lv.
Forgotten race,—farewell! Your haunts we tread,—
Our mighty rivers speak your words of yore,
Our mountains wear them on their misty head,
Our sounding cataracts hurl them to the shore;
But on the lake your flashing oar is still,
Hush'd is your hunter's cry on dale and hill,—
Your arrow stays the eagle's flight no more;
And ye, like troubled shadows, sink to rest
In unremember'd tombs, unpitied and unblest.
lvi.
The council-fires are quench'd, that erst so red
Their midnight volume 'mid the groves entwin'd;
King, stately chief, and warrior-host, are dead,—
Nor remnant, nor memorial, left behind:
But thou, O forest-princess, true of heart,
When o'er our fathers wav'd destruction's dart,
Shall in their children's loving hearts be shrin'd;
Pure, lonely star, o'er dark oblivion's wave,
It is not meet thy name should moulder in the grave.
