The American common-place book of poetry with occasional notes |
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The Grave of the Indian Chief.—Percival.
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 | The American common-place book of poetry |  |
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The Grave of the Indian Chief.—Percival.
They laid the corse of the wild and brave
On the sweet, fresh earth of the new day grave,
On the gentle hill, where wild weeds waved,
And flowers and grass were flourishing
On the sweet, fresh earth of the new day grave,
On the gentle hill, where wild weeds waved,
And flowers and grass were flourishing
They laid within the peaceful bed,
Close by the Indian chieftain's head,
His bow and arrows; and they said,
That he had found new hunting grounds,
Close by the Indian chieftain's head,
His bow and arrows; and they said,
That he had found new hunting grounds,
Where bounteous Nature only tills
The willing soil; and o'er whose hills,
And down beside the shady rills,
The hero roams eternally.
The willing soil; and o'er whose hills,
And down beside the shady rills,
The hero roams eternally.
And these fair isles to the westward lie,
Beneath a golden sun-set sky,
Where youth and beauty never die,
And song and dance move endlessly.
Beneath a golden sun-set sky,
Where youth and beauty never die,
And song and dance move endlessly.
They told of the feats of his dog and gun,
They told of the deeds his arm had done,
They sung of battles lost and won,
And so they paid his eulogy.
They told of the deeds his arm had done,
They sung of battles lost and won,
And so they paid his eulogy.
And o'er his arms, and o'er his bones,
They raised a simple pile of stones;
Which, hallowed by their tears and moans,
Was all the Indian's monument.
They raised a simple pile of stones;
Which, hallowed by their tears and moans,
Was all the Indian's monument.
And since the chieftain here has slept,
Full many a winter's winds have swept,
And many an age has softly crept
Over his humble sepulchre.
Full many a winter's winds have swept,
And many an age has softly crept
Over his humble sepulchre.
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