Song of a Nadowessee Chief.
See on his mat—as if of yore,
All life-like sits he here!
With that same aspect which he wore
When light to him was dear.
But where the right hand's strength? and where
The breath that loved to breathe,
To the Great Spirit aloft in air,
The peace-pipe's lusty wreath?
And where the hawk-like eye, alas!
That wont the deer pursue,
Along the waves of rippling grass,
Or fields that shone with dew?
Are these the limber, bounding feet
That swept the winter's snows?
What stateliest stag so fast and fleet?
Their speed outstripped the roe's!
These arms, that then the steady bow
Could supple from its pride,
How stark and helpless hang they now
Adown the stiffened side!
Yet weal to him—at peace he stays
Where never fall the snows;
Where o'er the meadows springs the maize
That mortal never sows.