Alas! for them--their day is o'er

Alas! for them—their day is o'er, Their fires are out from hill and shore; No more for them the wild deer bounds, The plough is on their hunting grounds; The pale man's axe rings through their woods, The pale man's sail skims o'er their floods, Their pleasant springs are dry; Their children—look, by power oppressed, Beyond the mountains of the west, Their children go—to die.