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Poems by Murray Poets and Poems About Murray County

Note: Herman McDaniel found this item, pretty much by accident, on June 5, 1993, while searching microfilmed records of the Cherokee Removal at the Library of Congress.

This poem originally appeared in the Columbus Sentinel and was reprinted in the August 15,1838 issue of The Southern Whig, published in Athens, Georgia. The poem included these introductory remarks: "The following lines were composed by a young Cherokee girl, by the name of Anna, and given to one of the Editors while on a visit to Calhoun, East Tennessee, some short time since. The town to which she belonged was situated in the Sumach Valley (or Shoe-make, as it is commonly written) through which runs a beautiful stream of the same name. From the valley a full view of the Cohutta mountain, one of the highest in the nation, is presented. We give them a place in our columns, in fulfillment of a promise made to publish them."


Farewell to my country farewell to the mountain
Oh never! No never! shall I see you again;
Farewell to the valley farewell to the mountain
Poor Anna must leave you, she dare not remain.

Oh hard is the lot of the walk from home,
From the land of his fathers, his wigwam and field,
To follow the sun, and in sorrow to roam, -
Yet the pale face decrees it, and in silence we yield.

Farewell to Cohutta's high peak in the dale;
Oh never, no never, shall I climb you again;
Farewell to the Sumach, bright stream in the vale,
'tis painful to leave you yet I cannot remain.

To the distant west a poor exile I roam,
No prospect to cheer me, no hope to sustain;
In the wilds of Arkansas to seek a new home;
So the pale face has spoken, and I must not complain.

Farewell to the green spot where my kindred now sleep;
At morn nor at eve shall I visit you again;
Farewell to the willow, you alone now must weep;
For the wagons are moving, I follow their train.

Oh merciful Parent but I will not complain,
Nor against this sad judgement in angel rebel;
For, far from the pale face I may be happy again,
And the lot of poor Anna will yet be well.

That merciful parent will Anna remain -
To bear this affliction his aid I implore;
The wail of distress was n'er uttered in vain,
Then submissive I yield and will grieve me no more.

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