And nevermore should pale-face desecrate your name, that evermore should rustle in the leaves;
By light of every harvest moon, the noble footed deer should follow up the trail to that sequestered spot,
And kneel in reverence;
The fires of happy hunting grounds should streak and flush the northern sky on every ice-hung night,
To soothe your dreams, and keep you warm;
Yea, more, above your bleaching bones, the revelry of nomad-winds along the gullying wave, you loved so well,
Should be an after-song of unsung yesterdays, more peaceful than the heart of river-reeds.
TO MASSASOIT.
CHIEF SACHEM OF THE WAMPANOAGS.
The vaulted skies your rosary,