Page:Pocahontas and Other Poems (NY).pdf/33

32 The fiery poison-cup, nor on ye turn'd The blood-tooth'd ban-dog, foaming, as he burn'd To tear your flesh; but thrown in kindness bless'd The brother's arm around ye, as ye trod, And led ye, sad of heart, to the bless'd Lamb of God.

Forgotten race, farewell! Your haunts we tread, Our mighty rivers speak your words of yore, Our mountains wear them on their misty head, Our sounding cataracts hurl them to the shore; But on the lake your flashing oar is still, Hush'd is your hunter's cry on dale and hill, Your arrow stays the eagle's flight no more; And ye, like troubled shadows, sink to rest In unremember'd tombs, unpitied and unbless'd.

The council-fires are quench'd, that erst so red Their midnight volume mid the groves entwined; King, stately chief, and warrior-host are dead, Nor remnant, nor memorial left behind: But thou, O forest-princess, true of heart, When o'er our fathers waved destruction's dart, Shall in their children's loving hearts be shrined; Pure, lonely star, o'er dark oblivion's wave, It is not meet thy name should moulder in the grave.