 | Poems |  |
VERSES TO AN ABORIGINAL RELIC,
Being a carved stone, with the head of a Whale and the back of a Beaver.
Since none can inspiration bribe,
At what deep fount shall I imbibe
The wished-for language to inscribe
An unsung song
To thee, thou relic of a tribe
Forgotten long?
At what deep fount shall I imbibe
The wished-for language to inscribe
An unsung song
To thee, thou relic of a tribe
Forgotten long?
A man, methinks, might worship thee,
And yet preserve his conscience free
From violating wickedly
A high command
Thou 'rt like to nothing in the sea,
Or on the land.
And yet preserve his conscience free
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A high command
Thou 'rt like to nothing in the sea,
Or on the land.
Hold, now!—a new idea I take:
A beaver 't is, full wide awake!
But, Nitchie, you forgot to make
A broad, flat tail.
'T is no such thing—for Jonah's sake
We'll call 't a whale.
A beaver 't is, full wide awake!
But, Nitchie, you forgot to make
A broad, flat tail.
'T is no such thing—for Jonah's sake
We'll call 't a whale.
It matters, after all, no great,
What thou wast meant to imitate;
You might have been, at any rate,
A fancy sketch,
Which Sculpture in her infant state
Began to etch.
What thou wast meant to imitate;
You might have been, at any rate,
A fancy sketch,
Which Sculpture in her infant state
Began to etch.
Whate'er thou art, god, fish, or beast,
Thou art to musing minds a feast;
And could oblivion-searching Priest
But hear about thee,
He 'd walk a dozen miles, at least,
Than be without thee.
Thou art to musing minds a feast;
And could oblivion-searching Priest
But hear about thee,
He 'd walk a dozen miles, at least,
Than be without thee.
When he was told how thou wast found
Embedded in a little mound,
And that thy resting-place was crown'd
By ancient pine,
His eyes would grow with wonder round—
With fancy shine.
Embedded in a little mound,
And that thy resting-place was crown'd
By ancient pine,
His eyes would grow with wonder round—
With fancy shine.
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But, Time, thou old grave-digging one!
Thou 'st buried in oblivion
A race, altho' themselves unknown,
Their wrongs are not;
“Hic jacet,” never reads the stone
To mark the spot.
Thou 'st buried in oblivion
A race, altho' themselves unknown,
Their wrongs are not;
“Hic jacet,” never reads the stone
To mark the spot.
Can man, who flourishes to-day
As full of mirth as merry May,
Pass like the setting sun away—
A phantom slow?
Alas! that we can truly say,
'T is even so!
As full of mirth as merry May,
Pass like the setting sun away—
A phantom slow?
Alas! that we can truly say,
'T is even so!
And can Oblivion's caverns deep,
Where noble minds and actions sleep,
Where honest worth and virtue weep,
Neglected low—
Man's memory in durance keep?
'T is even so!
Where noble minds and actions sleep,
Where honest worth and virtue weep,
Neglected low—
Man's memory in durance keep?
'T is even so!
But when the light of life is killed,
When blood of innocence is spilled,
When man his list of crimes has filled,
This truth impress—
A righteous God above has willed
To work redress.
When blood of innocence is spilled,
When man his list of crimes has filled,
This truth impress—
A righteous God above has willed
To work redress.
And now I 'm thinking, as I eye
This uncooth, nameless Indian toy,
There'll be a solemn case to try
Some day or other,
When we shall face, in courts on high,
Our poor red brother.
This uncooth, nameless Indian toy,
There'll be a solemn case to try
Some day or other,
When we shall face, in courts on high,
Our poor red brother.
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