Page:Songs of the Affections.pdf/57

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The mountain eagle hath not plumes So strong as Love and Scorn.

I have raised thee from the grave-sod, By the white man's path defiled; On to th' ancestral wilderness, I bear thy dust, my child!

I have ask'd the ancient deserts To give my dead a place, Where the stately footsteps of the free Alone should leave a trace.

And the tossing pines made answer— "Go, bring us back thine own!" And the streams from all the hunters' hills, Rush'd with an echoing tone.

Thou shalt rest by sounding waters That yet untamed may roll;