The Indian watched the sunset, and her eye
Glistened one moment ; then a tear fell down,
For she was dreaming of her fallen race —
The mighty who had perished — for her creed
Had taught her that the spirits of the brave
And beautiful were gathered in the West —
The red man's Paradise ; — and then she sang
Faintly her song of sorrow, with a low
And half -hushed tone, as if she knew that

those '

Who listened were unearthly auditors,
A.nd that the dead had bowed themselves to

hear.
" The moons ot autumn wax and wane, the

sound of swelling floods
Is borne upon the mournful wind, and broadly

on the woods



28s WfflTTIER'S POEMS.
The, colors of the changing leaves — the fair,
frail flowers of frost,

Before the round and yellow sun most beauti-
ful are tossed. ■<

The morning breaketh with a clear, bright
penciling of sky,

And blushes through its golden clouds as the
great sun goes by ;

And evening lingers in the West^more
beautiful than dreams

Which whispers of the Spirit-land, its wilder-
ness and streams !

" A little time — another moon — the forest
will be sad —

The streams will mourn the pleasant light
which made their journey glad ;

The morn will faintly lighten up, the sunlight
glisten cold.
And wane into the western sky without its
autumn gold.
