23
THE RED INDIAN.
Rest, warrior, rest! thine hour is past,—
Thy longest war-whoop, and thy last,
Still rings upon the rushing blast,
That o'er thy grave sweeps drearily.
Thy longest war-whoop, and thy last,
Still rings upon the rushing blast,
That o'er thy grave sweeps drearily.
Rest, warrior, rest! thy haughty brow,
Beneath the hand of death bends low,
Thy fiery glance is quenchëd now,
In the cold grave's obscurity.
Beneath the hand of death bends low,
Thy fiery glance is quenchëd now,
In the cold grave's obscurity.
Rest, warrior, rest! thy rising sun
Is set in blood, thy day is done;
Like lightning flash thy race is run,
And thou art sleeping peacefully.
Is set in blood, thy day is done;
Like lightning flash thy race is run,
And thou art sleeping peacefully.
Rest, warrior, rest! thy foot no more
The boundless forest shall explore,
Or trackless cross the sandy shore,
Or chase the red deer rapidly.
The boundless forest shall explore,
Or trackless cross the sandy shore,
Or chase the red deer rapidly.
