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[32] Gazing thus upon the dwelling
     Of his warrior sires,
Where no lingering trace was telling
     Of their wigwam fires,
Who the gloomy thoughts might know
     Of that wandering child of woe?

Naked lay, in sunshine glowing,
     Hills that once had stood
Down their sides the shadows throwing
     Of a mighty wood,
Where the deer his covert kept,
     And the eagle's pinion swept!

Where the birch canoe had glided
     Down the swift Powow,
Dark and gloomy bridges strided
     Those clear waters now;
And where once the beaver swam,
     Jarred the wheel and frowned the dam.

For the wood-bird's merry singing,
     And the hunter's cheer,
Iron clang and hammer's ringing
     Smote upon his ear;
And the thick and sullen smoke
     From the blackened forges broke.

Could it be his fathers ever
     Loved to linger here?
These bare hills, this conquered river,—
     Could they hold them dear,
With their native loveliness
     Tamed and tortured into this?

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