TECUMSEH,

A Poem

IN FOUR CANTOS

Canto First.

 

I

 

     It is in truth as fair and sweet a day

     As ever dawn’d on Erie’s silvery lake,

     And wanton sunbeams on its surface play

     Which slightest breeze nor rippling currents break;

     Yet Devastation's voice her fiends obey,

5

     And stern Bellona loves e'en here to slake

Her quenchless thirst, in streams of human gore,
Which soon must dye that lake and distant shore.
  

II

    And there is many a proud and stately bark
    Emerging from the waning mists of night,

 10
    And many a bronzed tar and gallant spark
    Awaiting there the coming hour of fight.
    Their streamers gaily float in air—and hark!
    The boatswain pipes aloft, when soon with fingers light,
The active crews unfurl the snow-white sail,		 15
Which finally falls to woo the slumbering gale.

III

    And who are they who, fierce defying, dare
    To range their prows along the English shore,
    To seek the angry Lion in his lair,
    And boldly brave the sea-god’s savage roar?

 20

    A haughty and a gallant band they are,
    Nor seen, nor known, nor understood before, (1)
Yet not unworthy to contend in arms
With foemen long inur’d to war’s alarms.

IV

    Well charg’d each gun—unsheath’d each shining glaive, 

 25
    They come prepar’d their noble foe to find—
    To win renown or meet a glorious grave:
    And favor’d by the light and partial wind,
    Bear onward now—now taunting turn and brave
    The vain exertions of the fleet behind,		 30
Whose crews with deep complainings rend the air,
And murmur curses—earnest of despair.

V

    But lo! the breeze is up—the anchor weigh’d—
    The swelling canvas bends before the gale;
    Each gallant ship, in battle-pomp array’d,

 35

    In distance answers to the Chieftain’s hail.
    Each warrior-brow is clear’d—nor gloom nor shade—
    Nor disappointed feelings now prevail—
All hearts are light—the chase is full in view—
They pant for combat—and forthwith pursue.

 40
 

VI

    Not long they follow—nor a shrinking foe,
    Nor one unus’d, unskill’d in naval war;
    Their sails are quickly clew’d—their course is slow—
    Each bark awaits her rival from afar;
    While with a secret and exulting glow, 

 45
    They count the little fleet who cross the bar,
And, reckless of their weakness dare engage,
And ’gainst superior force the battle wage.

VII

    The bugle shrilly sounds—the warlike drum
    In rolling cadence breaks upon the ear; 

 50
    The boatswain’s whistle, and the busy hum
    Of stern command, is heard both deep and clear—
    In firm array—with dauntless front they come,
    And, with one loud and universal cheer,
Bear nobly down upon th’ advancing fleet,		 55
Who with defiance stern their onset meet.

VIII

    And now the thick sulphureous mists ascend,
    And Murder opens wide her mouths of blood;
    While streams of light with curling volumes blend,
    And dart along the surface of the flood,

 60
    Which, startled at the cries of foe and friend,
    Shrinks quailing back, and frighten’d seems to brood
O’er fearful scenes of death which darkly stain
The spotless bosom of the silvery plain.

IX

    And oh! by Heaven it is a glorious day!

 65
    A contest worthy of the valiant foes,
    Whom Fame and Country urge to deadly fray;
    While in thick wreathing smoke they boldly close,
    Hiding the noon-day sun’s resplendent ray,
    Which beautiful and bright that morning rose		 70
Upon the surface of the clear smooth wave—
Now ruffled first to form the warrior’s grave.

X

    Who that had heard the tumult of that hour—
    The mad incessant roll of murderous war,
    Had deem’d that Mars, all radiant in his power, 

 75
    Had wing’d to earth his sanguinary car
    And bade Destruction o’er creation lower,
    Urging stern Havoc through the realms afar
And filling nature with one general cry
Of hate—despair—of woe and agony.		 80
 

XI

    But hark! what shout was that? what joyous sound
    Now bursts amid the deafening din of arms—
    Can aught than horror and dismay be found
    Amid the strife of battle and alarms
    Loud and more loud it grows, but now ’tis drown’d

 85
    In louder peals—and now again it warms
Still louder—’tis the wild and thrilling cry
Which follows in the train of Victory.

XII

    And who are they who, thus exulting, wake
    Each spring of action in that lengthened shout— 

 90
    Whose the wild sounds which, too delusive, break
    Upon the wondering ear, and eking out
    In distance, ring along the troubled lake,
    Startling the storm-bird in its wonted route,
And, e’en amid fell carnage’ ceaseless roar,		 95

Is heard in echo on the distant shore?

XIII

    It is the red-cross band, who fondly deem
    That hour arriv’d so precious to the brave;
    Already Victory sheds her radiant beam
    Upon their toils—for many a watery grave 

 100
    Their foes have found, and in the soothing dream
    Of hope they reck of little left to crave;
The star-deck’d standard from their leader’s prow
Is dash’d, and conquest hovers o’er each brow.

XIV

    Vain hope! for many a hostile bark is there,

 105
    Unhurt by Havoc’s devastating hand:
    And now their engines vomit through the air
    Fresh streams of carnage, while a new command
    Bids yet to fiercer warmth the furious war,
    And Murder’s breath, which desolates the land,		 110
Falls hotly mingling with the crimson tide
Which stains each deck and oozes thro’ each side.

