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Cherokee Phoenix and Indians' Advocate
Vol. I No. 52
Wednesday, March 11, 1829
Pg. 4 Col. 1a

POETRY.

From the Philadephian.

 MR. EDITOR:  I received the following lines from a lady of this city, who informs me that they were written by an Indian and sent in a private letter to a minister, who had been labouring as a Missionary amongst the Cherokees.  By giving them an insertion in our paper, you will gratify several, especially as (I have been told), they have never appeared in print.  Your respectfully.         H.

INDIAN POETRY.

Written on the death of Catherine Brown, the first convert to the Christian faith at Creekspath, Cherokee Nation.

 Ah Cherokee, where is the daughter of Brown!
  She is beneath the tall tree,
 But her spirit, so spotless, has silently blown
  Far away to Galvlatichi.*
 Death mark'd her his prey in the blossom of youth.
  From his grasp no kind angel could save;
 And conscience, meekness, religion and truth,
  All slumber in Catherine's grave.

 The heralds of grace drop affectionate tears,
  The maids of the forest all mourn;
 Even the heart of the warrior is sad when he hears,
  The flower of the valley is gone.
 Thou wert of the Indians who love the true God;
  Who has come from the Arkansaw wave,
 To stain the sharp arrows in Cherokee's blood;
  Step softly o'er Catherine's grave.

 Ah!  who is this youth, in whose bosom where fire
  O' charity rises so high?
 Who ardently pants in the land of his sire,
  To labor for long and die!
 This youth is the brother beloved of the maid,
  Who sleeps in the dark narrow cave;
 He hastes to the wood where in childhood he played,
  To preach beside Catharine's grave.

 Ye laughters who dwell in the pleasant green shade,
  Whom Catherine tenderly loved,
 She made you repent; for your pardon she prayed,
  And wept when she saw you unmoved!
 No more will she point you to Calvary's scenes,
  Or tell you that Jesus will save,
 Come, chaunt your sad dirges in sorrowful strains,
  As ye stand around Catherine's grave.

 Their notes softly sound through the silence of night,
  "Dear Saviour all praise shall be thine."
 Ere long, in bright glory the gospel's pure light
  On each Cherokee's dwelling shall shine.
 And when at the voice of Galvlatichi,
  The dead their lone mansions shall leave,
 A form wrapt in garments of light we shall see
  Arise from Catharine's grave.
________
*The Cherokee name of the true God.
 The Osages.