Descendants of the mighty dead!
Fearless of heart, and firm of hand!
Oh, let me join their spirits fled—
Oh! send me to their shadowy land.
Age hath not tamed Ontara’s heart—
He shrinks not from the friendly dart.
These feet no more can chase the deer,
The glory of this arm is flown;—
Why should the feeble linger here
When all the pride of life is gone?