XV

    And thou too, Barclay, like a branchless trunk,
    Lay’st wounded, bleeding mid the death-fraught scene,
    Writhing and faint, ere cruel Slaughter, drunk

 115
    With the rich stream of life, with haggard mien,
    Deep and more deep in stern destruction sunk
    Each short-liv’d hope—who then alas! had seen
Thy flashing eye, had trac’d not suffering there,
But burning indignation, and deep care.		 120
 

XVI

    Each gallant ship floats now a stubborn wreck,
    A shapeless, useless, and unwieldy frame:
    The towering masts are gone—the blood-stain’d deck
    Is ’cumber’d with dismounted guns—and shame
    And sternest rage prevail—they little reck

 125
    Of aught beyond an honorable name
Within the bosom of the crystal deep,
Where many a tar already sleeps death’s sleep.

XVII

    And many a leader too has nobly bled—
    And fallen in the fierce destructive war:

 130
    Some deeply gash’d—some numbered with the dead—
    But one exempt from honorable scar; (2)
    Yet there impends on all a deeper dread—
    A risk more imminent and bitter far—
The wounded ships no more their helm obey		 135
But crowd each other, and inspire dismay.

XVIII

    What man can compass or what mortal dare,
    To wring hard conquest from a mightier foe,
    Was done in vain. Alas! a day so fair
    Was doom’d to close in agony and woe;

 140
    And many a generous seaman in despair,
    Felt the hot tear of indignation flow
Upon his rude and furrowed cheek, where Shame
Stamp’d her first impress in the flush of flame.

XIX

    For now they mark the hostile Chief ascend 

 145
    A deck unstained, uninjured in the fray,
    His standard rais’d, the crew their efforts blend,
    And thro’ the mastless fleet pursue their way,
    While crashing broadsides on the wrecks descend,
    Whose fainter lightnings on the victors play, 		 150
And leave the weakness of a band reveal’d
Too weak to conquer, yet too proud to yield.

XX

    But what, alas! can courage these avail
    Against the tide of fortune and of power?
    A force untouch’d the crippled barks assail,

 155
    And from their massive bulwarks fiercely shower
    New deaths, which fly and hiss along the gale,
    Seeking infuriate whom they may devour.
The fatal word is pass’d—down sinks each eye—
The red-cross flag has ceas’d to wave on high!		 160
 

XXI

    Now all is still, and up the mountain height,
    A thousand naked Warriors wildly spring,
    And gaze around, and strain their aching sight,
    As tho’ the feverish glance alone could bring
    Conviction to their doubts—but all is night

 165
    Where late the battle’s roar was heard to ring,
And friends and foes one universal cloud
Enwraps and veils, as in a silvery shroud.

XXII

    Oh! hour of dark uncertainty! when most
    We fondly covet what we dread to know; 

 170
    When secret doubting mingles with the boast
    Of strength and firmness to resist the blow
    Of adverse fortune, and the mighty host
    Of warring thoughts more wild and fearful grow;
Too soon indeed, thou, short-lived hour, wert pass’d— 		 175
One fond delusive vision—and the last.

XXIII

    For soon, too soon, stern rage and anguish broke
    Upon each heart, as now the freshening breeze
    Dispers’d the columns of sulphureous smoke,
    Which, gradual rising o’er the rippling seas,

 180
    Disclosed the valiant bent beneath the yoke
    Of conquest—following where the victors please.
Then burst, as from the inmost depths of Hell,
The savage war-cry, and the deafening yell.

XXIV

    Still there’s a hope which lingers in the mind 

 185
    When all our fairest fantasies are past;
    There is a solace vague and undefin’d
    E’en when life’s dreams are wholly overcast,
    Which cheers the drooping spirits of our kind,
    And wakes the soul to expectation vast, 		 190
If but a glimmering of false light appear
To check the current of each maddening fear.

XXV

    While yet the far-strain’d eye could scarcely trace
    The busy movements of the blended crews,
    A wild expression dwelt upon each face, 

 195
    Half hope—half sorrow—cherish’d to abuse;
    For hope, alas! could find no resting place;
    Yet so it is—the human heart pursues
Each cheating shade, to which it fondly clings,
And comfort from its very anguish wrings.		 200
 

XXVI

    But soon the leaden wings of Night confound
    The wounded squadrons in one common veil,
    Late rivals—now in sad alliance bound.
    While the full breeze swells faint the shatter’d sail,
    And bears them slowly to the foeman’s ground: 

 205
    Oh! then how felt the sickening heart to fail,
As the sad crowds receded from the shore
To mourn in secret, and their friends deplore.

XXVII

    Say, who that moveless Warrior, who reclines,
    His noble form against the craggy steep; 

 210
    And, like some spirit of the forest, shines
    Pre-eminent above the silvery deep
    A monument of strength—while, o’er the lines
    Of his severe and war-worn features, creep
Those burning thoughts which mark the soul of flame— 		 215
Fever’d and restless in its thirst of fame?

XXVIII

    No word escapes him, yet his lip is pale;
    And, thro’ his earnest fixedness of gaze,
    There beams anon a fire, beneath the veil
    Of his dark brow, which like a meteor-blaze, 

 220
    A moment shines, then dies along the gale;
    While, turn’d to where the sunbeam dips his rays,
His eagle vision with his thoughts keeps pace,
And seems to dart beyond the bounds of space.

XXIX

    So, when victorious near the dark Wabash, (3)

 225
    His mighty arm aveng’d a nation’s woes,
    That eye with scorching fire was seen to flash,
    And with its very glance confound his foes;
    As, dashing through the waves, with fearful splash,
    He like a demon of the waters rose, 		 230
And carried death among the lawless band—
The ruthless spoilers of his native land.

