在阳光明媚的山坡和山毛榉的山毛榉上，黄昏的阴影落了下来;在枫叶是褐色的地方，夕阳西下，树林在它金色的叶子里所领受的荣耀，随着柔和而无声地落下。在柔和的阳光下，蓝山高高耸立。一朵白色的云，围绕着一个高高的圆锥体，在温暖的晚霞中闪耀;银色湖泊的形象，唤醒了印度人的灵魂。但不久就听到了葬礼的赞美诗，夜晚的轻柔气息搅动着高高的灰色森林;一束坚强的心，有力的手，在波浪边蜿蜒而下，把红袍酋长安葬在他的坟墓里。他们唱道，他站在家乡的凉亭旁，在最后的花月里，三十场雪还没有把荣耀洒在战士的头上;但是，就像夏天的果实腐烂一样，他在那些光秃秃的日子里也死了。战士身上披着一件黑色的鹿皮斗篷，厚重的褶皱里放着为艰苦的战争而制造的武器; The cuirass, woven of plaited reeds, And the broad belt of shells and beads. Before, a dark-haired virgin train Chanted the death dirge of the slain; Behind, the long procession came Of hoary men and chiefs of fame, With heavy hearts, and eyes of grief, Leading the war-horse of their chief. Stripped of his proud and martial dress, Uncurbed, unreined, and riderless, With darting eye, and nostril spread, And heavy and impatient tread, He came; and oft that eye so proud Asked for his rider in the crowd. They buried the dark chief; they freed Beside the grave his battle steed; And swift an arrow cleaved its way To his stern heart! One piercing neigh Arose, and, on the dead man's plain, The rider grasps his steed again.