Ye shall say they all have passed away, <br />That noble race and brave, <br />That their light canoes have vanish'd <br />From off the crested wave. <br />That 'mid the forests where they roam'd <br />There rings no hunter's shout; <br />But their name is on your waters, <br />Ye may not wash it out. <br />'Tis where Ontario's billow <br />Like Ocean's surge is curled; <br />Where strong Niagara's thunders wake <br />The echo of the world; <br />Where red Missouri bringeth <br />Rich tributes from the west, <br />And Rappahannock sweetly sleeps <br />On green Virginia's breast. <br />Ye say, their cone-like cabins, <br />That cluster'd o'er the vale, <br />Have fled away like wither'd leaves <br />Before the autumn gale: <br />But their memory liveth on your hills, <br />Their baptism on your shore; <br />Your everlasting rivers speak <br />Their dialect of yore. <br />Old Massachusetts wears it <br />Within her lordly crown, <br />And broad Ohio bears it <br />'mid all her young renown; <br />Connecticut hath wreathed it <br />Where her quiet foliage waves, <br />And bold Kentucky breathed it hoarse <br />Through all her ancient caves. <br />Wachuset hides its lingering voice <br />Within its rocky heart, <br />And Alleghany graves its tone <br />Throughout his lofty chart: <br />Monadnock on his forehead hoar <br />Doth seal the sacred trust; <br />Your mountains build their monument, <br />Though ye destroy their dust<br /><br />Lydia Howard Huntley Sigourney<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/indian-names/
