Francis Parkman
He told the red man's story; far and wide He searched the unwritten annals of his race; He sat a listener at the Sachem's side, He tracked the hunter through his wild-wood chase.

High o'er his head the soaring eagle screamed; The wolfs long howl rang nightly; through the vale Tramped the lone bear; the panther's eyeballs gleamed; The bison's gallop thundered on the gale.

Soon o'er the horizon rose the cloud of strife, Two proud, strong nations battling for the prize: Which swarming host should mould a nation's life; Which royal banner flout the western skies.

Long raged the conflict; on the crimson sod Native and alien joined their hosts in vain; The lilies withered where the lion trod, Till Peace lay panting on the ravaged plain.

A nobler task was theirs who strove to win The blood-stained heathen to the Christian fold; To free from Satan's clutch the slaves of sin; These labors, too, with loving grace he told.

Halting with feeble step, or bending o'er The sweet-breathed roses which he loved so well, While through long years his burdening cross he bore, From those firm lips no coward accents fell.