4THE SONG OF LANCASTER.



Sent aloft the smoke of welcome,
Welcome to the roving brothers,
To the tribes that wandered restless,
To the sachem and the chieftain,
To the warrior and the maiden.
I have said the tribes invaded
The sweet haunts of Nature's children,
Of her birds and beasts and reptiles,
Of her rivers, rills, and streamlets,
Of her trees and flowers and grasses,
Yet the song of peace continued.
Peaceful still, yet no more silent;
For where man, with human passion,
Dwells in all this wide creation,
Strife is ever slumb'ring, waiting,
Waiting for the magic touchstone,
For the trouble he is born to,
"Trouble, as the sparks fly upward."
So there rose a reign of terror,
Of dismay and cruel bloodshed,
When the white man came among them,
The all-potent, dreaded pale-face,
He, another bold invader,
An usurper of the woodland.
When he came with might and fury,
And the hatchet was uplifted,
When the war-cry sounded louder,
And the wigwam smoked in ashes,



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