Oh, why does the white-man follow my path, Like the hound on the tiger's track? Does the flush on my dark cheek waken his wrath? Does he covet the bow on my back? He has rivers and seas, where the billows and breeze Bear riches for him alone; And the sons of the wood never plunge in the flood Which the white-man calls his own. Why, then, should he come to the streams where none But the red-skin dare to swim? Why, then, should he wrong the hunter one, Who never did harm to him? The Father above thought fit to give, The white-men corn and wine: There are golden fields where they may live, But the forest shades are mine The eagle hath its place of rest, The wild-horse where to dwell; And the Spirit that gave the bird its nest, Made me a home as well. Then back, go back from the red-man's track, For the hunter's eyes grow dim To find that the white-man wrongs the one Who never did harm to him. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...GOOD-NIGHT TO THE SEASON by WINTHROP MACKWORTH PRAED VALENTINES TO MY MOTHER: 1885 by CHRISTINA GEORGINA ROSSETTI AVE ATQUE VALE; IN MEMORY OF CHARLES BAUDELAIRE by ALGERNON CHARLES SWINBURNE UNCHANGING by FRIEDRICH MARTIN VON BODENSTEDT NO SORROW PECULIAR TO THE SUFFERER by VINCENT BOURNE WEE WILLIE GRAY by ROBERT BURNS |