Indian Names
Ye shall say they all have passed away,That noble race and brave,That their light canoes have vanish'dFrom off the crested wave.
That 'mid the forests where they roam'dThere rings no hunter's shout;But their name is on your waters,Ye may not wash it out.
'Tis where Ontario's billowLike Ocean's surge is curled;Where strong Niagara's thunders wakeThe echo of the world;
Where red Missouri bringethRich tributes from the west,And Rappahannock sweetly sleepsOn green Virginia's breast.
Ye say, their cone-like cabins,That cluster'd o'er the vale,Have fled away like wither'd leavesBefore the autumn gale:
But their memory liveth on your hills,Their baptism on your shore;Your everlasting rivers speakTheir dialect of yore.
Old Massachusetts wears itWithin her lordly crown,And broad Ohio bears it'mid all her young renown;
Connecticut hath wreathed itWhere her quiet foliage waves,And bold Kentucky breathed it hoarseThrough all her ancient caves.
Wachuset hides its lingering voiceWithin its rocky heart,And Alleghany graves its toneThroughout his lofty chart:
Monadnock on his forehead hoarDoth seal the sacred trust;Your mountains build their monument,Though ye destroy their dust