The HURON's ADDRESS to the DEAD.

Brother, thou wert strong in youth!

Brother, thou wert brave in war!

Unhappy man was he

For whom thou hadst sharpened the tomahawk's edge;
Unhappy man was he

On whom thine angry eye was fix'd in fight;
And he who from thy hand

Received the calumet,

Blest Heaven, and slept in peace.

When the Evil Spirits seized thee,

Brother, we were sad at heart:
We bade the Jongler come
And bring his magic aid;
We circled thee in mystic dance,
With songs and shouts and cries,
To free thee from their power.
Brother, but in vain we strove,
The number of thy days was full.

Thou sittest amongst us on thy mat,
The bear-skin from thy shoulder hangs,
Thy feet are sandal'd, ready for the way.
Those are the unfatiguable feet
That traversed the forest track;
Those are the lips that late
Thundered the yell of war;
And that is the strong right arm
That never was lifted in vain.
Those lips are silent now,

The limbs that were active are stiff,
Loose hangs the strong right arm!

And where is That which in thy voice
The language of friendship spake ?
That gave the strength of thine arm?
That fill'd thy limbs with life?
It was not Thou, for Thou art here,
Thou art amongst us still,

But the Life and the Feeling are gone.

The Iroquois will learn

That thou hast ceas'd from war;

"Twill be a joy like victory,

For thou wert the scourge of their race.

Brother, we sing thee the song of death;
In thy coffin of bark we lay thee to rest;
The bow shall be placed by thy side,
And the shafts that are pointed and feather'd for flight.
To the Country of the Dead

Long and painful is thy way!
Over rivers wide and deep

Lies the road that must be past,

By bridges narrow-wall'd

Where scarce the Soul can force its way,
While the loose fabric totters under it.

Safely may our Brother pass!

Safely may he reach the fields,

Where the sound of the drum and the shell

Shall be heard from the Country of Souls!
The Spirits of thy Sires

Shall come to welcome thee;

The God of the Dead in his bower

Shall receive thee and bid thee join
The dance of eternal joy.

Brother we pay thee the rites of death,
Rest in the bower of delight!

Rest in peace, my Father, rest,
With danger and toil have I borne thy corpse
From the Stranger's field of death.

I bless thee, O Wife of the Sun,
For veiling thy beams with a cloud,
While at the pious task

Thy votary toil'd in fear.

Thou badest the clouds of night

Enwrap thee, and hide thee from Man;
But didst thou not see my toil,
And put on the darkness to aid,
O Wife of the visible God?

Wretched, my Father, thy life!
Wretched the life of the Slave!
All day for another he toils,

Overwearied at night he lies down,

And dreams of the Freedom that once he enjoy'd.

Thou wert blest in the days of thy youth,
My Father! for then thou wert free.
In the fields of the nation thy hand
Bore its part of the general task;
And when, with the song and the dance,
Ye brought the harvest home,

As all in the labour had shar'd,
So justly they shar'd in the fruits.

Thou visible Lord of the Earth,

Thou God of my Fathers, thou God of my heart,
O giver of light and of life!

When the Strangers came to our shores,
Why didst thou not put forth thy power?
Thy thunders should then have been hurl'd,
Thy fires should in lightnings have flash'd!..
Visible God of the Earth,

The Strangers mock at thy might!
To figures and beams of wood
They force us to bow the knee;
They plunge us in caverns and dens,
Where never thy blessed light
Shines on our poisonous toil!

But not in the caverns and dens,