EXTRACTS. 223 



FIRST VOICE. 



Tlie pilgrim who reaches this valley of tears, 

 Would fain hurry by, and with trembling and fears 

 He is launched on the wreck covered river ! 



SECOND VOICE. 



The traveller outworn w^ith life's pilgrimage dreary, 

 Lays down his rude staff like one that is weary, 

 And sweetly reposes for ever. 



THE GRAVE OF THE INDIAN CHIEF. 



TiiEY laid the corse of the wild and brave 

 On the sweet, fresh earth of the new-day grave, 

 On the gentle hill, where wild weeds waved. 

 And flowers and grass were flourishing. 



They laid within the peaceful bed. 

 Close by the Indian Chieftain's head, 

 His bow and arrows ; and they said 

 That he had found new hunting grounds, 



Where beauteous nature only tills 

 The willing soil ; and where o'er hills, 

 And down beside the shady rills, 

 The hero roams eternally. 



And there fair isles to the westward lie. 

 Beneath a golden sunset sky. 

 Where youth and beauty never die. 

 And song and dance move endlessly. 



They told of the feats of his dog and gun, 

 They told of the deeds his arm had done, 

 Ihey sung of battles lost and won, 

 And so they paid his eulogy. 



And o'er his arms, and o'er his bones 

 They raised a simple pile of stones ; 

 Which, hallowed by their tears and moans. 

 Was all the Indian's monument. 

 And since the chieftain there has slept 

 Full many a winter's wind has swept 

 And many an age as softly crept 

 Over his humble sepulchre. 



