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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=117570" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Treaty of Penn</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">INDIAN CHIEF.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Art thou chief of the white men that crowd on the strand?<br>No broad gleaming sword flashes bright in thy hand—<br>No plume, proudly waving, sits light on thy brow—<br>Nor with hate and contempt does thine eye darkly glow.<br>I have seen the white chieftains, but proudly they stood;<br>Though they call'd us their brethren, they thirst for our blood:<br>With the peace-belt of wampum they stretch'd forth one hand,<br>With the other they wielded the death-doing brand.<br>On their lip was the calumet—war on their brow;<br>But thine scowls not with hatred—a chieftain art thou?—</div><div style="margin:10px 0">PENN.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">My brethren are those whom thou see'st on the strand,<br>My friends, whom I govern with fatherly hand;<br>We worship the spirit who rules from above,<br>Our watchword is peace, and our motto is love.<br>We fight not, we war not, for life or for land,<br>And the weapons of death never darken our hand.<br>The land that in purchase ye cheerfully give,<br>Will we, for our friends and our brethren, receive;<br>But we will not deprive you, by force or by fraud,<br>Of the land that yourselves and your fathers have trod.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">CHIEF.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Then deep be the tomahawk buried from sight;<br>The peace-tree shall bloom where it slumbers in night.<br>We will bury from sight and from mem'ry the dead;<br>We will plant o'er the spot where their blood has been shed;<br>O'er their grave shall the green maize its tassels expand:—<br>But whether the white men by force wrest our land,<br>Or whether they win it in war or in peace,<br>Our hunting grounds narrow, our tribes still decrease.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">PENN.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">O'er the land that I purchase ye freely may rove;<br>We will dwell in the spirit of brotherly love—<br>By mutual kindness we both shall be blest,<br>Your wrongs, as the white man's, be promptly redrest.<br>We will teach you with justice, our knowledge impart,<br>And teach you each useful and civilized art.<br>We extend you, in truth and in friendship, our hand,<br>We will turn to the plough-share the death-dealing brand.<br>One hand hath created the white man and red;<br>One spirit we worship, though different our creed;<br>And that God who looks down on our acts from above,<br>Still conceals in dark frowns the fair face of his love<br>From the land that is darken'd with bloodshed and rage,<br>Where brethren with brethren in battle engage.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">CHIEF.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">We have listen'd, my father, your peaceable talk;<br>In the path you have chosen we cheerfully walk.<br>The white men have wrong'd us, have crimson'd our plains,<br>Where our forefathers sleep, with the blood of our veins.<br>Of those plains they have reft us, the fairest and best,<br>And have forced us to seek other homes in the west;<br>Through the wilds of the forest to follow the chase,<br>Till brambles have choked up the pathway of peace.<br>Yet as still we receded our heroes were slain,<br>Our wives and our children lie dead on the plain.<br>Then we dug from the earth the fell hatchet of war,<br>While our whoop of destruction was heard from afar.<br>We rush'd on our foemen, we fought and we bled,<br>But our arms with the blood of the white men were red;<br>Yet, father, the red man delights not in war,<br>And thy words shall the spring-time of friendship restore.<br>Now again we will bury the hatchet, again<br>We will burnish the links of our amity's chain.<br>We will root out the weeds from the path of our peace,<br>And all hatred and battle betwixt us shall cease.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">MIDNIGHT.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">How solemn is the silence of this hour!<br>The world is hush'd! all nature lies in sleep—<br>Save where rude jollity upholds her power,<br>Or wearied wretches waken but to weep.<br>Strange contrast! that there revelry should keep<br>Her wassail wild amid the gloom of night,<br>And here, her thorny couch pale sorrow steep<br>With bitter tears, and strain her aching sight,<br>To catch the first pale streak that ushers in the light.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">E'en now perchance some widow'd mother hangs,<br>In hopeless anguish, o'er her dying child,<br>And marks with bursting heart its parting pangs,<br>Or covers its pale lips with kisses wild;<br>While memory tells how oft it has beguiled<br>Of half its loneliness her dreary heart—<br>And when in its bright joyousness it smiled,<br>Albeit within her eye the tear might start,<br>She knew not, could not know, that they so soon must part.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Its closing eye is faintly turn'd on her,<br>Its breath comes thickly, and the dews of death<br>Are on its forehead—one convulsive stir—<br>One half-form'd smile to speed the parting breath—<br>Then all is past—and gazing on that scathe<br>Of all her hopes—in tearless agony,<br>The mother stands, until awakening faith<br>Points out another world—a hope on high—<br>And fast her feelings gush in torrents to her eye!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">But this is fancy—for no sound is near,<br>Of joy or sadness—all around is still!<br>Not e'en the night-bird's voice salutes mine ear,<br>Nor the faint murmur of the distant rill—<br>The very winds are hush'd—and on the hill<br>The trees are motionless—the whisp'ring sigh,<br>That lingers where the blast was piping shrill,<br>Moves not the branches as it passes by,<br>Nor lifts the bending leaves that on the waters lie.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The deep blue heaven with clust'ring stars is bright,<br>And in the midst the moon, sublimely fair,<br>Sheds o'er the fleecy clouds her silvery light,<br>That in bright wreaths are floating lightly there,<br>Like snow-flakes scattered o'er the silent air.<br>And coldly still that moon's pale lustre lies,<br>Alike on haunts of misery and despair;<br>And where the sounds of wassail joy arise,<br>Disturbing with rude mirth the quiet of the skies.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The earth is slumbering! but I will not sleep,<br>For I do love to gaze on yon bright sky,<br>And all those countless orbs, that seem to keep<br>Their nightly ward so silently on high—<br>My heart may swell, but 't is not with the sigh<br>Of painful feeling—nor does aught of woe<br>Awake the tear-drop in my moisten'd eye;<br>But unexpress'd emotion, and the glow<br>Of all the crowding thoughts, that round my bosom flow.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Elizabeth+Margaret+Chandler">Elizabeth Margaret Chandler</a> from <i>Poetical Works</i><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=117570" data-title="The Treaty of Penn de Elizabeth Margaret Chandler" data-description="INDIAN CHIEF./Art thou chief of the white men that crowd on the strand?/No broad gleaming sword flashes bright in thy hand—/No plume, proudly waving, sits light on thy brow—/Nor with hate and contempt does thine eye darkly glow./I have seen th..."></div>
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