Henry Rowe Schoolcraft

“ I give thee bow, I give thee spear, To dart the fish, and fell the deer; I give thee bark full light to sweep O’er the broad stream and billowy deep; I give thee skins for thy attire; To shade thee, woods; to warm thee, fire; More need’st thou not, nor covet more, And peace her joys shall round thee pour. But touch not gold; the tempter fly, Or all thy kin shall droop and die; For in that potent evil pent, Lurk envy, pain, and discontent; And luxury—of life the bane— And woe, with all her haggard train. ”

“ Is there warrior who is brave? Let him rise, his land to save. Trust not time shall come again E’er to break the iron chain. Or if now ye waive the blow, Once again to strike the foe; Fate forbids it—now—’tis now! Honor calls to seal the vow. Let the legions clothed with red, Howl their pathway to the dead, Sink, or perish in the sea, But never trample on the free. Tribe that lags or lingers now Breaks the spirit-witnessed vow; Nor shall ever rise again, Lord or master of the plain. ”

“ I swept the woods with bended bow, And laid the deer and panther low; I sail’d the streams with net and line, And captive schools were often mine; I marched against the western foe, And laid the roving Paunee low; I sung my war-song, danced my round, Spuming with manly tread the ground; I met my peers in wood and glen, And knew no want, and fear’d no men, But look’d, and spoke, and felt, and thought, As one that lack’d and dreaded nought; And all was glorious—all was gay, A happy, bright, transcendent day. But years, that turn the young man gray, Brought silent on another day. ”

“ Oft I fought with club and knife, Strewing death’s dark path with life, But not often felt the blight Fate prepared that fearful night, When by river, rock, and dell, There Alhalla’s household fell: As I lifted high my brand, O’er the wide retreating strand, Hot the fight and loud the yell, This I only know, I fell: Consciousness, as with a thought, Left me, as the fight I fought, Sudden, as, if in a dream, What we do may only seem. When, from this unguarded stroke, First to life and sense I woke, Darkness spread around the plain, Shielding dying, dead, and slain ”

“ And if, in some propitious hour, One deed of fame, one ray of power, A wayward fortune should decree To one so poor and lone as me, Still should my thoughts to Vernon turn, To ponder on the hero’s urn, And, in whispering accents, breathe My reverence for the dust beneath— The sacred dust, which, living, won, And, dead—still! still! is Washington: And each proud hope, and each lone sigh, Shall be, like him to live, to die. ”

“ Deign, then, thy latent woes to tell, The rush and struggle, rout and yell, The scenes of care, or deeds of strife, That mark thy onward course through life, [Pg 37] And weighing down with double weight, Of age and care that ne’er abate, Have sear’d thy cheeks, and sear’d thy heart, And made thee, exile! what thou art. So when we reach our native vales, Dear land where home-bred bliss prevails! With joy—with pride we may relate A good man’s fame, a brave man’s fate. ”

“ Wherefore bound by spell or wile, Spirit guarded, is yon isle? Is there not embowelled there Many a gem of lustre rare— Glow there not, in hidden mine, Jewel stones of ray divine— Ore resplendent—crystal bright, That illume the cavern-night? Or, along the mystic strand, Massy piles of golden sand? Tell me, hunter! wilt thou not Guide me to the treasur’d spot? Arms, with Europe’s skill prepared, Shall the daring deed reward; Bands shall deck thee, feathers bless, And the pride of Albion dress, With Columbia’s banner wide, And a chieftain’s plate beside. ”

“ The leader is that iron race, Who drive thee on, from place to place, And long have driv’n, and long shall drive, The waning, scattered, Indian hive, [Pg 56] Till they forsake th’accursed road, And turn to virtue, peace, and God. Then shall they quit the forest gloom, The sceptre and the plough resume, Renounce all base, revengeful ires, Rebuild the altars, light the fires, And cherish every sweet employ Denoted by the bird of joy, Whose beaming eyes, with stellar light, Shall chase away barbaric night, And teach thy race in holy lays To sing the great Elohim’s praise. ”

