Poems (Gould, 1833)/The Cherokee at Washington

by Hannah Flagg Gould

THE CHEROKEE AT WASHINGTON.

 I come from an ancient race—
  From the wilds where my father trod;
And, though I present the red man's face,
  I believe in the Christian's God.

 I come where your Chief is laid,
  At rest in his own dear land;
And I now would ask, if his mighty shade
  Presides o'er your council band.

 If so, he will know the type
  Of peace and of purity;
The chain of gold, and the silver pipe,
  Bestowed on the Cherokee.

 And here must he turn aside
  To weep, and to blush for shame,
Thus to hear our nation's rights denied,
  And his debase her name.

 Oh! no—by the faith of man,
  Our claims ye must yet allow!
By the Book ye read, ye never can
  Thus your pledges disavow!

 Ye say that He went about,
  Whom ye follow, doing good.
Does he bid you hunt the red man out,
  Like a wolf from his native wood?

 Ye teach us, too, that He
  Is to judge the quick and the dead:
Before his throne, will the difference be
  That the face was white, or red?

 And ye tell us what He said,
  When He pointed to the coin
Impressed with the sovereign's name and head,
  And what his words enjoin.

 Our image on our land,
  As Cesar's on the gold,
Has been impressed by our Maker's hand,
  And it never must be sold!

 For, dear as the spot of earth
  Where first your breath ye drew,
Your father's sepulchres, your hearth
  And altar are to you;

 The ties are far more strong,
  Which we feel to our native soil,
Than yours—ye have not been so long,
  As the nation ye would spoil!

 By power ye may o'ercome;
  But should ye thus succeed,
And drive the poor Indian from his home—
  Great Spirit, forgive the deed!