Portage sentinel. [volume] (Ravenna, Ohio) 1845-1854, 1853-09-07

is the story of their wrongs. They once had eli
les, but w here are they? They are swept fror
the face of the earth. They had their temple Q
the sun, ut tn cir sanctuary is broken down, an
the beams of the deii ed luminary extinguished.-
It is true they worshipped the Great Spirit and th
genius of storms and darkness-the sacred pages
of revelation had never been unroled to them
the gospel of the Savior had never sounded in the
ears of the poor children of the forest. They
heard the voice of their God in the morning
breeze; they saw him in the'dark cloud that rose
in wrath from the west; they acknowledged his
universal benefcence in the setting sun as he
sunk to his burning bed. Here another race
once lived and loved-here, along these shores
the council-fre blazed, and the war-whoop echo
ed among their native hilIs-here the dark brow
ed Indian once bathed his manly limbs in the
river and his light canoe was seen to glide over
his own loved Lakes. Centuries passed away,
and they still roved the undisputed masters of
the western world. But at length pilgrim bark,
deep freighted from the east, came darkening on
their shores. They yielded not their empire
tamely but they could not stand against the sons
of light,-they fed. With slow and solitary
steps they took up their mournful march to the
west, and yielded with broken heart their ma
tive hills to another race. They left their homes
and the graves of their fathers to explore western
woods where no humman foot had ever trod, and
no human eye ever penetrated. From time to
time they have been driven back, and the next
remove will be to the bosom of the stormy Pa
cific. Unhappy children! the tear of pity has
been shed over your wrongs and your sufferings.
What bosom but beats with sympathy over the
mournful story of their woes. AS q race of men
they are fast fading from the face of the earth,
and ere many centuries. shall have passed they
will have been swept from the annals of ages.
Ere long the last wave of the west will roll over
them, and their deeds only live in the traditions
they shall have left behind them. The march of
mind hath been to them the march to the grave.
Every age they have rapidly declined, and lin
gering remnant is now left to sigh over the ruins
Of their empire and the memory of their brave
progenitors. The golden harvest now waves
over the tombs ofther fallen fathers and the for
est that once echoed to the war-dance is now COW
cred with rising cities. Where the wigwam once
stood, the tall temple, dedicated to God now gilt
ters in the setting sun; and the river, unrippled
but by the Indian canoe, is now white with the
sails Of commerce. And when they shall have
passed away,-when the last Indian shall have
stood upon his native hills in the west, and shall
have worshipped the setting for the last time,
perhaps some youth may rove to the green
mound of Indian supulchre, and ask with wonder
what manner of beings they were. How must
the poor child Of the forest weep, and how must
his heart throb with anguish, when he muses. on
On the ruins of his race and the melancholy des-
Tiny of his children The ploughshare hath
passed over the bones of his ancestors, and they
sleep in the land of strangers and of. the conquer
ers of the dying race. Methinks see the stately
INDIAN as he bends from the brow of the misty
mountain, and survey with swelling heart the
once extended limits of the Indian empire. The
grief ofyears is in his soul, and he bends his knee
n meek submission before the Great Spirit in the
clouds. Unhappy child-my soul mourns over
he ruined hopes of your fading race. ..-sE