XXX

    Not the wild mammoth of Ohio’s banks (4)
    Dash’d fiercer splashing thro’ the foaming flood,
    When his huge form press’d low the groaning ranks 

 235
    Of giant oaks which deck’d his native woods,
    Than rag’d Tecumseh through the deep phalanx
    Of deadliest enemies, soon bathed in blood,
Whose quivering scalps, half-crimsoned in their gore,
The dusky Warrior from the white-men bore. 		 240
 

XXXI

    Blood of the Prophet, and of vig’rous mould!
    Undaunted leader of a dauntless band,
    Vain were each effort of thy foes most bold
    To stay the arm of slaughter, or withstand
    The scathing lightnings of that eye where roll’d 

 245
    Deep vengeance for the sufferings of a land,
Long doom’d the partage of a numerous horde,
Whom lawless conquest o’er its vallies pour’d.

XXXII

    Nor yet (though terrible in warlike rage,
    And like the panther bounding on his prey, 

 250
    When the fierce war-cry pealed the battle’s gage,
    And death and desolation marked his way)
    Less bright in wisdom he, the gen’rous sage,
    Whose prudent counsels shed a partial ray
Of gladness o’er that too-devoted soil 		 255
Which Guile and Rapine banded to despoil.

XXXIII

    Tho’ dearer to his soul than the young cry
    Of infant weakness to a mother’s ear—
    Tho’ sweeter than the first-awaken’d sigh
    Of virgin love, the war-whoop shrill and clear—

 260
    Tho’ nurs’d in camps, and living but to die,
    Or check Oppression in her wide career—
Twas’ he first caus’d those scenes of blood to cease,
And deign’d the vanquish’d what they sued for—peace.

XXXIV

    E’en mid the wilds, which echoed back the shout 

 265
    Of conquering nations fighting in his train;
    E’en mid the waves, still crimsoned in the rout
    Of bleeding foes fast flying from the plain,
    Was sign’d the glorious armistice, which doubt (5)
    And apprehension wrung from those who fain 		 270
Had dash’d the laurel from that warrior-brow,
Which frown’d distrust upon their faithless vow.

XXXV

    Nor wrong the Chieftain of the snow-white crest:
    For scarce ten moons had dipp’d in silvery dew
    The verdant beauties of the glowing West,

 275
    When now a mighty mass of foemen threw
    Their lengthened columns o’er the soil, and press’d
    The spot where first the generous Warrior drew
The rich warm breath of sacred liberty,
And swore to fall, or set his country free. 		 280
 

XXXVI

    How well that purpose of his soul he kept,
    Whole hecatombs of bleaching bones and clay,
    O’er which nor sorrowing spouse nor sire e’er wept,
    Too well attest—no burial rite had they—
    No tomb in which their ashes hallowed slept, 

 285
    But torn by vultures, and by beasts of prey,
E’en fertilized the bosom of that land
They came to conquer with unpitying hand.

XXXVII

    But hold! what shadow moves along the night,
    And bears him cautious to the Chieftain’s side? 

 290
    ’Tis youthful Uncas, foremost in the fight,
    His Father’s sole born, and his Nation’s pride.
    He too hath mark’d and sicken’d at the sight—
    He too hath seen the foe triumphant ride,
And spread their banners o’er the liquid plain, 		 295
In all the insolence of proud disdain.

XXXVIII

    He turn’d in speechless anguish to his Sire,
    And to his lips his sinewy hand uprais’d,
    Yet moist with blood, and trembling with the fire
    Which o’er the Warrior’s features sternly blaz’d— 

 300
    Ne’er had young Uncas known his Father’s ire
    So deep and terrible as now—he gaz’d,
And, with emotions sad and undefined,
Watch’d the fierce conflict in his noble mind.

XXXIX

Uncertain if to speak, th’ intruder stood 

 305
    Wrapped in his mantle near the thoughtful Chief;
    While but the measur’d splashing of the flood
    Broke on the silence of his stubborn grief;
    Or fainter night-breeze, whispering thro’ the wood,
    Call’d forth those plaintive sounds from rustling leaf, 		 310
Which, in the boundless forests of the West,
So frequent’ woo the wearied soul to rest.

XL

    There was a certain wildness in the scene,
    The hour, and in the Chieftain’s towering height,
    As his tall plumage wav’d the rocks between,

 315
    Which made him as the Genius of the night
    Appear—while the dull beams of evening’s Queen
    Cast o’er the whole that dense and hazy light,
Which lends colossal grandeur to each form
When the charg’d skies proclaim a coming storm. 		 320
 

XLI

    The fond youth shuddered, yet he knew not why:
    He would have spoken, but a secret dread,
    A dark foreboding of some agony,
    Hung o’er his fainting soul, and fiercely fed
    The grief within—Oh! was it but to die 

 325
    For him, that honor’d Sire, whose throbbing head
Now lean’d in anguish ’gainst the rugged rock,
How would he fly to meet death’s rudest shock!

XLII

    Sudden, on the stillness of the night there broke
    The startling murmur of a distant drum; 

 330
    So faint—so indistinct—each dying stroke
    Fell on the listening ear like the low hum
    Of the lake insect—but the sound awoke
    The gloomy Chieftain from his trance. "They come,
He cried, "the foe eternal of our land— 		 335
Yet deem they not Tecumseh is at hand."

XLIII

    ’Twas then his dark and thoughtful brow grew bright
    With some deep purpose terrible and fell—
    "Haste thee, my Uncas, with the rein-deer’s flight,
    And seek our slumbering Warriors in the dell. 

