To the Driving Cloud

Gloomy and dark art thou, O chief of the mighty Omahas; / Gloomy and dark as the driving cloud, whose name thou hast taken! / Wrapt in thy scarlet blanket, I see thee stalk through the city's / Narrow and populous streets, as once by the margin of rivers / Stalked those birds unknown, that have left us only their footprints. / What, in a few short years, will remain of thy race but the footprints?

How canst thou walk these streets, who hast trod the green turf of the prairies! / How canst thou breathe this air, who hast breathed the sweet air of the mountains! / Ah! 't is in vain that with lordly looks of disdain thou dost challenge / Looks of disdain in return, and question these walls and these pavements, / Claiming the soil for thy hunting-grounds, while down-trodden millions / Starve in the garrets of Europe, and cry from its caverns that they, too, / Have been created heirs of the earth, and claim its division!