Away from friends, away from home
And all the heart holds dear,
A weary wand'rer laid him down,—
Nor kindly aid was near.

And sickness prey'd upon his frame
And told its tale of woe,
While sorrow mark'd his pallid cheeks
And sank his spirit low.

Nor waiting friends stood round his couch
A healing to impart,—
Nor human voice spoke sympathy,
To sooth his aching heart.

The stars of night his watchers were,—
His fan the rude winds breath,
And while they sigh'd their hollow moans,
He closed his eyes in death.

Upon the prairie's vast expanse
This weary wand'rer lay;
And far from friends, and far from home,
He breath'd his life away!

A lovely valley marks the spot
That claims his lowly bed;
But o'er the wand'rer's hapless fate
No friendly tear was shed.

No willing grave received the corpse
Of this poor lonely one;—
His bones, alas, were left to bleach
And moulder 'neath the sun!

The night-wolf howl'd his requiem,—
The rude winds danced his dirge;
And e'er anon, in mournful chime,
Sigh'd forth the mellow surge!

The Spring shall teach the rising grass
To twine for him a tomb;
And, o'er the spot where he doth lie,
Shall bid the wild flowers bloom.

But, far from friends, and far from home
Ah, dismal thought, to die!
Oh, let me 'mid my friends expire,
And with my fathers lie.