Lay Of The Last Indian Poem by William Pinkney Ewing

They are gone-They are gone,
From their green mountain homes,
Where the antelope sports,
And the buffalo roams;
For the pale faces came,
With insidious art,
And the red men were forced
From their homes to depart!

In the land Manitou
Bestowed on their sires,
Oh! never again
Round their bright council-fires,
Will they gather, to talk
Of the feats they have done,
Or, to boast of the scalps
By their prowess they've won.

For they've gone-they have passed,
Like the dew from the spray,
And their name to remembrance
Grows fainter each day;
But for this were they forced
From their ancestors' graves;
They dared to be freemen,
They scorned to be slaves.