“ Or if he e’er returned, his tread Was light as ghost of warrior dead.
Betrayed, encompassed, beaten, prest! Stem desperation fired each breast; They burn with wild revenge and ire, Re-light again the battle fire; Re-poise the lance—re-plume the dart, And rousing each bold warrior art, Poured on the reckless battle tide, Nor asked the boon which they denied.
And long they fought and freely bled, And heaped their valleys with the dead; For plain, defile, or wild retreat, Still brought disaster and defeat, And every hallowed wood and shore, Was soiled with war-hoof, axe, or gore. ”

“ Upon the Spirit, great and high, That rules the earth, the sea, the sky, And that mysterious power and will That warrants man still man to kill, Sends powers and nations to and fro, And fills the earth with strife and woe. I thought upon my own wild kin, And all their wand’rings, want, and sin, And that untoward fate that gave, Profuse, their bodies to the grave, And seemed to set them in array, For Saxon arms to drive and slay. ”

“ In broken fields they wheel on high, And show that treasur’d island nigh, In all its loveliest verdure drest, Like sanctuary of the blest, Where peace hath rear’d her forest throne, To man and all his works unknown. With joy they reach the silver strand, With joy they gaze—they leap to land, Like beings from a higher sphere, Dropt down to dwell and worship here. ”

“ Seest thou there, a spirit mild, Or the fiend of waters wild, Who shall make to-morrow’s wave, Many a hapless hunter’s grave, And along the yellow strand, Raise their mounds amid the sand? Or to thy well-practised eye, Is the god of south winds nigh, With his soft, ethereal balms, Whisp’ring peace and breathing calms? Say, shall mortal blade essay, O’er yon waves a tranquil way On the morrow—spirit blest! Shall it speed toward the west, [Pg 11] And the genii of the strand, Waft the vent’rous bark from land, With a breeze and with a smile, To yon dim-discovered isle? ”

“ These little relics, if they show No ruby’s tint, no diamond’s glow, Yet shall they shed upon my heart, A joy that gems can ne’er impart, And exercise upon my mind, A power of talismanic kind; A power to think, to act, to feel— In youth and manhood, wo and weal; Like him, the lov’d, the great, the blest, Whose hallowed tomb they lately prest— To emulate his noble fires, His measured aims, his chaste desires, His firmness in the trying hour, His mod’rate use of fame and power ”

“ Not the faggot, ball, or spear; Not fierce danger—that is sweet; Not the red pine’s burning heat; But the bane from which we shrink, Fiery, fell, destroying drink. New found art to feed the grave, And sink a freeman to a slave. Warriors, hear: if deep below, Where evil dwells, there be a woe More deadly, bitter, foul, and black, Than aught that haunts the Red Man’s track, [Pg 89] It is to sit, and tamely see A dog glut up our liberty, Our life, our soil—each dear-loved place, And bind our hands with shackles base. ”

“ God, Whom once thy sires, on burning sands, In other years and other lands Most truly served, hath doomed thy race To melt before the white-man’s face, To fail in battle, and in store, A scorn—a by-word on the shore; For ye from his commands have turn’d, And ye unholy fires have burn’d, And with new altars and abodes Set up and worship’d other gods, And through unholy rites and sin, In word and deed become unclean ”

“ Warm, and pure, and kind it flows, For the suffering Indian’s woes, Proudly beats and nobly swells, Where bland pity’s voice impels, Honor points, or justice draws— Justice! guide of Christian laws! There are bosoms burning high, Souls of bland philanthropy! Hearts and hands and means and space That would joy to serve thy race, Joy to see thee happier here, Happier in another sphere, And e’en life itself would give, That the Indian’s soul should live. ”

“ One only wish—one strong desire, Still draws us to thy cavern-fire, And stays th’ intent we felt the while, To quit this ocean-cinctured isle. ’Tis more to know—to hear—to see, Of one so noble, poor, and free, So proud—unfortunate as thee. Deign, then, oh chief!—for trust you may, If aught that man can feel or say Can give assurance of our faith, To hold thee quit of ill or scaith. ”

“ Ponder well this furrow’d face, See in me a hunter race, Rude in manners, poor in skill, Wanting knowledge, wanting will, Means and purpose, care and force, To pursue the white man’s course, But not lacking means or power That may suit the hunter’s bower, Brave the ills a man may brave, And deserve an honored grave, I would scorn the labor base Of thy wonder-working race ”

