I watch’d my child’s decay,
Uncheer’d I saw the spirit-light
From his young eyes fade away.
When his head sank on my bosom,
When the death-sleep o’er him fell,
Was there one to say, “A friend is near?”
There was none!—pale race, farewell!
To the forests, to the cedars,
To the warrior and his bow,
Back, back!—I bore thee laughing thence,