O Naw-Kaw! on my wall thy portrait stands;
And as upon thy stalwart form I gaze,
Upon thy brawny arms and nervous hands,
I seem to wander back to other days,
When thou, a hunter bold, dids't roam the plains;
Forth on thy frantic horse would headlong ride,
To chase the flying buffalo amain,
Or, warrior fierce, woulds't lead in savage pride,
Thy merciless tribe, triumphant o'er the slain.

Above thy head a dusky plume is plac'd,
Thy left hand holds a big-horn's snowy fleece,
Thy right hand with a feather'd pipe is grac'd,
A pipe of war or calumet of peace.
A red-deer robe is o'er thy shoulder thrown.
And glittering medals shine upon thy breast;
But knife or hatchet, or the club of bone,
Thou bearest not, nor war-sign eagle crest,
For haply in thy garb of peace thou now art drest.

Years since this painting came from artist's hand
That now conspicuous adorns my room.
Great chief! since then have vanish'd from the land
Full many of thy tribesmen to their doom!
This new year, Eighty-six, beholds thy game
Thinn'd out o'er valley and o'er mountain-chain;
The steam-horse came with all its iron train,
The greedy emigrants and miners came,
And soon the game and tribesmen melted from the plain!

O'er the broad land the Indian's reign is o'er,
His gay crown trampled in the very dust;
Nor more is seen the flashing of his oar,
The battle-spear is tarnish'd with the rust;
No more his wigwam sends its curling smoke,
But his proud neck hath worn the servile yoke;
Tribe after tribe have vanish'd and have died,
And dull oblivion o'er them waves its pinions wide!