The HURON's ADDRESS to the DEAD. 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; On whom thine angry eye was fix'd in fight; Received the calumet, Blest Heaven, and slept in peace. When the Evil Spirits seized thee, Brother, we were sad at heart: Thou sittest amongst us on thy mat, The bear-skin from thy shoulder hangs, Thy feet are sandal'd, ready for the way. Those are the unfatiguable feet That traversed the forest track; Those are the lips that late Thundered the yell of war; And that is the strong right arm That never was lifted in vain. Those lips are silent now, The limbs that were active are stiff, And where is That which in thy voice But the Life and the Feeling are gone. The Iroquois will learn That thou hast ceas'd from war; "Twill be a joy like victory, For thou wert the scourge of their race. Brother, we sing thee the song of death; Long and painful is thy way! Lies the road that must be past, By bridges narrow-wall'd Where scarce the Soul can force its way, 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! Shall come to welcome thee; The God of the Dead in his bower Shall receive thee and bid thee join Brother we pay thee the rites of death, |