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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=386534" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>A cry from an indian wife</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">My forest brave, my Red-skin love, farewell; <br>We may not meet to-morrow; who can tell <br>What mighty ills befall our little band, <br>Or what you'll suffer from the white man's hand? <br>Here is your knife! I thought 'twas sheathed for aye. <br>No roaming bison calls for it to-day; <br>No hide of prairie cattle will it maim; <br>The plains are bare, it seeks a nobler game: <br>'Twill drink the life-blood of a soldier host. <br>Go; rise and strike, no matter what the cost. <br>Yet stay. Revolt not at the Union Jack, <br>Nor raise Thy hand against this stripling pack <br>Of white-faced warriors, marching West to quell <br>Our fallen tribe that rises to rebel. <br>They all are young and beautiful and good; <br>Curse to the war that drinks their harmless blood. <br>Curse to the fate that brought them from the East <br>To be our chiefs--to make our nation least <br>That breathes the air of this vast continent. <br>Still their new rule and council is well meant. <br>They but forget we Indians owned the land <br>From ocean unto ocean; that they stand <br>Upon a soil that centuries agone <br>Was our sole kingdom and our right alone. <br>They never think how they would feel to-day, <br>If some great nation came from far away, <br>Wresting their country from their hapless braves, <br>Giving what they gave us--but wars and graves. <br>Then go and strike for liberty and life, <br>And bring back honour to your Indian wife. <br>Your wife? Ah, what of that, who cares for me? <br>Who pities my poor love and agony? <br>What white-robed priest prays for your safety here, <br>As prayer is said for every volunteer <br>That swells the ranks that Canada sends out? <br>Who prays for vict'ry for the Indian scout? <br>Who prays for our poor nation lying low? <br>None--therefore take your tomahawk and go. <br>My heart may break and burn into its core, <br>But I am strong to bid you go to war. <br>Yet stay, my heart is not the only one <br>That grieves the loss of husband and of son; <br>Think of the mothers o'er the inland seas; <br>Think of the pale-faced maiden on her knees; <br>One pleads her God to guard some sweet-faced child <br>That marches on toward the North-West wild. <br>The other prays to shield her love from harm, <br>To strengthen his young, proud uplifted arm. <br>Ah, how her white face quivers thus to think, <br>Your tomahawk his life's best blood will drink. <br>She never thinks of my wild aching breast, <br>Nor prays for your dark face and eagle crest <br>Endangered by a thousand rifle balls, <br>My heart the target if my warrior falls. <br>O! coward self I hesitate no more; <br>Go forth, and win the glories of the war. <br>Go forth, nor bend to greed of white men's hands, <br>By right, by birth we Indians own these lands, <br>Though starved, crushed, plundered, lies our nation low... <br>Perhaps the white man's God has willed it so</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Emily+Pauline+Johnson">Emily Pauline Johnson</a><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=386534" data-title="A cry from an indian wife de Emily Pauline Johnson" data-description="My forest brave, my Red-skin love, farewell; 
We may not meet to-morrow; who can tell 
What mighty ills befall our little band, 
Or what you'll suffer from the white man's hand? 
Here is your knife! I thought 'twas sheathed for aye. 
No roaming bi..."></div>
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