 340
    Bid them arm quickly—ere to-morrow’s light
    Shall shrieks for mercy mingle with our yell,
And ring in echo thro’ the forest wood—
The stern precursors of revenge and blood.

XLIV

    "In silence and in caution lead the band

 345
    To where yon jutting rocks our barks conceal;
    This done, the light skiff loosen from the strand
    And gently o’er the gliding current steal:
    Thy Sire will go before—a lighted brand
    Shall mark the spot where ye must guide each keel, 		 350
And fall securely on our slumbering prey—
Haste thee, my son, nor linger on the way."

XLV

    He said, and bounded to the water’s side,
    Quick as the roe-buck of his native grove.
    The light canoe soon floated on the tide, 

 355
    And noiseless skimm’d the rippling waves above;
    So frail, it seem’d the handwork of some bride
    To bear a spirit to his earthly love—
But now ’tis vanished, and the tall white plume
Is lost in distance, and surrounding gloom.		 360

 

 

Canto Second.

 

I

 
    'T'is eve on Erie’s banks—her waves are bright
    With golden sunbeams quivering in the West,
    Which tip the distant summits with their light,
    Then fade and die along each rugged crest:
    But where are they, whose streamers form’d to dight, 		 5
    Rose with that orb, and hail’d him to his rest,
While martial strains, at evening’s early close,
From clanging trumpet, and from bugle rose?

II

    Alas! no more, at his departing ray,
    Shall thy rude mariner, in uncouth song, 

 10
    Recount his early deeds on battle-day,
    Or smile exulting on the wondering throng;
    All dark and gloomy is that lonely bay,
    Where the hoarse boatswain’s mandate would prolong
Its notes discordant on each bustling hour,		 15
In all the pride of delegated power.

III

    All—all is chang’d, and desolate, and wild;
    Each quay, where late the gallant ships were moor’d,
    Laments a Brother from its arms beguil’d,
    The lake appears a Bride who mourns her Lord; 

 20
    The port, a Mother who has lost her Child;
    And War, stern War, accursed and abhorr’d,
Has blasted, with his breath, that peaceful shore
Where Joy’s young smiling face is seen no more.

IV

    In vain the anxious eye is turn’d to meet 

 25
    The well-known streamers floating on the gale;
    In vain the listening ear is turn’d to greet
    The boisterous laugh which crown’d the jovial tale:
    How gay were now those sights—those sounds how sweet—
    For ne’er does man so well desire to hail 		 30
The charm which sooth’d him, and the hope which fed,
As when conviction whispers both are fled.

V

    Alas! both fled from hence, and where alone
    The joyous visions of contentment hung,
    Stern War has plac’d his hideous foot, and grown 

 35
    Into gigantic mastery, and flung
    His red-stain’d mantle o’er the tottering throne
    Of Heaven-born Peace, around which frantic clung
The bright and guardian angels of the world—
Sweet Hope and Mercy, of the wing unfurl’d! 		 40
 

VI

    "Oh! Erie, where are now those cherish’d hours
    Which saw thee happy in thy children’s joy;
    When Plenty smiled upon thy blooming bowers,
    And the young Hunter, to some virgin coy,
    Breath’d his soft tale of love with artless powers, 

 45
    ’Till the warm blush assured the happy boy,
And nature’s eloquence, than speech more true,
Fired the young breast he panted to subdue?

VII

    "How sweet ’twere once to roam, at even-tide,
    And watch the Indian, in his light canoe, 

 50
    Along the surface of thy waters glide,
    When midnight’s hour had steep’d thy banks in dew;
    While the bright spear, descending from his side
    Among the finny tribe unerring flew,
Charm’d by the meteors, which deceptive glare 		 55
To lure the wanton sporters to the snare.

VIII

    "Or oft to linger near the simple dance,
    When glowing maidens mingled in the scene,
    Led, not unwilling, with impassioned glance,
    By graceful Warriors to the moon-lit green; 

 60
    While each, with downcast eye, and half askance,
    Approv’d her lover’s tall and martial mien;
And hoary Chieftains, smoking on the ground,
In silence passed the calabash around.

IX

    "Or where, at earlier hour, thy sons would send

 65
    Th’ unerring shaft loud whizzing from the string;
    Or dart the lance innocuous, or contend
    For proud distinction in the wrestling ring:
    Or, in the active foot-race anxious blend,
    And, like the wild deer, lightly bounding spring 		 70
Amid the plaudits of each gazing sire,
Whose lengthen’d shouts the panting youth inspire.

X

    "Nor more inactive they who play the ball,
    And range them equal in a twofold file;
    Each ear attentive to the leader’s call, 

 75
    As when, the instrument of cruel guile,
    It caus’d an unsuspecting fortress’ fall, (1)
    And mingled murder with the hellish smile
Of still more hellish fiends who frantic tore
Each quivering limb, and quaff’d the reeking gore.		 80
 

XI

    "Oh ’twas a stain upon thy Fathers’ name,
    Which rolling ages could not wipe away;
    It hung like a dark cloud above their fame,
    And blighted deeds of many a battle-day;
    Till now a Warrior—a Redeemer came, (2)

 85
    And shot throughout thy gloom a gladdening ray,
And mercy rendered, at Repentance’ throne,
Bright offerings due, and faithful to atone.

