71
THE AGED INDIAN.
WARRIORS! my noon of life is past,
The brightness of my spirit flown;
I crouch before the wintry blast,
Amidst my tribe I dwell alone;
The heroes of my youth are fled,
They rest among the warlike dead.
Ye slumberers of the narrow cave!
My kindred-chiefs in days of yore,
Ye fill an unremembered grave,
Your fame, your deeds, are known no more.
The records of your wars are gone,
Your names forgot, by all but one.
Soon shall that one depart from earth,
To join the brethren of his prime;
Then will the memory of your birth
Sleep with the hidden things of time!
With him, ye sons of former days!
Fades the last glimmering of your praise.
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