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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=420701" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Funeral Tree of the Sokokis. 1756</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Around Sebago's lonely lake<br>There lingers not a breeze to break<br>The mirror which its waters make.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The solemn pines along its shore,<br>The firs which hang its gray rock o'er,<br>Are painted on its glassy floor.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The sun looks o'er, with hazy eye,<br>The snowy mountain-tops which lie<br>Piled coldly up against the sky.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Dazzling and white! Save where the bleak,<br>Wild winds have bared some splintering peak,<br>Or snow-slide left its dusky streak.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Yet green are Saco's banks below,<br>And belts of spruce and cedar show,<br>Dark fringing round those cones of snow.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The earth hath felt the breath of spring,<br>Though yet on her deliverer's wing<br>The lingering frosts of winter cling.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Fresh grasses fringe the meadow-brooks,<br>And mildly from its sunny nooks<br>The blue eye of the violet looks.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And odors from the springing grass,<br>The sweet birch and the sassafras,<br>Upon the scarce-felt breezes pass.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Her tokens of renewing care<br>Hath Nature scattered everywhere,<br>In bud and flower, and warmer air.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">But in their hour of bitterness,<br>What reck the broken Sokokis,<br>Beside their slaughtered chief, of this?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The turf's red stain is yet undried,<br>Scarce have the death-shot echoes died<br>Along Sebago's wooded side;</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And silent now the hunters stand,<br>Grouped darkly, where a swell of land<br>Slopes upward from the lake's white sand.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Fire and the axe have swept it bare,<br>Save one lone beech, unclosing there<br>Its light leaves in the vernal air.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">With grave, cold looks, all sternly mute,<br>They break the damp turf at its foot,<br>And bare its coiled and twisted root.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">They heave the stubborn trunk aside,<br>The firm roots from the earth divide, -<br>The rent beneath yawns dark and wide.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And there the fallen chief is laid<br>In tasselled garb of skins arrayed,<br>And girded with his wampum-braid.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The silver cross he loved is pressed<br>Beneath the heavy arms, which rest<br>Upon his scarred and naked breast.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'T is done : the roots are backward sent,<br>The beechen-tree stands up unbent,<br>The Indian's fitting monument!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">When of that sleeper's broken race<br>Their green and pleasant dwelling place,<br>Which knew them once, retains no trace;</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Oh, long may sunset's light be shed<br>As now upon that beech's head,<br>A green memorial of the dead!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">There shall his fitting requiem be,<br>In northern winds, that, cold and free,<br>Howl nightly in that funeral tree.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">To their wild wail the waves which break<br>Forever round that lonely lake<br>A solemn undertone shall make!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And who shall deem the spot unblest,<br>Where Nature's younger children rest,<br>Lulled on their sorrowing mother's breast?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Deem ye that mother loveth less<br>These bronzed forms of the wilderness<br>She foldeth in her long caress?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">As sweet o'er them her wild-flowers blow,<br>As if with fairer hair and brow<br>The blue-eyed Saxon slept below.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">What though the places of their rest<br>No priestly knee hath ever pressed, -<br>No funeral rite nor prayer hath blessed?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">What though the bigot's ban be there,<br>And thoughts of wailing and despair,<br>And cursing in the place of prayer!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Yet Heaven hath angels watching round<br>The Indian's lowliest forest-mound, -<br>And they have made it holy ground.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">There ceases man's frail judgment : all<br>His powerless bolts of cursing fall<br>Unheeded on that grassy pall.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">O peeled and hunted and reviled,<br>Sleep on, dark tenant of the wild!<br>Great Nature owns her simple child!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And Nature's God, to whom alone<br>The secret of the heart is known, -<br>The hidden language traced thereon;</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Who from its many cumberings<br>Of form and creed, and outward things,<br>To light the naked spirit brings;</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Not with our partial eye shall scan,<br>Not with our pride and scorn shall ban,<br>The spirit of our brother man!</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=John+Greenleaf+Whittier">John Greenleaf Whittier</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=420701" data-title="The Funeral Tree of the Sokokis. 1756 de John Greenleaf Whittier" data-description="Around Sebago's lonely lake
There lingers not a breeze to break
The mirror which its waters make.

The solemn pines along its shore,
The firs which hang its gray rock o'er,
Are painted on its glassy floor.

The sun looks o'er, with hazy eye,
The s..."></div>
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