Dr. Charles Northrup
Phone: (561) 649-0041
E-mail: northrup@webtv.net
4610 Happy Landings North
West Palm Beach, FL 33415
THE INDIAN'S LAMENT
As an Indian sat in his little bark canoe,
At first when the red men were lords of this soil,
At first when these white men they came to our land,
For a while we lived happy with our white friends all round,
But soon they began to encroach on our rights; They built their large cities all over our land,
The graves of our forefathers, where are they now?
For awhile we will linger around this happy place;
He sailed it right over the waters so blue.
He sang of the days when the land was their own,
Long before the pale faces among them were known.
We lived happy, contented, without trouble or toil.
We hunted the beaver, the otter, the deer,
For we knew in the wild woods there was nothing to fear.
We used them like brothers, we gave them our hand.
We knew they were weary, in need of repose,
Never thinking these white men would e'er turn our foe.
We showed them the best of our own hunting ground.
They paid us with trinkets which pleased us for a while,
And caused us poor Indians like children to smile.
Their number increased and they drove us to flight.
They drove us away from our own native shore
Where the smoke of our camp fire rises no more.
And on our rich prairies their farm houses stand.
The beaver, the otter, the hunters have slain,
And they've driven the red deer far over the plain.
They're rudely trodden over and torn by the plough.
Their children have wandered distracted and poor,
And the graves of our forefathers we visit no more.
Our wives and our children we will them embrace,
Till the Great Spirit calls us away from all plain,
To that bright happy land where we'll all meet again.
Please scroll down to see the many Native American links, as well as Fort websites, and Treaties.