Soon no more to thy banks will they come,—

The maiden who loves, or the warrior so brave,

The wild deer at eve, in thy waters to lave,

The song-bird to dip its bright wing in thy wave,

When the shadows that fall with the night are all gone.

The Indian's reproach ye might hear,

Did ye listen, fair waves, to the sound!

Are you gay, when you know of the tears we have shed,

When profaned are the graves of our fathers long dead,

When haunted our lands, by the white man's proud tread,