Moonlight plays on the waters and all silently they glide, Though swiftly by a mighty ship that swingeth in their tide, And the gentle winds of summer are bearing from the land In whispering tones a sad farewell to an exiled band. The perfume of the jasmine and the magnolia flowers Mingles with the odors borne from distant orange bowers, The music of the mock-bird’s song they hear across the deep, Whose glassy ripples murmuring a cadence with it keep. They know that at the morning sun the ship will spread its wing And like a spirit hurry them from every cherished thing, And therefore gaze they earnestly upon their native shore, To write upon their memory scenes they will see no more. They gaze upon the royal palm, around whose coronet, Mingling with the moon-beams, the sunlight lingers yet,[1] On the live-oak, with gnarled limbs all hidden by the moss, Whose tresses in the summer wind like pennons twine and toss. They gaze upon the silver strand of Holy Spirit’s Bay,[2] They see the dolphins flinging up showers of starry spray, They hear the Halcyon’s[3] wailing voice far out upon the sea, Mournful as if it knew their grief and wailed for sympathy. Oh! who can tell the agony that filled the bosoms then Of mothers with their callow babes, the breasts of stalwort men, As in the deep and mellow tones of the Muscogee tongue A warrior o’er his nation’s fate a lament thus begun: Spirits of the red man’s heaven,[4] All my fathers e’er adored, Your might is gone, and other powers Are monarchs of our hills and lakes, Long ago, when yon old oaks Were but acorns on the ground, The Muscogee were mighty men, And by the distant Southern Sea Beat the island Carib back. Far away amid the hills Where wandered once the Cherokee They sung their song of victory. Streamlets born amid the hills Roll like old San Juan,[5] at last To lose them in the mighty sea. And thus it is with nations, too, Which hurry through their race and die. The Seminoles[6] met their fate, Fought as gallant men should fight Whom God has made the lords of lands As fair as were our own. ’Twas vain.