Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, ed. Poems of Places: An Anthology in 31 Volumes.
America: Vols. XXV–XXIX. 1876–79.
Our Aborigines
By Lydia Huntley Sigourney (17911865)I
Unto the valleys green,
“Where is the red-browed hunter race,
Who loved our leafy screen,
Who humbled mid these dewy glades
The red deer’s antlered crown,
Or soaring at his highest noon,
Struck the strong eagle down?”
Those vales, so meekly blest:
“They reared their dwellings on our side,
Their corn upon our breast;
A blight came down, a blast swept by,
The cone-roofed cabins fell;
And where that exiled people fled,
It is not ours to tell.”
Demanded, from his throne,
And old Ontario’s billowy lake
Prolonged the thunder tone,
“The chieftains at our side who stood
Upon our christening day,
Who gave the glorious names we bear,
Our sponsors, where are they?”
Her many sisters dear,
“Show me once more those stately forms
Within my mirror clear”;
But they replied, “Tall barks of pride
Do cleave our waters blue,
And strong keels ride our farthest tide,
But where ’s their light canoe?”
“Whose bones are these?” said he.
“I find them where my browsing sheep
Roam o’er the upland lea.”
But starting sudden to his path,
A phantom seemed to glide,
A plume of feathers on his head,
A quiver at his side.
Then raised his hand on high,
And with a hollow groan invoked
The vengeance of the sky.
O’er the broad realm so long his own,
Gazed with despairing ray,
Then on the mist that slowly curled,
Fled mournfully away.