The Rhode Island Republican

POETRY.

INDIAN SONG.

Come to the green savannah!
To the Indian wild wood bower!
Where the tyrant's frown cannot daunt thee,
Nor the oppressor's arm hath power;
Where thy course, like the winds of heaven,
Shall be free o'er the mighty plain;
And the realms of thy joy shall be
Where nature majestic reigns!

No shout of war shall reach thee,
No trumpet's clangoring sound;
But winds and murmuring waterfalls
Shall sweetly swell around.
And at eve the merry mock-bird
His varying song shall pour.
And with soft and mellow pipings,
Beguile the moonlight hour.

Thou shalt wake the wild cock's clarion,
At the early break of day,
Thro' the glooms of the mighty forest,
Re-echo'd far away;
While the phalanx'd cranes upsoaring
Forsake the mists below :
And ere day hath deck'd the mountains,
They bathe in the southern glow!

Should lonely seem thy slumbers,
Or in thy days in dullness move,
The dusky-bosom'd bower maid
Shall come and be thy love.
The quiver o'er her shoulder flung,
And the arrow sped with ease,
And the plumy wreath on her graceful brow,
Thy wondering sight shall please!

O she shall guide thy footsteps,
Where the river fountains flow,
Where the scaly tribe with the current play,
Or seek the caves below:
Where, glancing to the sunbeams,
They glitter in the ray.
Or, wheeling swift and playful,
In darkness dart away

Gay shall your summer haunt be,
By streams as crystal clear,
Where the ripe and golden orange
Hangs low and clustering near;
Where the fiery-flower'd Azalea
Your perfum'd bower shall be,
And the tall Magnolia's blossoms
Your gorgeous canopy

To roam where grows the Aloe,
That the precious balm distils :
Where broad and deep the river runs
From the everlasting hills,
Where the eagle dwells midst rocks,
In glorious ruin piled;
Come, be a dweller in the glen,
A hunter on the wild.