The Micmac
Though o'er Acadia's hills and plains
The wand'ring Micmac listless strays,
While scarce a single trace remains
Of what he was in other days.
And though he now an outcast seems
Upon the lands his Fathers trod,
And his dark eye no longer beams
With pride which bent but to his God,—
Though the fire-water's deadly wave
Which even pride could not control,
Has drown'd each feeling high that gave
Such innate grandeur to his soul;—
There was a time when Nature's child
With nobler port and manner bore him,
And ranged with joy his native wild,
Or slept with Heaven's blue curtain o'er him.
Long ere the white man's axe was heard
Resounding in the forest shade,
Long ere the rifle's voice had stirr'd
The stillness of the Sylvan glade,—
Ere Science, with her plastic hand,
And Labor, with his patient toil,
Had changed the features of the land,
And dispossess'd him of the soil.
Then let fair Fancy change the scene,
While gazing on the Micmac's brow,
And showing what he once has been,
Make us forget what he is now.
Though o'er Acadia's hills and plains
The wand'ring Micmac listless strays,
While scarce a single trace remains
Of what he was in other days.
And though he now an outcast seems
Upon the lands his Fathers trod,
And his dark eye no longer beams
With pride which bent but to his God,—
Though the fire-water's deadly wave
Which even pride could not control,
Has drown'd each feeling high that gave
Such innate grandeur to his soul;—
There was a time when Nature's child
With nobler port and manner bore him,
And ranged with joy his native wild,
Or slept with Heaven's blue curtain o'er him.
Long ere the white man's axe was heard
Resounding in the forest shade,
Long ere the rifle's voice had stirr'd
The stillness of the Sylvan glade,—
Ere Science, with her plastic hand,
And Labor, with his patient toil,
Had changed the features of the land,
And dispossess'd him of the soil.
Then let fair Fancy change the scene,
While gazing on the Micmac's brow,
And showing what he once has been,
Make us forget what he is now.
The wand'ring Micmac listless strays,
While scarce a single trace remains
Of what he was in other days.
And though he now an outcast seems
Upon the lands his Fathers trod,
And his dark eye no longer beams
With pride which bent but to his God,—
Though the fire-water's deadly wave
Which even pride could not control,
Has drown'd each feeling high that gave
Such innate grandeur to his soul;—
There was a time when Nature's child
With nobler port and manner bore him,
And ranged with joy his native wild,
Or slept with Heaven's blue curtain o'er him.
Long ere the white man's axe was heard
Resounding in the forest shade,
Long ere the rifle's voice had stirr'd
The stillness of the Sylvan glade,—
Ere Science, with her plastic hand,
And Labor, with his patient toil,
Had changed the features of the land,
And dispossess'd him of the soil.
Then let fair Fancy change the scene,
While gazing on the Micmac's brow,
And showing what he once has been,
Make us forget what he is now.
Though o'er Acadia's hills and plains
The wand'ring Micmac listless strays,
While scarce a single trace remains
Of what he was in other days.
And though he now an outcast seems
Upon the lands his Fathers trod,
And his dark eye no longer beams
With pride which bent but to his God,—
Though the fire-water's deadly wave
Which even pride could not control,
Has drown'd each feeling high that gave
Such innate grandeur to his soul;—
There was a time when Nature's child
With nobler port and manner bore him,
And ranged with joy his native wild,
Or slept with Heaven's blue curtain o'er him.
Long ere the white man's axe was heard
Resounding in the forest shade,
Long ere the rifle's voice had stirr'd
The stillness of the Sylvan glade,—
Ere Science, with her plastic hand,
And Labor, with his patient toil,
Had changed the features of the land,
And dispossess'd him of the soil.
Then let fair Fancy change the scene,
While gazing on the Micmac's brow,
And showing what he once has been,
Make us forget what he is now.
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