[EPIGRAPH.]
Reading edition
Here stood the Indian chieftain, rejoicing in his glory!
How deep the shade of sadness that rests upon his story:
For the white man came with power—like brethren they met—
But the Indian fires went out, and the Indian sun has set!
And the chieftain has departed—gone is his hunting-ground,
And the twanging of the bowstring is a forgotten sound:
Where dwelleth yesterday? and where is Echo’s cell?
Where has the rainbow vanished?—there does the Indian dwell.—E.