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THE DEAD FRIEND.

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1.
Not to the grave, not to the grave, my Soul,

Descend to contemplate
The form that once was dear!

The Spirit is not there
Which kindled that dead eye,
Which throbb’d in that cold heart,
Which in that motionless hand
Hath met thy friendly grasp.

The Spirit is not there !
It is but lifeless perishable flesh

That moulders in the grave;
Earth, air, and water's ministering particles

Now to the elements

Resolved, their uses done.
Not to the grave, not to the grave, my Soul,

Follow thy friend beloved,
The Spirit is not there!

2.
Often together have we talk'd of death ;

How sweet it were to see
All doubtful things made clear;
How sweet it were with powers

Such as the Cherubim,
To view the depth of Heaven!

O Edmund ! thou hast first
Begun the travel of Eternity!

I look upon the stars,

And think that thou art there, Unfetter'd as the thought that follows thee.

3.
And we have often said how sweet it were
With unseen ministry of angel power
To watch the friends we loved.

Edmund ! we did not err !
Sure I have felt thy presence ! Thou hast given

A birth to holy thought, Hast kept me from the world unstain'd and pure.

Edmund I we did not err!

Our best affections here
They are not like the toys of infancy;

The Soul outgrows them not;
We do not cast them off ;

Oh if it could be so.
It were indeed a dreadful thing to die !

4. Not to the grave, not to the grave, my Soul,

Follow thy friend beloved I

But in the lonely hour,

But in the evening walk,
Think that he companies thy solitude ;
Think that he holds with thee

Mysterious intercourse ;
And though remembrance wake a tear,

There will be joy in grief.
Westbury, 1799.

204

SONGS

OF

THE AMERICAN INDIANS.

THE HURON'S ADDRESS TO THE DEAD.

1.
BROTHER, thou wert strong in youth !
Brother, thou wert brave in war !

Unhappy man was he
For whom thou hadst sharpen’d the tomahawk's edge!

Unhappy man was he
On whom thine angry eye was fix'd in fight !

And he who from thy hand

Received the calumet,
Blest Heaven, and slept in peace.

2.
When the Evil Spirits seized thee,
Brother, we were sad at heart :
We bade the Jongler come

And bring his magic aid ;
We circled thee in mystic dance,
With songs and shouts and cries,

To free thee from their
Brother, but in vain we strove,
The number of thy days was full.

power.

3.
Thou sittest amongst us on thy mat,
The bear-skin from thy shoulder hangs,
Thy feet are sandal'd ready for the way.

Those are the unfatigueable feet
That traversed the forest track ;

Those are the lips that late

Thunder'd the yell of war ;
And that is the strong right arm
Which never was lifted in vain.

Those lips are silent now,
The limbs that were active are stiff,
Loose hangs the strong right arm !

4.
And where is That which in thy voice

The language of friendship spake?
That

gave the strength of thine arm ?
That fill'd thy limbs with life ?
It was not Thou, for Thou art here,

Thou art amongst us still,
But the Life and the Feeling are gone.

The Iroquois will learn
That thou hast ceased from war;
'Twill be a joy like victory to them,
For thou wert the scourge of their nation.

5.
Brother, we sing thee the song of death;
In thy coffin of bark we lay thee to rest ;

The bow shall be placed by thy side,
And the shafts that are pointed and feather’d for fight.

To the country of the Dead
Long and painful is thy way;

Over rivers wide and deep
Lies the road that must be past,

By bridges narrow-wall'd,
Where scarce the Soul can force its way,
While the loose fabric totters under it.

6.
Safely may our brother pass !

Safely may he reach the fields, Where the sound of the drum and the shell Shall be heard from the Country of Souls !

The Spirits of thy Sires
Shall come to welcome thee :
The God of the Dead in his Bower
Shall receive thee, and bid thee join

The dance of eternal joy.

7. Brother, we pay thee the rites of death,

Rest in thy Bower of Delight !

Westbury, 1799.

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