The Indian Hunter

The Indian Hunter
5591

Oh, why does the white man follow my path
Like a hound on the tiger’s track?
Does the hook on my dark phnek waken his wrath
Does he covet the how at my back?

He has rivers and seas where billows and breeze
Boar riches for him alone:
And the sons of the wood never planged in the flood
Which the white man calls his own
Then why should he come to the streams

where mone But the red man dares to wird?
Why, why should he wrong the hunter-one
Who never did harm to him?
The Father above thought fit to give

The white man corn and wine:
There are golden fields where he may live,
But the forest shades are mine
The eagle hath its place of rest:

The white horse-where to dwell:
And the spirit that gave the bird its nest
Made me a home as well

Then back! Go back from the red man’s track;
For the hunter’s eyes grow dim
To find that the white man wrongs the one
Who never did harm to him