From the U. S. Gazette
THE INDIAN'S FAREWELL.
Tune!-'Scots wha hae wi' Wallace bled.'
Land where brightest waters flow;
Land where loveliest forest grow;
Where the warrior bent the bow;
Native land farewell!
He, who made yon stream and tree,
Made the white, the red man free-
Save the Indian's home to be
Where our fathers dwelt.
Have the waters ceased to flow?
Have the forests ceased to grow?
Why should brothers bid us go
From our native homes?
Here in infancy we played;
Here our happy wigwams made;
Here our fathers' bones are laid;-
Must we leave them all?
White men tell us God is high,
Pure and just in yonder sky,
Will not, then, his searching eye
See the Indian's wrong?