XII

    "Those days had pass’d of treachery and crime,
    And Peace, on hallowed wing, took shelter here; 

 90
    Loving up mountain height and crag to climb,
    And breathe the freedom of the untam’d deer;
    Content hung on the well-oil’d wheel of time, (3)
    And shed a halo round the Western sphere,
Such as alone, amid the dreary wild, 		 95
Falls to the lot of nature’s simplest child.

XIII

    "Then would the buskin’d ranger of the grove
    Forget the toils and perils of the chase,
    And breathe his guileless soul in artless love
    Crown’d by the fond and yielding nymph’s embrace; 

 100
    Or by the placid lake, at moonlight rove,
    With deep-ton’d flute—sole music of his race,
Producing sounds harmonious, full, and clear,
Which fell in soothing softness on the ear.

XIV

    "Or, seated in his humble tent, restrain 

 105
    His jet-black locks in feathers fair to view,
    And with vermilion dyes his dark cheek stain,
    Until his sparkling eye exulting grew,
    As, fill’d with youthful confidence, and vain,
    He proudly strove to join the dancing crew, 		 110
Each limb encircled with broad silver bands,
The well-wrought product of more distant lands.

XV

    "Nor more unpleasing now, to view the Maid,
    Deck’d in the machecoti’s ample fold,
    In many a gay and brilliant brooch array’d, 

 115
    Like stars which spangle the Eternal’s hold;
    While the small foot and ankle are display’d
    In well-bleach’d moccasins attentive roll’d,
And work’d in many a wild, but fair design,
With vari-color’d quills of porcupine. 		 120
 

XVI

    "All these, oh Erie! were thy scenes of yore;
    But where, ah whither fled those peaceful days?
    Must they then bless thy once gay sons no more,
    No longer greet the stranger’s soften’d gaze?
    Alas! for ever gone, and banish’d from thy shore, 

 125
    Their memory only tends, like the last rays
Of the departing sun, to mark the womb
Whence issues Night, stern clad in chilling gloom.

XVII

    "The Hunter’s voice still vibrates thro’ the wood,
    And bounds the bark upon the leaping wave; 

 130
    Yet does that voice proclaim some deed of blood—
    That bark convey some Warrior to his grave;
    The dance continues near thy tranquil flood,
    But maidens mix not with the frantic brave;
It is the war-dance, follow’d by the yell, 		 135
Which awes the panther springing from his dell.

XVIII

    "The shaft flies swiftly from the well-strain’d bow;
    The tomahawk and spear thy choice youth wield;
    But not unharming now those weapons go:
    The shaft’s broad barb in life-blood is conceal’d; 

 140
    Each flying lance attains a hapless foe,
    Who falls unhousell’d on the gory field,
While, with unceasing energy and speed,
The race continues—but the vanquish’d bleed!

XIX

 "The wild bear stalks unharm’d across the heath; 

 145
    The fiery cougar fastens on his prey;
    The snarling wolf at noon-tide shows his teeth,
    And howling bends to blood-stain’d fields his way;
    While greedy vultures group the rocks beneath,
    And birds of song forego their wonted lay 		 150
And naught is heard above the rippling rill,
But the wild ’plaining of the Whip-poor-will.

XX

    "The sons of far more distant climes may mourn
    Dire scenes of death which stain their hapless soil;
    The spouse from bride—the sire from kindred torn, 

 155
    When rank Oppression hovers to despoil;
    But thine, oh Erie, to destruction sworn,
    More cursed than these—entangled in the toil
Beset them round—have scarce a land to weep—
Scarce room where now their slaughter’d dead may sleep! 		 160
 

XXI

    "But will they perish in their weeping? No!
    Their flesh may grow corrupt upon the plain;
    Their bones may bleach like mountain heaps of snow;
    Their hearts’ best blood the glittering blade may stain,
    But while an arm remains to wield the bow, 

 165
    A foe shall writhe him in convulsive pain,
And purchase, in the well-contested strife,
The soil of Warriors with the price of life.

XXII

    "The white-man terms us cruel, while his blade
    Alone leaps thirsting for some victim’s blood; 

 170
    He hunts the peaceful Indian from his glade,
    To seek for shelter in the pathless wood;
    Then talks of direst treason, when dismay’d
    He hears the war-cry where their homes once stood;
Nor fails the wily hunter to abhor, 		 175
Who differs from him but in forms of war!

XXIII

    "But they have cast the wampum from their side;
    The calamut of peace has long grown cold;
    And now their haughty Warriors fiercely stride,
    And dare the Fox and Lion in their hold; 

 180
    Their voice is blood—destruction is their pride—
    But still thy hunters are the true and bold;
And since the dogs of Rapine are at bay,
Let Murder smile, and Havoc have her way."

XXIV

    Thus sang, in simple strains, an aged Chief, 

 185
    Whose tottering frame lay curved within his tent,
    Worn with much suffering, and consuming grief,
    Beneath the weight of many winters bent,
    As breathing now, in accents wild and brief,
    His hopeless and devoted soil’s lament, 		 190
His still full black, though half-expiring eye
Caught the last beams which ting’d the Western sky.

XXV

    What sounds come swelling on the evening gale,
    Borne in wild echoes o’er the heaving wave?
    Anon they mark rejoicing—now bewail 

 195
    The luckless death-wound of some fallen brave;
    And now expanding to the view a sail—
    And now another, and a third, fast lave
Their well-carved prows, amid the dashing lake,
While others follow in their closing wake. 		 200
 

XXVI

    And lo! the crowded barks approach that shore,
    Where winds the heavy songster from the bank;
    The gaudy streamers deck their prows no more,
    But poles, thick strung with scalps, in many a rank,
    Arrest the eye—all loathsome in their gore—

 205
    While ever and anon resounds the clank
Of captive chains; and men of fairer hue,
And other garb, are mingled with each crew.

