Mudcat Café message #3205098 The Mudcat Café TM
Thread #31227   Message #3205098
Posted By: Jim Dixon
10-Aug-11 - 12:26 AM
Thread Name: Lyr Req: Let Me Go to the Mountains (The Fureys)
Subject: Lyr Add: THE INDIAN'S ENTREATY (John Perry)
From The New-York Christian Messenger, and Philadelphia Universalist ..., Volume 3 (New York: P. Price, 1834), page 68:

THE INDIAN'S ENTREATY.
By John Perry.

Some years ago, when "Missionary Enterprise" was prosecuted with considerable zeal among the aborigines of this country, an Indian youth was persuaded from his native wilds, and place in one of the many colleges "for the education of poor pious young men, for the Gospel ministry." After a short residence at school, he became dissatisfied with his situation. He longed to roam, free and unshackled, amid the scenes of his parent land—to chase the fleet game upon the fair hunting-grounds, far away from the busy haunts of the "pale faces." Yet no entreaties could prevail upon his tutors to permit him to depart

One morning, however, he was missing from the usual exercises of the Seminary, and on search being made, it was found that he had gone. He had exchanged the civilized dress of the white man, for the rude habiliments of the forest, and had been seen early in the morning, stretching his way toward the "far west." The incident gave rise to the following lines:

Let me go to my home in the far, far west,
To the scenes of my youth, which I love the best,
Where cedars are green, and the bright waters flow,
Where kindred will greet me—white man let me go.

I long for the spot where the cataract plays,
Where I've sported so free in my infant days,
And the deep forest, too, where with quiver and bow,
I've chas'd the wild deer—Oh ! there let me go.

Let me go to the hills and valleys so fair.
Let me breathe in freedom my own mountain air;
And to my poor mother, whose heart will o'erflow,
When she looks on her boy—to her let me go.

Let me go to my sire, by whose vet'ran side
I have march'd to the fight in my spirit's pride;
With him I have conquer'd the insolent foe—
To that Chieftain-father, once more let me go.

And oh! let me go to my dark-eyed maid.
We've climbed o'er the hill-tops, repos'd in the glade.
As the fawn she's gentle, her heart, pure as snow,
And she loves the poor Indian—oh! let me go.

Then let me away to my own forest home,
And ne'er from it again will I wish to roam.
Oh! there let my ashes in peace be laid low.
To my home in the west, white man, let me go.
* * * * * * * *
Disdaining their fetters, the Indian's proud soul
Could not bend in submission, or brook their control—
But free as the wind, at the morning's first dawn,
To his lov'd forest home, the red boy had gone!

Phila. Dec. 1833.