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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=537998" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>An Indian at the Burial-Place of his Fathers.</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">It is the spot I came to seek,--<br>My fathers' ancient burial-place<br>Ere from these vales, ashamed and weak,<br>Withdrew our wasted race.<br>It is the spot--I know it well--<br>Of which our old traditions tell.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">For here the upland bank sends out<br>A ridge toward the river-side;<br>I know the shaggy hills about,<br>The meadows smooth and wide,--<br>The plains, that, toward the southern sky,<br>Fenced east and west by mountains lie.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">A white man, gazing on the scene,<br>Would say a lovely spot was here,<br>And praise the lawns, so fresh and green,<br>Between the hills so sheer.<br>I like it not--I would the plain<br>Lay in its tall old groves again.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The sheep are on the slopes around,<br>The cattle in the meadows feed,<br>And labourers turn the crumbling ground,<br>Or drop the yellow seed,<br>And prancing steeds, in trappings gay,<br>Whirl the bright chariot o'er the way.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Methinks it were a nobler sight<br>To see these vales in woods arrayed,<br>Their summits in the golden light,<br>Their trunks in grateful shade,<br>And herds of deer, that bounding go<br>O'er hills and prostrate trees below.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And then to mark the lord of all,<br>The forest hero, trained to wars,<br>Quivered and plumed, and lithe and tall,<br>And seamed with glorious scars,<br>Walk forth, amid his reign, to dare<br>The wolf, and grapple with the bear.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">This bank, in which the dead were laid,<br>Was sacred when its soil was ours;<br>Hither the artless Indian maid<br>Brought wreaths of beads and flowers,<br>And the gray chief and gifted seer<br>Worshipped the god of thunders here.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">But now the wheat is green and high<br>On clods that hid the warrior's breast,<br>And scattered in the furrows lie<br>The weapons of his rest;<br>And there, in the loose sand, is thrown<br>Of his large arm the mouldering bone.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Ah, little thought the strong and brave<br>Who bore their lifeless chieftain forth--<br>Or the young wife, that weeping gave<br>Her first-born to the earth,<br>That the pale race, who waste us now,<br>Among their bones should guide the plough.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">They waste us--ay--like April snow<br>In the warm noon, we shrink away;<br>And fast they follow, as we go<br>Towards the setting day,--<br>Till they shall fill the land, and we<br>Are driven into the western sea.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">But I behold a fearful sign,<br>To which the white men's eyes are blind;<br>Their race may vanish hence, like mine,<br>And leave no trace behind,<br>Save ruins o'er the region spread,<br>And the white stones above the dead.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Before these fields were shorn and tilled,<br>Full to the brim our rivers flowed;<br>The melody of waters filled<br>The fresh and boundless wood;<br>And torrents dashed and rivulets played,<br>And fountains spouted in the shade.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Those grateful sounds are heard no more,<br>The springs are silent in the sun;<br>The rivers, by the blackened shore,<br>With lessening current run;<br>The realm our tribes are crushed to get<br>May be a barren desert yet.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=William+Cullen+Bryant">William Cullen Bryant</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=537998" data-title="An Indian at the Burial-Place of his Fathers. de William Cullen Bryant" data-description="It is the spot I came to seek,--
My fathers' ancient burial-place
Ere from these vales, ashamed and weak,
Withdrew our wasted race.
It is the spot--I know it well--
Of which our old traditions tell.

For here the upland bank sends out
A ridge towa..."></div>
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