Ye shall say they all have passed away,

That noble race and brave,

That their light canoes have vanish'd

From off the crested wave.



That 'mid the forests where they roam'd

There rings no hunter's 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;

Where strong Niagara's thunders wake

The echo of the world;



Where red Missouri bringeth

Rich tributes from the west,

And Rappahannock sweetly sleeps

On green Virginia's breast.



Ye say, their cone-like cabins,

That cluster'd o'er the vale,

Have fled away like wither'd leaves

Before the autumn gale:



But their memory liveth on your hills,

Their baptism on your shore;

Your everlasting rivers speak

Their dialect of yore.



Old Massachusetts wears it

Within her lordly crown,

And broad Ohio bears it

'mid all her young renown;



Connecticut hath wreathed it

Where her quiet foliage waves,

And bold Kentucky breathed it hoarse

Through all her ancient caves.



Wachuset hides its lingering voice

Within its rocky heart,

And Alleghany graves its tone

Throughout his lofty chart:



Monadnock on his forehead hoar

Doth seal the sacred trust;

Your mountains build their monument,

Though ye destroy their dust