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Rh For all those that died thereafter,

Camp-fires for their night encampments

On their solitary journey

To the kingdom of Ponemah,

To the land of the Hereafter.

From the village of his childhood,

From the homes of those who knew him,

Passing silent through the forest,

Like a smoke-wreath wafted sideways,

Slowly vanished Chibiabos!

Where he passed, the branches moved not,

Where he trod, the grasses bent not,

And the fallen leaves of last year

Made no sound beneath his footsteps.

Four whole days he journeyed onward

Down the pathway of the dead men;

On the dead-man's strawberry feasted,

Crossed the melancholy river,

On the swinging log he crossed it,

Came unto the Lake of Silver,