FOR THE COUNTY POST.
{"newspaper_name": "The Litchfield County post.", "edition": "01", "page": "p1", "byline": ""}
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THE INDIAN HUNTERS FAREWELL. Farewell to the land where my fathers rePoSe' Beneath the green turf by yon murmur'ng nN' Where often the shout of the hunter arose, Tn he answered again from the wood-coVerd hlll' Where in day. that are pasttha have rold far away Until lost in the ocean of years that are gone' ha Indian roam'd free thro the woods for his prey, And the name of the whte-man to him was un'

 known.

 I weep for my people, now wither'd and strown like the leaves of the forest, when Autumn-winds

 blow

 T;La the m;,ts of the morn, which the beams ot the Have scatter'd afar in the valley below An, we'll may weep, tho my tears, for race So fallen, so trampled, degraded, are van; Tho the spring these branches green leaves may

 replace,

 What pover shall restore nly lost country again Tho dear to my heart are the scenes of my youth' Tha.e bright shies and streams and a lovd fathers

 grave,

 Vet dearer the wildwood, and purer the air lJn,sinted as yet by the breath of a slave. Nv dogs are around me, my arms in my hand Nv course lies away towards yon setting sum- There, there will rest when existence shall cease When my last hunt is ever, lse's last labor done.