previous next

     Heard only in the thunder's crash,
Seen only in the lightning's flash,
     When crumbled rock and riven branch
Went down before the avalanche!

No more that spirit moveth there;
     The dwellers of the vale are dead;
No hunter's arrow cleaves the air;
     No dry leaf rustles to his tread.
The pale-face climbs thy tallest rock,
     His hands thy crystal gates unlock;
From steep to steep his maidens call,
     Light laughing, like the streams that fall
In music down thy rocky wall,
     And only when their careless tread
Lays bare an Indian arrow-head,
     Spent and forgetful of the deer,
Think of the race that perished here.

Oh, sacred to the Indian seer,
     Gray altar of the men of old!
Not vainly to the listening ear
     The legends of thy past are told,—
Tales of the downward sweeping flood,
     When bowed like reeds thy ancient wood;
Of armed hands, and spectral forms;
     Of giants in their leafy shroud,
And voices calling long and loud
     In the dread pauses of thy storms.
For still within their caverned home
     Dwell the strange gods of heathendom!


Creative Commons License
This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 United States License.

An XML version of this text is available for download, with the additional restriction that you offer Perseus any modifications you make. Perseus provides credit for all accepted changes, storing new additions in a versioning system.

hide Places (automatically extracted)

View a map of the most frequently mentioned places in this document.

Download Pleiades ancient places geospacial dataset for this text.

hide People (automatically extracted)
Sort people alphabetically, as they appear on the page, by frequency
Click on a person to search for him/her in this document.
Gray (1)
hide Display Preferences
Greek Display:
Arabic Display:
View by Default:
Browse Bar: