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