“ Here in my house, which nature made Without the white man’s skill or aid, A few short years shall close my eyes, And leave my bones in northern skies, And not a trace be left to show Alhalla’s fate—Alhalla’s woe. ”

“ That voice is mute: with care they seek, By winding rock and fallen peak, For rift or path that foot may tread, To gain the crag’s o’erhanging head. At length a rugged path they spy, That seems nor light, nor safe to try; But still with patience, skill and might Suffices to attain that height. A faintly beaten path succeeds; This through a cedar coppice leads, Then by a rock, when turning short, A cave displays its ample port;— An Indian maid of stature fair, And forehead high and flowing hair, Sits pensively, secure and lone, Beside that rustic hall of stone ”

“ The bliss for which you chase and roam, You might more truly find at home, If but one tittle of the time You give to hunting, war, and crime, Were turned, with simple, peaceful hand, To stocks or grain upon the land. ”

“ Else the day shall hasten by, Else we quickly droop and die; Or shall linger on our lands, Frail, dependent, feeble bands; Weak in numbers, low in fame; Sad, impov’rished, sunk and tame, Asking alms from door to door, Where our chieftains ruled before, While the stranger lords it high ’Neath our once joy-kindled sky; [Pg 93] And his children, as they turn From the furrow, blade or urn, Axe or pestle, pipe or bone, Once our fathers’ or our own, Shall with pride indignant spurn, Name and nation, bone and urn, And exclaim—contemptuous grave! Indian dog, or Indian slave. ”

“ The man who o’er unfathom’d brink Hangs trembling, and in dread to sink, By friendly arm quick rescued thence, Feels not more deep or joyful sense Of peril past—than to my heart That morning’s opening scenes impart. But as that fear the trembler knew, My joy was all as transient too. ”

“ Who know the great high Spirit’s sov’reign will, So vast a detriment he can prepare For those who follow nature’s dictates still, And worship Manitoes on every breezy hill?”
“’Tis wondrous all, and yet there are, I ween, Some inward inklings of the Indian soul That whisper to his mind of things unclean, That taint his rites, and all his life control, Leading the mind—whenever he would do An evil act, or e’en the purpose form, To that High Excellence beyond the view, Who guides the sun and regulates the storm, Dispensing winter winds, or summer breezes warm.” ”

“ So the white man tells, Pointing to letters as the star-light kind, That man’s own heart to man himself reveals, And warms and renovates the wandering mind, Impels the hand to drop the bloody blade, And seek support from art’s more kindly cares, Where genial fields invite the plough and spade, [Pg 7] And industry her golden wreath prepares, And peace and joy and health, the household circle shares. ”

“ Ye who skim the big lake floods, Ye who roam the western woods, [Pg 90] Tribes and kindreds, large and small, Hear the mandatory call; All who feel with high control Throbbings of the Indian’s soul, Come, to save a threatened land From the rampart and the brand; From the arts and from the crimes Bred in transatlantic climes; From the thirst of pinching gains, That foredooms our sunny plains, And the cold unpitying rush, Name and rule that aims to crush, Till blow on blow, and stroke on stroke Bind on the hateful Saxon yoke. Firmness now is all that saves; To submit is to be slaves. ”

“ Or break the Sire-of-life’s command, By treading yonder sacred strand? My fare is scant; my roof is low; My country cold, and deep my woe, [Pg 15] And every moon that gilds yon hill, Sees growing want and growing ill! But scantier still must be my meal, And keener woes my bosom feel, A sharper winter chill our sky, And louder tempests rage on high, Gaunt famine howl along the plain, And every limb be rack’d with pain, Ere I compromit heaven’s decree, By touching gold, or guiding thee. ”

“ Such is the race, whose deeds of scaith and strife, The muse essays in numbers to review, In that dark hour of opening peril rife, When late to arms the Southern war chiefs flew, Albeit, misguided in their warlike ires, By foreign counsels cast with cruel ken, And war, through all their borders, lit his fires, Transferring ruin to the peaceful glen, And woe to many a band of noble hunter men. ”

“ Yet is there motion—bark and crew Dance lightly on that ocean blue, And ever, as up and down they ride Upon that broad, eternal tide, The strained sight descries the while, Short glimpses of that holy isle, Like dreams of bliss, that, fair and sheen, Flit in the moment they are seen. ”