The Indian

John Bannister Tabb

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Still westward with the lessening light ye go,
Dejected people, and the forests tall,
Bewidowed of their dusky children, fall
Behind you with an echoing wail of woe.
Year after year the warrior winds lay low
The leafy tribes, and with prophetic call
Denounce the silent massacre of all
Before the pale usurper's conquering bow.
Heed ye the signs? or look your longing eyes
Beyond the winter, where the selfsame voice,
Warm with the breath of unawakened flowers,
Comes softly singing to the world, "Rejoice!
The snow is gone: and with the April showers
Each buried seed is hastening to arise!"

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