William McCarty, comp. The American National Song Book. 1842.
The Winnebagoes Sigh
M
I cannot leave thee so;
No dearer, holier spot of earth
Can greet me where I go.
’Twas here my eyes first saw the light,
Here did my father dwell,
And here I bring my game at night,
I cannot say, farewell!
The toil-worn hunter’s home;
Joy comes not to the exile’s breast;
Then bid me not to roam.
The wild-bird’s song is lorn and sad,
When she breathes not her native air;
And shall the hunter’s soul be glad,
In stranger lands afar?
Yield me a pleasant shade,
And I would rest in days to come,
Where my father’s bones are laid.
Shall stranger footsteps tread the ground,
Where slumbers many a brave,
And none protect each lowly mound—
O spare my father’s grave!
Falls in his own good time,
And new-born oaks watch o’er his rest,
On the soil of his native clime.
Thus I had hoped, in coming years,
To guard the sleeping brave,
And when my toils were past, with theirs’
To find a peaceful grave.
Great Spirit, call me home,
That henceforth I may wander free,
Where spectre-visions roam.
There hunting-grounds are ever green,
Inviting us to dwell,
Where lakes are calm and skies serene,
No more to say, farewell!