At Onondaga burned the sacred fire A thousand winters with unwasting blaze; In guarding it son emulated sire, And far abroad were flung its dazzling rays: Followed were happy years by evil days-- Blue-eyed and pale came Children of the Dawn Tall spires on site of bark-built town to raise; Change groves of beauty to a naked lawn, And whirl their chariot wheels where led the doe her fawn. XXX. Where are the mighty?--morning finds them not! I call--and echo gives response alone; The fiery bolt of Ruin hath been shot, The blow is struck--the winds of death have blown! Cold are the hearths--their altars overthrown: For them with smoking venison the board, Reward of toilsome chase, no more will groan; Sharper than hatchet proved the conqueror's sword, And blood, in fruitless strife, like water they outpoured. XXXI. The spotted Demon of Contagion came Ere the sacred bird of Peace could find a nest, And vanished Tribes like summer grass when flame Reddens the level prairie of the West, Or wasting dew drops when the rocky crest Of this enchanted hill is tipped with gold; And ere the Genii of the wild-wood drest With flowers and moss the grave mound's hollowed mould, Before the ringing axe went down the forest old. XXXII. Oh! where is Gar-an-gu-la--Sachem wise? Who was the father of his people?--where King Hendrick, Cay-en-guac-to?--_who replies?_ And Sken-an-do-ah, was thy silver hair Brought to the dust in sorrow and despair By pale oppression, though thy bow was strong To guard their Thirteen Fires?--they did not spare E'en thee, old chieftain, and thy tuneful tongue The death-dirge of thy race in measured cadence sung. XXXIII. Thea-an-de-nea-gua[H] of the martial brow, Gy-ant-wa,[I] Hon-ne-ya-was[J] where are they? Sa-go-ye-wat-hah![K] is _he silent_ now? No more will listening throngs his voice obey. Like visions have the mighty passed away! Their tears descend in rain-drops, and their sighs Are heard in wailing winds when evening gray Shadows the landscape, and their mournful eyes Gleam in the misty light of moon-illumin'd skies. [H] Brunt. [I] Corn Planter. [J] Farmer's Brother. [K] Red Jacket. XXXIV. Gone are my tribesmen, and another race, _Born of the foam_, disclose with plough and spade Secrets of battle-field and burial-place; And hunting grounds, once dark with pleasant shade, Bask in the golden light:--but I have made A pilgrimage from far to look once more On scenes through which in childhood's hour I strayed, Though robbed of might my limbs, my locks all hoar, And on this Holy Mount mourn for the days of yore, XXXV.