The ancient history of our country lies hid in the western mounds, or amidst the buried relics of past ages. Forests, in Central America, have grown over the ruins of temples and dwellings that, awakened from their sleep of ages by a Stephens and others, will in time become the Palmyra of the Western World. In the grandeur of their mysteries conjecture seems lost, yet there would appear a connection between them and the aboriginal race of our own land, whose lingering steps are receding toward the Pacific. In this remaining posterity of a lost genealogy, all that is left to tell the tale of the race from whence they sprung, is their firm independence, undying love of country, deep sense of injury and spirit of revenge, and strong faith of happier homes beyond the grave. Is not this a theme worthy the pen of the American poet, philosopher, antiquarian, or novelist?
With the many heroic virtues of Indian character, can we wonder that their principal fault should be that which filial piety made glorious in a Hannibal. In future they will be better understood, and while justice and humanity, nay, national pride, call on our government to civilize and enlighten them, the pens of their white brethren will show their true lineaments, and perhaps the hand of some American antiquary lift the veil that hides their lost ancestry.
While the music of their language yet lingers in the names of our rivers, we cannot forget their claims. In a lyric of much sweetness, a gifted poetess of our country pleads that they may not be changed. How quickly their sound arrests the attention of the traveler and stranger? How softly their syllables fall from the lips of beauty. There seems a magic spell about them. May it be their protection from any change. It is but just that the streams that first knew the Indians in their pride and glory should retain the melody of their language.
In many instances, the Indian character has been found capable of great refinement from education, and of the few who have been placed in our colleges, some have evinced superior talents. How pleasing is the thought that these children of the forest may hereafter contribute to the national literature of America. Will their strains be mournful, like the plaintive songs of the Israelites by the waters of the Euphrates? Perhaps not, for though many are far removed from the more eastern homes of their fathers, still it is their native land, now bounded only by the waves of the Pacific.