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What one tribe held another disbelieved, For all concerning this was dark, she said; Uncertain all, and hard to be received. The dreadful race, from whom their fathers fled, Boasted that even the Country of the Dead Was theirs, and where their Spirits chose to go, The ghosts of other men retired in dread Before the face of that victorious foe; No better, then, the world above, than this below!

What then, alas! if this were true, was death? Only a mournful change from ill to ill! And some there were who said the living breath Would ne'er be taken from us by the will Of the Good Father, but continue still To feed with life the mortal frame he gave, Did not mischance or wicked witchcraft kill;— Evils from which no care avail'd to save, And whereby all were sent to fill the greedy grave.