The People of the Eastern Ice, they are melting like the snow -
They beg for coffee and sugar; they go where the white men go
The People of the Western Ice, they learn to steal and fight:
They sell their furs to the trading-post: they sell their soul to the white

The People of the Southern Ice, they trade with the whaler's crew;
Their women have many ribbons, but their tents are torn and few
But the People of the Elder Ice, beyond the white man's ken -
Their spears are made of the narwhal horn, and they are the last of Men!