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Before the following lines are read, represent to yourself, that some of the tribes of Indians bury their dead in a sitting posture.—
LINES OCCASIONED BY A VISIT TO AN OLD INDIAN BURYING-GROUND.
In spite of all the learn'd have said,
I still my old opinion keep,
The posture that we give the dead,
Points out the soul's eternal sleep.
Not so the ancients of these lands:—
The Indian, when from life releas'd,
Again is seated with his friends,
And shares again the joyous feast.
His imag'd birds, and painted bowl,
And ven'son for a journey drest,
Bespeak the nature of the soul—
Activity, that wants no rest.
His bow for action ready bent,
And arrows with a head of bone,
Can only mean that life is spent,
And not the finer essence gone.
Thou, stranger, that shalt come this way,
No fraud upon the dead commit;
Yet, mark the swelling turf, and say,
'They do not lie, but here they sit'
Here still a lofty rock remains,
On which the curious eye may trace
(Now wasted half by weiring rains)
The fancies of a ruder race.
Here still an aged elm aspires,
Beneath whose far projecting shade
(And which the shepherd still admires)
The children of the forest play'd.