He wrapt his mantle round his manly form, And sighed as on his cavern floor he lay; His bosom heaved with passion's varying storm, While he to melancholy thoughts gave way, And mused on deeds of many a by-gone day. Scenes of the past before his vision rose-- The fearless clans o'er whom he once held sway, The bloody battle-field and vanquished foes, His wide extended rule, which few had dared oppose. He sees again his glad and peaceful home, His warlike sons and cherished daughters dear; Together o'er his hunting-grounds they roam, Together they their honored sire revere; But trickles down his cheek the burning tear, As fades the spectral vision from his eye: Low at his shrine he bows with listening ear, And up to the Great Spirit sends a cry, To bear him to his rest, and bid his sorrows die. Tired of the lonely world he longs to go And join his kindred and the warrior band, Where fruits for him in rich luxuriance grow, Nor comes the pale-face to that spirit-land: Ere he departs for aye, he fain would stand Again upon his favorite rock and gaze O'er the wide realm where once he held command, Where oft he hunted in his younger days, Where, in the joyful dance, he sang victorious lays. Up the bold height with trembling step he passed, And gained the fearful eminence he sought; As on surrounding scenes his eye was cast, His troubled spirit racked with frenzied thought, And urged by ruin on his empire brought, He uttered curses on the pale-faced throng, With whom in vain his scattered warriors fought And on the sighing breeze that swept along, He poured the fiery words that filled his vengeful song: Fair home of the red man! my lingering gaze On thy ruin now rests, like the sun's fading rays; 'Tis the last that I give--like the dim orb of day, My life shall go down, and my spirit away. Loved home of the red man! I leave thee with pain, The place where my kindred, my brothers were slain; The graves of my fathers, whose wigwams were here; The land where I hunted the swift-bounding deer. No longer these hills and these valleys I roam, No more are these mountains and forests my home, No more, on the face of the beautiful tide, Shall the red man's canoe in tranquillity glide. The pale-face hath conquered--we faded away, Like mist on the hills in the sun's burning ray, Like the leaves of the forest our warriors have perished; Our homes have been sacked by the stranger we cherished. May the Great Spirit come in his terrible might, And pour on the white man his mildew and blight May his fruits be destroyed by the tempest and hail, And the fire-bolts of heaven his dwellings assail.