44 



oauossoc. 



As stately as his mountain x>ine 



Here, once, Oqnossoc's cbieftain stood, 

 And with his barbed spear transfixed 



Tlie nimble tenants of tlie Hood. 

 Full manj" a year tlie rushino- stream 



The brave Oqnossoc's praises sang ; 

 Full maDy a time these forest aisles 



With stern Oqnossoc's prowess rang*. 



No longer glides his swift canoe 



Adown the tumbling mountain wave. 

 The moaning waters chant his dirge, 



The long grass droops above his grave. 

 No yonnger hand has grasped anew 



The barbed spear that his let fall ; 

 For to the Happy Fields have lied, 



Oqnossoc's people, one and all. 



The white man claims both hill and flood ; 



The pine tree falls before his steel ; 

 The river broad, the forest aisles, 



Are i)athways for the rushing Avheel. 

 Still, as he moves with giant pace 



And ceaseless cries, " I am not done !" 

 The lied Man yields him hope and home 



Save that beyond the setting sun. 



To tlioae of his readers who need an apology that lie permitted himself to perpetrate 

 this Indian cry, the writer most penitently tenders one. To him as to Silas Weirs, tlie 

 transition froiii prose to verse, for once, w as easy, and he slid thereinto. It is liis first 

 attempt, and considerinj^ tlie liifliculty he had in Ueepiiis his kkkt he thinl^s it will be liis 

 last. This assurance he trusts will reassure tin- reader " whose soul is not to music 

 tuned," and wlm is not desirous to hear more of '■ Lo ! the I'oor Indian." 



Furthermore, there is no e.Ktra charge for this. If he had said this at first, probably 

 ■no apology had been necessary. 



