of the skies at night;
And heard the strong north wind that blows
From the icy lips of the god of snows.
And I am here in the distant West;
Yet where, oh where is the land of rest?—
For even here a shadow falls
From the low brown eaves of the white man's walls;
And 'neath the pines, at the close of day,
The pale face rests where the children play.
Yet where, oh where is the land of rest?—
For even here a shadow falls
From the low brown eaves of the white man's walls;
And 'neath the pines, at the close of day,
The pale face rests where the children play.
I hear the loud Pacific roar,
As the dark waves dash on the sandy shore,—
Must I tempt the deep, in my light canoe?
Must my paddle sound on the waters blue?
And is there an island upon its breast
Where the aged warrior at last may rest?
As the dark waves dash on the sandy shore,—
Must I tempt the deep, in my light canoe?
Must my paddle sound on the waters blue?
And is there an island upon its breast
Where the aged warrior at last may rest?
Oh, wan is the light of my once bright eye;
I am old, and weak, and soon must die.
I had thought to find my brothers here;
And hunting-grounds, with the fleet young deer,
Where birds might sing, and young bees hum,
And the sound of the white man's voice ne'er come.
I am old, and weak, and soon must die.
I had thought to find my brothers here;
And hunting-grounds, with the fleet young deer,
Where birds might sing, and young bees hum,
And the sound of the white man's voice ne'er come.
I had thought to find, in these dingles deep,
Full many a haunt where the wolf might sleep;
Where the panther's eyes, in glaring bright,
Look down through the thick green leaves at night;—
I had thought my arrow again might rest
With unerring aim in the eagle's breast.
Full many a haunt where the wolf might sleep;
Where the panther's eyes, in glaring bright,
Look down through the thick green leaves at night;—
I had thought my arrow again might rest
With unerring aim in the eagle's breast.
But in vain, in vain! I can only die,
With a heart untamed, and a tearless eye.
They will scoop my grave in the yellow clay,
And the white man's children o'er me play;
With their lips of rose, and golden hair:
But where are the red man's children, where?
A scattered, and wronged, and broken band;
But there is rest in the Spirit Land.
With a heart untamed, and a tearless eye.
They will scoop my grave in the yellow clay,
And the white man's children o'er me play;
With their lips of rose, and golden hair:
But where are the red man's children, where?
A scattered, and wronged, and broken band;
But there is rest in the Spirit Land.