Deem not, stoic of the wood, Harshly thus of Christian blood; Warm, and pure, and kind it flows, For the suffering Indian’s woes, Proudly beats and nobly swells, Where bland pity’s voice impels, Honor points, or justice draws— Justice! guide of Christian laws! There are bosoms burning high, Souls of bland philanthropy! Hearts and hands and means and space That would joy to serve thy race, Joy to see thee happier here, Happier in another sphere, And e’en life itself would give, That the Indian’s _soul_ should live. And were none to teach or pray, Point or lead the heavenly way, Soothe the lot so roughly cast, Or avert fate’s angry blast— Were there not in all the land, One kind heart with love so bland, Aim so noble, care divine, Trust, lone recluse, trust to mine! Mine the purpose, mine the will, Heaven’s kind message to reveal, Teach the ever-glorious Son, Mercies promised, doing, done! Aid the weak, persuade the wise, And lead to worlds beyond the skies. ALHALLA. Man of wisdom, on mine ear Dark thy holy truths appear, And I would not, old and weak, Novel rites or doctrines seek, Or a path unknown pursue, That my fathers never knew, Though thou put the thorns aside, And lead on, a zealous guide. Ponder well this furrow’d face, See in me a hunter race, Rude in manners, poor in skill, Wanting knowledge, wanting will, Means and purpose, care and force, To pursue the white man’s course, But not lacking means or power That may suit the hunter’s bower, Brave the ills a man may brave, And deserve an honored grave, I would scorn the labor base Of thy wonder-working race; As my fathers lived, would I Wish to live and wish to die, Hold the precepts they have given, Seek with them my final heaven; Proper are thy gifts to _thee_, Proper are my gifts to _me_; Go thy way—my fervent cry Is _here_ undisturbed to die. ETHWALD. Yet when, beside the stormy wave, The tall grass whistles o’er thy grave, ’Twere sweet, perhaps, for thee to know Kind hearts remember thee below. Thy glorious feats in earthly wars, Thy name, thy honors, and thy scars. OSCAR. And when the good, by word or pen, Spoke praises meet of gallant men, Chief, hunter, warrior—hearts divine! Who grace the manly Indian line, ’Twere grateful thy proud course to scan, And say, thou wert the braver man. ALHALLA.