Your dead cease to love you and the land of their nativity as soon as they pass the portals of the tomb and wander away beyond the stars. They are soon forgotten and never return. Our dead never forget this beautiful world that gave them being. They still love its verdant valleys， its murmuring rivers， its magnificent mountains， sequestered vales and verdant lined lakes and bays， and ever yearn in tender fond affection over the lonely hearted living， and often return from the happy hunting ground to visit， guide， console and comfort them…
Our departed braves， fond mothers， glad， happy hearted maidens， and even the little children who lived here and rejoiced here for a brief season， will love these somber solitudes and at eventide they greet shadowy returning spirits.
And when the last Red Man shall have perished， and the memory of my tribe shall have become a myth among the White Men， these shores will swarm with the invisible dead of my tribe， and when your children think themselves alone in the field， the store， the shop， upon the highway， or in the silence of the pathless woods， they will not be alone. In all the earth there is no place dedicated to solitude. At night when the streets of your cities and villages are silent and you think them deserted， they will throng with the returning hosts that once filled them and still love this beautiful land. The White Man will never be alone.
Let him be just and deal kindly with my people， for the dead are not powerless. Dead， did I say？ —There is no death， only a change of worlds.
參考譯文
無數個世紀以來，浩渺蒼天曾為我的族人灑下同情之淚；這人們看似永恒不易的蒼天，實際上是會改變的：今天和風煦日，明日則可能烏雲密布。但我的話卻猶如天空亙古的恒星，永不變更。華盛頓的大酋長可以像信賴日月季節更替一般，相信西雅圖所說的話。