to sing, if nothing more than the same sort of a song that the dying sachem sings. So I beg you bear with
THE OLD SCOUT'S LAMENT.
Come all of you, my brother scouts,
And join me in my song;
Come, let us sing together,
Though the shadows fall so long.
Of all the old frontiersmen,
That used to scour the plain,
There are but very few of them
That with us yet remain.
Day after day, they're dropping off;
They are going, one by one;
Our clan is fast decreasing;
Our race is almost run.
There were many of our number
That never wore the blue,
But, faithfully, they did their part,
As brave men, tried and true.
They never joined the army,
But had other work to do
In piloting the coming folks,
To help them safely through.
But brothers, we are failing;
Our race is almost run;
The days of elk and buffalo,
And beaver traps, are gone.
Oh! the days of elk and buffalo,
It fills my heart with pain
To know those days are passed and gone,
To never come again.
We fought the red-skin rascals