XXVII

    But who that youth whose features, ghastly pale,
    Lie listless, stiffened, in stern Death’s embrace; 

 210
    While in the mournful bark is heard the wail
    Of lamentation common to their race?
    That crimson-shaded mantle who could fail
    To know—or who that still expressive face,
Which late, in spring, life’s sunny beams array’d, 		 215
Warm’d the young heart-throb of each Indian maid?

XXVIII

    Near the wan corse—with folded arms and grave,
    There sits a figure wrapt in thoughtful gloom;
    His brow deep knit—his eye upon the wave—
    As tho’ the scene surrounding found no room 

 220
    To mix with mightier passions, which enslave
    And find within his breast a living tomb—
A glowing furnace—worthy to contain
The fires which wanton thro’ each beating vein.

XXIX

    "’Tis he! ’tis he!" the old man shriek’d, and flung

 225
    Upon the beach his weak and stricken frame;
    His wailings echoed all the rocks among;
    The rugged banks gave back the wild acclaim;
    His snow-white beard upon the cold earth hung;
    An icy chillness o’er each member came;		 230
His burning eye distill’d a tear—the first—
The last—and his swoln heart convulsive burst.

XXX

    "Another victim!" cried a voice aloud:
    The notes were thunder on the ear of Night;
    And, darting now amid the sorrowing crowd

 235
    Appear’d Tecumseh recent from the fight:
    He gaz’d upon the scene, a moment bowed
    By the thick mists which swam before his sight,
But, firmly struggling with his secret woes,
Suppressed the groan which half-indignant rose. 		 240
 

XXXI

    The youth’s pale corse, still lovely in decay,
    Is laid that hapless aged man’s beside;
    That Chief’s, whose eyes shut out the loathsome day,
    As rush’d the life-blood in o’erpowering tide
    Upon his heart, to see the ghastly clay

 245
    Of Uncas—his that Grandsire’s sweetest pride—
The lov’d, lamented, generous and brave,
Sent thus, in spring-tide, wither’d to the grave.

XXXII

    For ever clos’d in night is that dark eye
    Which beam’d with love—nor kindled oft in ire; 

 250
    But not in vain does he, that sweet boy lie;
    His death has spar’d the life-blood of his Sire;
    The rifle-ball, sent whizzing from on high,
    Warm’d in his heart, and quench’d his bosom’s fire;
The wound unerring he had flown to meet,		 255
Else had the Chief fall’n lifeless at his feet.

XXXIII

    Awhile Tecumseh gaz’d upon the wreck
    Of his lone house all silent there and low;
    The Sire was worn with grief, and the stern check
    Of many frosts had bleach’d his head with snow; 

 260
    But, oh! that son—his Uncas, form’d to deck
    The paths of those who wield the spear and bow—
How sad to see him there—a blighted flower,
Cropp’d in the bloom of beauty and of power!

XXXIV

    His burning eye could shed no Father’s tears, 

 265
    For long were dried the briny sluices there;
    The very thought upon his brow appears
    As if habitual—planted there by care—
    Not rous’d by some o’erpowering stroke, which sears
    The lonely breast, and conjures up despair		 270
In all its thousand forms of agony,
From which the tortur’d soul in vain would flee.

XXXV

    At length the last canoes have press’d the shore,
    The dusky Warriors group’d upon the beach;
    Rage in their hearts, and fury in the roar 

 275
    Which marks a trophy in each frantic screech; (4)
    While unclean hands, still clammy with much gore,
    Th’ uncourteous victors to their captives reach,
Whose pallid looks and glaring eyes proclaim
Despair the tenant of each drooping frame. 		 280
 

XXXVI

    Yet there is one, who, with undaunted gaze,
    And crest unfallen, views the passing scene;
    Dark is his eye, and thin the web of days
    Which Time has weav’d around that martial mien;
    While manly grace his symmetry displays,

 285
    As the unmov’d and haughty youth is seen
Unchang’d above that wan dejected band,
In all the fearlessness of proud command.

XXXVII

    The gay insignia on his shoulders borne,
    And rich embroidered scarf of azure hue, 

 290
    Yet soiled with blood, and in the combat torn,
    Proclaim him leader of the captive crew,
    Who now all faint, and with deep suffering worn,
    Toward the distant camp their course pursue,
Whence issues oft, in lengthened peals and wild, 		 295
The fatal death-howl for Tecumseh’s child.

XXXVIII

    Scarce reach’d that spot, when lo! an aged fiend, (5)
    Low bent and wither’d by the blast of years,
    Whose trembling steps upon a hatchet leaned,
    At the dark entrance of a tent appears; 

 300
    With sunken eyes, that furious roll’d, and gleaned
    The fairest form amid those sad compeers,
The youth most worthy to appease his shade
Whose clay-cold corse within that tent is laid.

XXXIX

    Oh! who could fail to mark that warrior fair, 

 305
    The first—the noblest of the hostile band?
    High is his port—undaunted is his air,
    Which scorn of danger makes more truly grand;
    The fiend decrepit, with unholy stare
    Gaz’d on the youth, and grasp’d his nervous hand— 		 310
While reared on high, the glittering weapon shone
Above his fated head, and his alone.

