MacEdward Leach and the Songs of Atlantic Canada
Indian's Lament
Cyril O'Brien NFLD 2 Tape 8A Track 1
Trepassey Audio:

LEACH: All right

An Indian he sat in his birch bark canoe
He sang as he sailed o'er the waters so blue
He sang of the days when the land was their own
Long before those palefaces amongst them were known

Oh first when the red men were lords of this isle
They lived happy contented without trouble or toil
They hunted the otter, the beaver, the deer
For they knew in their wildwood there was nothing to fear

First when those white men they came to our land
We used them like brothers and gave them a hand
For we knew they were weary and needed response
Little thinkling our white friends would soon turn our foes

For a while we lived happy with our white friends all round
We showed them the best parts of our hunting ground
They paid us in trinkets which pleased us awhile
And caused us poor Indians like children to smile

But after a while they imposed on our lives
Their numbers increased and they drove us to fly
They drove us away from our own native shore
Where the smoke of our campfires rises no more

They built their large cities all over our land
It's on our rich prairies their farmhouses stand
They own the whole country from Texas to Maine
And the Indian may seek for his wigwam in vain

Oh the graves of our forefathers where are they now
They're rude-i-ly trodden and torn by the plow
Their children have wandered distracted and poor
But the graves of their forefathers they'll visit no more

Oh the pride of the forest that over us bowed
The tall pine the cedar, oh where are they now
The otter and beaver the hunter has slain
They have driven the red deer far over the plain

For a while we will linger around this happy place
Where our wives and our sweethearts we them will embrace
'Till our good maker calls us away from this plain
To a bright happy shore where we'll all meet again


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