C.D. Warner, et al., comp.
The Library of the World’s Best Literature. An Anthology in Thirty Volumes. 1917.

Anne Hunter (1742–1821)

THE SUN sets in night and the stars shun the day,

But glory remains when their light fades away.

Begin, ye tormentors—your threats are in vain,

For the son of Alknomook shall never complain.

Remember the arrows he shot from his bow!

Remember the chiefs whom his hatchet laid low!

Why so slow? do you think I will shrink from the pain?

No! the son of Alknomook shall never complain.

Remember the place where in ambush we lay,

And the scalps that we tore from your nation away.—

Now the flame rises fast, you exult in my pain;

But the son of Alknomook shall never complain.

I go to the land where my father has gone:

His ghost shall rejoice at the fame of his son.

Death comes like a friend, to release me from pain;

And thy son, O Alknomook, has scorned to complain.