The heir of the world, and lesser poems

The shadows of night are going up
The hoar and silent mountain;
But the glorious sun is lingering yet
On the glen's romantic fountain;
Lo! the shades of Death are heaving round
The warriors of old renown,
But the light of memory falleth still
On their dewy laurel crown.

The night bird, mid the shadowy wood,
With a joyous spirit sings,
And music comes, with a gurgling gush,
From a thousand moonlight springs;
Lo! the Fame of the greatly good survives
The change and the blight of Death,
And the Hero's name and deeds are heard
In the Forest's hourly breath.

We weep not that our kings have gone
To Xaragua's vale,
For the path of their glory's trodden yet
By feet that never fail;
And the Zemi's smile shall meet us there
When the sun to his cavern flies,
And the moon alone, with a melting light,
Looks on us from the skies.

There, if we follow our warrior chiefs—
We shall sleep on molten stars;
The anana and mamey shall wait us there,
And the trophies of glorious wars;

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And our spirits will float through the mellow gloom,
Like the down on the twilight breeze,
And our home shall be in a starry bower
Beneath the greenwood trees.

We grieve not over departed days,
For the voice of the Dead is heard;
“Be just and wise to thy fellow man,
“And gentle to beast and bird;
“And thy name shall live in the songs and hearts
“Of the ages that are to be,
“And thy choicest friend shall welcome thee
“To the bower of the greenwood tree.”

Mr. Maxwell has very politely allowed me to extract this song from “The Carib Cacique,” a prose Tale by the Author, which will soon appear in an attractive volume from his press.

University of Virginia Library

THE SONG OF THE INDIANS.