Stranger, stay, nor wish to climb <br />The heights of yonder hills sublime; <br />For there strange shapes and spirits dwell, <br />That oft the murmuring thunders swell, <br />Of power from the impending steep <br />To hurl thee headlong to the deep; <br />But secure with us abide, <br />By the winding river's side; <br />Our gladsome toil, our pleasures share, <br />And think not of a world of care. <br />The lonely cayman, where he feeds <br />Among the green high-bending reeds, <br />Shall yield thee pastime; thy keen dart <br />Through his bright scales shall pierce his heart. <br />Home returning from our toils, <br />Thou shalt bear the tiger's spoils; <br />And we will sing our loudest strain <br />O'er the forest-tyrant slain! <br />Sometimes thou shalt pause to hear <br />The beauteous cardinal sing clear; <br />Where hoary oaks, by time decayed, <br />Nod in the deep wood's pathless glade; <br />And the sun, with bursting ray, <br />Quivers on the branches gray. <br />By the river's craggy banks, <br />O'erhung with stately cypress-ranks, <br />Where the bush-bee hums his song, <br />Thy trim canoe shall glance along. <br />To-night at least, in this retreat, <br />Stranger! rest thy wandering feet; <br />To-morrow, with unerring bow, <br />To the deep thickets fearless we will go.<br /><br />William Lisle Bowles<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/song-of-the-american-indian/
