Should we be pale face prey,
Fade like the mist away?
Fiercely we turned to bay
Not like the others.
The mild Algonquin race,
Melted before their face,
Leaving a roomy place
For their white brothers.
But we from sea to lake
Had made the wide earth shake,
And braves like women quake
As they were drunken.
We give our hunting grounds!
Give up our burial mounds!
Whimper like beaten hounds
Like the Algonquin!
We of the forest free,
Born into liberty,
We, lords of all we see
In our own valleys.
Their chief across the waves,
Asked for Iroquois braves,
To be the chained slaves,
Of his war galleys?
Should we the mighty, then,
We, the Iroquois men,
Smoke the peace pipe with them
With these marauders!
No! we, the feared in strife,
Hunted the precious life,
With the red scalping knife,
Through all our borders.
If the fierce war-whoop rung,
In the Iroquois tongue,
And the red warriors sprung
On the pale faces;
Let, then, the guilt accursed,
Fall heaviest and worst,
On who raised the hatchet first
Of the two races.
Pages:
122
123
124
125
126
127
128
129
130
131
132
133
134
135
136
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145
146