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Where is the spirit of the Micmac race?
That martial glory hath not passed from earth?
Of Nature's children lives there not a trace?
Where are the sylvan homes that gave them birth?
That martial glory hath not passed from earth?
Of Nature's children lives there not a trace?
Where are the sylvan homes that gave them birth?
Where is the chieftain, with his eagle plume,
The grey moose tracking in the morning bright,
The conic wigwam 'mid the forest's gloom
Breathing a welcome in the evening's light?
The grey moose tracking in the morning bright,
The conic wigwam 'mid the forest's gloom
Breathing a welcome in the evening's light?
Where is the quiver from the shoulder slung,
The death-fraught arrow, the unerring bow,
The reeking scalplock from the wampum strung,
Enduring trophy of the vanquish'd foe?
The death-fraught arrow, the unerring bow,
The reeking scalplock from the wampum strung,
Enduring trophy of the vanquish'd foe?
Where the flint hatchet and the ruthless blade
That mars the slain and terminates the strife;
The tomahawk—that from the captive's head
Hath reft his honor dearer than his life?
That mars the slain and terminates the strife;
The tomahawk—that from the captive's head
Hath reft his honor dearer than his life?
Where the swart visage, the dark piercing eye,
Quick as the falcon's on the foeman's trail,
The tawny bosom's terrifying dye,
The stoic firmness, never known to quail?
Quick as the falcon's on the foeman's trail,
The tawny bosom's terrifying dye,
The stoic firmness, never known to quail?
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