  The Bison strong and the Indian wild Have departed from our plains; The land where they lived has been defiled By man's greed for worldly gains. The human tide that on them has rolled In merciless energy, In search of that dazzling monarch Gold, Swept on like a mighty sea, Till their prostrate forms, mingled with clay, Enrich the soil once their own; And naught but waters shrink in dismay, And winds in wild sorrow moan. O, beautiful lakes and silver streams, May your names their mem'ry keep; Dear mountains, wake from your silent dreams, When your sides so wild and steep, Shall hear your names in the Indian tongue; And echoes, reverberate The mellow tones of the songs once sung, At the hunter's evening fete. |
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