Classic Poem

I SAW an Indian mother,
With her long, dark, waving hair;
And cradled on her arm there slept
An infant young and fair.
Many had gathered 'round her,
And beauty on her smiled,
But lovelier than all who looked
Was that young Indian child.

Speak kindly to the red man, —
Oh! scorn ye not his race;
Remember that our favored land
Was once his dwelling-place.
We drove him from his rightful home,
And with false words beguiled,
And now there is no home for him,
Nor for his infant child.

Speak kindly to the red man, —
There's sadness on his brow
His heart with grief is breaking,
Oh! soothe its anguish now.
Let not his dark skin fright thee,
Nor his manner, seeming wild;
There is a heart of tenderness
In Nature's hapless child.