It is but lifeless, perishable flesh
That moulders in the grave;

Earth, air, and water's ministering particles
Now to the elements

Resolved, their uses done.

Not to the grave, not to the grave, my Soul,
Follow thy friend beloved;

The Spirit is not there!

2.

Often together have we talked of death;
How sweet it were to see

All doubtful things made clear;
How sweet it were, with powers
Such as the Cherubim,

To view the depth of heaven!
O Edmund! thou hast first

Begun the travel of Eternity!

I look upon the stars,

And think that thou art there, Unfettered as the thought that follows thee.

3.

And we have often said how sweet it were,
With unseen ministry of angel power,

To watch the friends we loved.

Edmund! we did not err !

Sure I have felt thy presence! Thou hast given A birth to holy thought,

Hast kept me from the world unstained and pure.

Edmund! we did not err !

Our best affections here

They are not like the toys of infancy;
The Soul outgrows them not;

We do not cast them off:

Oh, if it could be so,

It were indeed a dreadful thing to die!

4.

Not to the grave, not to the grave, my Soul, Follow thy friend beloved;

But in the lonely hour,

But in the evening walk,

Think that he companies thy solitude;

Think that he holds with thee

Mysterious intercourse;

And, though remembrance wake a tear,
There will be joy in grief.

WESTBURY, 1799.

SONGS OF THE AMERICAN INDIANS.

THE HURON'S ADDRESS TO THE DEAD.

1.

BROTHER, thou wert strong in youth!
Brother, thou wert brave in war !
Unhappy man was he

For whom thou hadst sharpened the tomahawk's

edge!

Unhappy man was he

On whom thine angry eye was fixed in fight!

And he, who from thy hand

Received the calumet,

Blest Heaven, and slept in peace.

2.

When the Evil Spirits seized thee,
Brother, we were sad at heart:

We bade the Jongler come

And bring his magic aid;

We circled thee in mystic dance,
With songs and shouts and cries,

To free thee from their power.
Brother, but in vain we strove;
The number of thy days was full.

3.

Thou sit'st amongst us on thy mat,
The bearskin from thy shoulder hangs,
Thy feet are sandalled ready for the way.
Those are the unfatigueable feet

That traversed the forest track;
Those are the lips that late
Thundered the yell of war;
And that is the strong right arm
Which never was lifted in vain.
Those lips are silent now,

The limbs that were active are stiff,
Loose hangs the strong right arm!

4.

And where is that which in thy voice
The language of friendship spake,
That gave the strength of thine arm,
That filled thy limbs with life?
It was not thou, for thou art here,
Thou art amongst us still;

But the life and the feeling are gone.
The Iroquois will learn

That thou hast ceased from war;

"Twill be a joy like victory to them,

For thou wert the scourge of their nation.

5.

Brother, we sing thee the song of death; In thy coffin of bark we lay thee to rest; The bow shall be placed by thy side,

And the shafts that are pointed and feathered for

flight.

To the Country of the Dead
Long and painful is thy way;
Over rivers wide and deep

Lies the road that must be passed,

By bridges narrow-walled,

Where scarce the Soul can force its way,

While the loose fabric totters under it.

6.

Safely may our brother pass!

Safely may he reach the fields.

Where the sound of the drum and the shell

Shall be heard from the Country of Souls!
The Spirits of thy Sires

Shall come to welcome thee:

The God of the Dead in his Bower

Shall receive thee, and bid thee join

The dance of eternal joy.

7.

Brother, we pay thee the rites of death;
Rest in thy Bower of Delight!

WESTBURY, 1799.