To the Delaware

Cease thy murmuring, Delaware,

For thy many braves so fair

Who are sleeping by thy stream —

Rouse them not — there let them dream.

For upon that silent shore

Indian's cry shall sound no more.

There, where still the owlets cry

And the solemn night-winds sigh,

Let the victor's head remain

With the spirits of the slain,

Leave the warriors fast asleep

Where the willows o'er them weep,

For thy murmuring, Delaware,

Cannot wake those sleeping there,

For thy voice deep in the foam

Cannot ever call them home.

There, where low and high degree

Sleep beneath the self-same tree,

And where warriors small and great,

Share in death a common fate,

Leave the pale-face and the braves

Side by side within their graves.

There, where ridges lifting high

Try to bridge the endless sky,

And where willows bend like lead

O'er the footprints of the dead —

To each brother slumbering there,

Sing sweet songs, my Delaware.