Lydia Huntley Sigourney (1791–1865)

Indian Names 1834

“How can the red men be forgotten, while so many of our states and territories, bays, lakes and rivers, are indelibly stamped by names of their giving?”

Ye say they all have passed away,

That noble race and brave,

That their light canoes have vanished

From off the crested wave;

That ’mid the forests where they roamed 5

There rings no hunter shout,

But their name is on your waters,

Ye may not wash it out.

’Tis where Ontario’s billow

Like Ocean’s surge is curled, 10

Where strong Niagara’s thunders wake

The echo of the world.

Where red Missouri bringeth

Rich tribute from the west,

And Rappahannock sweetly sleeps 15

On green Virginia’s breast.

Ye say their cone-like cabins,

That clustered o’er the vale,

Have fled away like withered leaves

Before the autumn gale, 20

But their memory liveth on your hills,

Their baptism on your shore,

Your everlasting rivers speak

Their dialect of yore.

Old Massachusetts wears it, 25

Within her lordly crown,

And broad Ohio bears it,

Amid his young renown;

Connecticut hath wreathed it

Where her quiet foliage waves, 30

And bold Kentucky breathed it hoarse

Through all her ancient caves.

Wachuset hides its lingering voice

Within his rocky heart,

And Alleghany graves its tone 35

Throughout his lofty chart;

Monadnock on his forehead hoar

Doth seal the sacred trust,

Your mountains build their monument,

Though ye destroy their dust. 40

Ye call these red-browed brethren

The insects of an hour,

Crushed like the noteless worm amid

The regions of their power;

Ye drive them from their father’s lands, 45

Ye break of faith the seal,

But can ye from the court of Heaven

Exclude their last appeal?

Ye see their unresisting tribes,

With toilsome step and slow, 50

On through the trackless desert pass,

A caravan of woe;

Think ye the Eternal’s ear is deaf?

His sleepless vision dim?

Think ye the soul’s blood may not cry 55

From that far land to him?