XL

    Say, youth and beauty, where had flown thy power,
    Which could not turn away that cruel blade,
    Thus raised to crop a scarcely budded flower,

 315
    And strew its blossoms o’er a distant glade?
    Ne’er shall he lie in kindred home or bower,
    Ne’er shall his foot-step press his native shade?
No more Love’s breath from ladye-lips sport fair
Amid the tresses of his dark-brown hair. 		 320
 

XLI

    Amaz’d, but not unmann’d, the victim turn’d
    Upon that haggard form one searching look;
    Alas! no pity in that breast sojourn’d,
    No mercy in that hand which palsied shook,
    No hope of safety from that eye he learn’d— 

 325
    That eye, whose demon glance he ill could brook.
He raised his thoughts in confidence to Heaven,
And silent prayed his earthly sins forgiven.

XLII

    While wrapt in thought—in converse with his God—
    Crash’d the fell hatchet on his front of snow. 

 330
    The spouting stream defil’d the earth he trod,
    Yet sank he not beneath the hellish blow,
    ’Till wounds repeated on the slippery sod,
    In Death’s cold grasp soon laid the sufferer low;
Whom now the savage monster rudely strips 		 335
Of the warm scalp, borne quivering to her lips!

XLIII

    Yea her, for woman’s was the outward form;
    And though all Hell had mingled in that scene,
    And sprites came howling on the midnight storm,
    No demon of destruction, who had seen 

 340
    Those long and shrivelled hands with blood-stains warm,
    But pale with horror—with affrighted mien,
Had fled, loud shrieking thro’ the startled air,
To hide in blackest night his deep despair.

XLIV

    Oh! where was then the scathing lightning’s flash, 

 345
    Which falls enthron’d on thunder clouds of ire—
    Tearing up forests with gigantic crash,
    And spreading wide its tortuous sheets of fire;
    While the swoln torrents, with impetuous dash,
    Attest the wrath of man’s Almighty Sire, 		 350
In the fell horrors which oft waste that land—
Last and most giant issued from his hand? (6)

XLV

    Or, where was he who, near Miami’s wave, (7)
    When coward hatchets madly rose to stain
    The well-earned laurels of the generous brave,

 355
    Dash’d fiercely thundering thro’ the recreant train,
    And swore to sheathe his yet ensanguin’d glaive
    In their vile hearts, and strew them o’er the plain—
While, as he fell’d to earth the threatening barb,
He shone the savage but in hue and garb? 		 360

 

XLVI

    Alas! he saw not—while the Warrior stood
    Near the pale ashes of his martyr’d boy,
    With folded arms and melancholy mood,
    And wrapt in Contemplation’s sad employ;
    As with a Father’s scrutiny he view’d 

 365
    The blasted promise of life’s only joy,
A panting envoy from the British Chief
Broke on the fulness of his tearless grief.

XLVII

    Fresh columns of the foe their scouts had found
    In rapid march towards the fated soil, 

 370
    Which, flush’d with hope, by recent conquest crown’d,
    Their massy legions hunger’d to despoil;
    The purport of the mission was to sound
    The active Chiefs, whose firmness yet might foil
Th’ advancing hordes, and in the council form 		 375
Due plans to meet the fierce impending storm.

XLVIII

    Tecumseh heard—and darted from the tent,
    As high in air he rais’d his haughty crest;
    And to the Christian camp his footsteps bent,
    One only thought enshrin’d within his breast; 

 380
    Was this a spirit from the High One sent
    To soothe a Father’s desolated breast?
Enough! the mission spoke of war, and well
That sound the whisperings of despair could quell.

XLIX

    ’Twas then that as the Warrior bent his way 

 385
    Among the rocks, resounding to his spear,
    The hapless captives, faint and chill’d with spray,
    Toward that fatal scene of death drew near:
    When Gorgon hates, within that sorceress grey,
    Close leagu’d to stain the gentle Uncas’ bier 		 390
With such foul act of treachery and crime,
As Hell must weep when Guilt is in her prime.

L

    The deed is done—and now within that tent
    The live-long night is pass’d in frantic shrieks;
    The song of death—the howling of lament— 

 395
    And tears more sweet that deck each virgin’s cheeks;
    All tributes of their kind—all various’ meant;
    And now, with morn’s first rosi-color’d streaks,
The red-stain’d pole hath mark’d the lowly head
Of him who virtuous liv’d, and guiltless bled. 		 400

 

 

Canto Third.

 

I

 

    Long has Apollo, in his flaming car,
    Lash’d his hot coursers up the Eastern sky:—
    These now, all fierce and snorting from afar,
    Tramp the light ethers, spurning as they fly;
    While dazzled at the scene, the morning star 

5
    Hides his pale cheek, and startled from on high,
Awaits the moment when Aurora’s charms
Shall hail him blushing to her trembling arms.

II

    The hour is that when, checking his career,
    The God low stoops to kiss his mistress Earth; 

 10
    And with his breath consuming dry the tear,
    With which fell Night, of melancholy birth,
    Damps the warm bosom of the glowing sphere,
    Whose face, now radiant, proves her secret mirth,
And burning blushes mark the mighty power 		 15
Of him her lover in that ardent hour.

III

    The slumbering lake is one broad silvery plain,
    Within whose mirror, move reflected there,
    Along the cloudless sky, a mingled train
    Of various birds, that cleave the highest air, 

 20

    As if unable longer to sustain
    The warmth of earth, which like the siroc drear,
Enchains all nature in its magic fold,
And fills the atmosphere with flakes of gold.

