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lirik lagu ghizela rowe - emily pauline johnson - a cry from an indian wife

my forest brave, my red~skin love, farewell;
we may not meet to~morrow; who can tell
what mighty ills befall our little band
or what you’ll suffer from the white man’s hand?
here is your knife! i thought ’twas sheathed for aye
no roaming bison calls for it to~day;
no hide of prairie cattle will it maim;
the plains are bare, it seeks a n0bler game:
’twill drink the life~blood of a soldier host
go; rise and strike, no matter what the cost
yet stay. revolt not at the union jack
nor raise thy hand against this stripling pack
of white~faced warriors, marching west to quell
our fallеn tribe that rises to rebеl
they all are young and beautiful and good;
curse to the war that drinks their harmless blood
curse to the fate that brought them from the east
to be our chiefs—to make our nation least
that breathes the air of this vast continent
still their new rule and council is well meant
they but forget we indians owned the land
from ocean unto ocean; that they stand
upon a soil that centuries agone
was our sole kingdom and our right alone
they never think how they would feel to~day
if some great nation came from far away
wresting their country from their hapless braves
giving what they gave us—but wars and graves
then go and strike for liberty and life
and bring back honour to your indian wife
your wife? ah, what of that, who cares for me?
who pities my poor love and agony?
what white~robed priest prays for your safety here
as prayer is said for every volunteer
that swells the ranks that canada sends out?
who prays for vict’ry for the indian scout?
who prays for our poor nation lying low?
none—therefore take your tomahawk and go
my heart may break and burn into its core
but i am strong to bid you go to war
yet stay, my heart is not the only one
that grieves the loss of husband and of son;
think of the mothers o’er the inland seas;
think of the pale~faced maiden on her knees;
one pleads her god to guard some sweet~faced child
that marches on toward the north~west wild
the other prays to shield her love form harm
to strengthen his young, proud uplifted arm
ah, how her white face quivers thus to think
your tomahawk his life’s best blood will drink
she never thinks of my wild aching breast
nor prays for your dark face and eagle crest
endangered by a thousand rifle b~lls
my heart the target if my warrior falls
o! coward self i hesitate no more;
go forth, and win the glories of the war
go forth, nor bend to greed of white men’s hands
by right, by birth we indians own these lands
though starved, crushed, plundered, lies our nation low . .
perhaps the white man’s god has willed it so

- lirik lagu ghizela rowe

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