THE OLD BURYING GROUND.
73
Under those columnar trees
May not aborigines,
Sachems of their dusky clan,
Pow-wow counselors, have let
Hatred of the pale-faced man
Circumvent all peaceful plan—
Or their malice to forget
Smoked the fragrant calumet?
May not aborigines,
Sachems of their dusky clan,
Pow-wow counselors, have let
Hatred of the pale-faced man
Circumvent all peaceful plan—
Or their malice to forget
Smoked the fragrant calumet?
Native traders may have come
Bartering wampum-shells for rum—
Or in lieu of ready cash
Tendered baneful nicotine;
Drinking from the calabash
Fire-water, making rash
Promises that sequel-seen,
Proved them treacherous and mean.
Bartering wampum-shells for rum—
Or in lieu of ready cash
Tendered baneful nicotine;
Drinking from the calabash
Fire-water, making rash
Promises that sequel-seen,
Proved them treacherous and mean.
Here our sires beneath the sod—
Blest reposure!—"rest in God";
So we read upon the stones
Crumbling, leaning out of place,
Moldering like sepulchered bones,
Tottering like terrestrial thrones,
While the saints whose names we trace
Stand before the Father's face.
Blest reposure!—"rest in God";
So we read upon the stones
Crumbling, leaning out of place,
Moldering like sepulchered bones,
Tottering like terrestrial thrones,
While the saints whose names we trace
Stand before the Father's face.