IV

    The forest-deer wends fearless to the tide, 

 25
    And laps his pendent tongue within the stream;
    Then panting casts him at the gaunt wolf’s side,
    (Struck by the ardor of the raging beam)
    Whose wearied frame, in strange inaction tied,
    Lies tame and spell-bound there, as if a dream 		 30
Or incantation hung upon the scene,
And chang’d his nature with Creation’s mien.

V

    The scaly serpent, deck’d in hues of gold,
    Basks near the drooping warbler of the spray;
    Nor twines him now in dire and tortuous fold 

 35
    To spring envenom’d on his wonted prey:
    That eye, which late all-fascinating roll’d
    In colors brilliant as the Iris’ ray,
Has lost its dreadful harmonies to lure,
E’en tho’ the victim felt it not secure. 		 40
 

VI

    The very waters, with the heat imbued,
    The languid fishes now essay to shun;
    Save where the weeping willows thickly strewed,
    O’erhang the stream and shield them from the sun;
    There, blended in one group, a gasping brood 

 45
    Of harmless sporters all-confiding run,
And linger near the fierce voracious pike,
Who, with the power—lacks the will to strike.

VII

    All nature owns the universal charm,
    And slumbers in inaction to the close; 

 50
    But man alone preserves his power to harm,
    And spurns the very semblance of repose;
    Nor his fell wrath could Chaos’ self disarm—
    Though Earth convulsive heave her latest throes,
And skies, and seas, and Heaven are overcast, 		 55
Still man works on, and hardens to the last!

VIII

    There is a beauteous sight upon that plain,
    Whose dazzling bosom with no breathing sighs;
    Twice twenty helmsmen steer a gallant train,
    Which through the liquid silver lightly flies; 

 60
    Twelve paddlers each their sep’rate race maintain,
    All Warriors bold, whose streamers gaily rise,
And dip their splendid beauties in the tide
O’er which the prows they deck triumphant ride.

IX

    Twice twenty Chieftains, rivals in the race, 

 65
    Urge on to greater speed each generous crew;
    Twice twenty war-shouts ring along the space,
    And nerve the band their scudding boats pursue:
    But now they near—they gain upon the chase—
    One straining bark leaps foremost to subdue, 		 70
And soon upon the foeman’s deck, in gloom,
High towers the Warrior of the snow-white plume.

X

    A bloodless conquest this, no death-wounds stain
    The arms of those o’er whom that Chief presides;
    And now the capture follows in their train, 

 75
    As through the lake each frail bark swiftly glides,
    And strives a high and jutting rock to gain,
    O’er which the fortress rears her giant sides,
Whence many a bright and well-contented eye
Hangs o’er the war-boats as they proudly fly. 		 80
 

XI

    Wide thrown are now the portals of that hall,
    Whose lofty arch reverberates deep sound,
    Or to the council speech, or flying ball,
    Which oft within that porch is heard to bound;
    Or warriors’ muskets, ringing as they fall; 

 85
    Or hymns to High Jehovah which resound
Each Sabbath morn within that joint abode (1)
Of Sages, Chiefs, and Ministers of God.

XII

    Already there the Elders of the State,
    And Christian leaders now are met to treat 

 90
    Of the impending danger, and debate
    The measures of defensive war, most meet
    To foil th’ advancing enemy, who late
    Restor’d from one long tissue of defeat,
Had swell’d their columns to a locust band, 		 95
And threaten’d soon to subjugate the land.

XIII

    Fair shone the Warrior’s form amid that group,
    As now, with eye deep-searching, yet serene,
    He led the Chieftains from each gay chaloupe
    To their wont stations in the council scene;

 100
    While, girt in glittering arms, they gravely stoop,
    And place them seated, with that sober mien
Which well becomes the all-important power—
They meet to canvass in that serious hour!

XIV

    Near the stern Chief, and wrapt in sullen pride, 

 105
    The captive leader of the bark appears;
    Who, summon’d by the council to confide
    The foeman’s measures, and his strength of spears,
    Confirms the scout’s report—nor seeks to hide
    Those facts which wake the Father’s strongest fears, 		 110
If fear be term’d those feelings which prevail,
When War’s resources and defences fail.

XV

    The wampum pledge is passed from hand to hand,
    As, in due order, moves each Warrior-Chief,
    To say the feelings of his sep’rate band, 

 115
    And in strange tongues—yet energetic, brief,
    Or point the danger of the threaten’d land,
    Or press the means which offer yet relief;
While the loud shout, at intervals, approves
What most the feelings of each listener moves. 		 120
 

XVI

    Divided in their judgements, some addeem
    It more expedient to await the blow
    Where their proud barks, triumphant on the stream,
    Prepare to land the legions of the foe;
    While those, more prudent of the council, seem 

 125
    To urge, that where the Thames’ sweet waters flow,
And higher banks, with thick’ning woods are crown’d,
A post more fitted for defence is found.

XVII

    These last the Christian leaders part approve,
    And most the Father of the mutual chain, 

 130
    Whose speech responsive—as it may behove,
    Dwells on the few resources which remain
    To stay the progress of the fleets, which move,
    Uncheck’d, their cruisers o’er the lake’s broad plain;
While sway’d by prudent reasonings, and meet,		 135
He gives his voice in favor of retreat.

XVIII

    With various thoughts the anxious Chiefs receive
    The measure, as their various feelings urge;
    The fiery and the daring secret grieve,
    And burn to grapple with their country’s scourge, 

 140
    E’en at that point, where all alike believe
    Their barks preparing to surmount the surge;
While cooler hearts, and hoarier heads proclaim
Retreat expedient—nor the movement shame.

XIX

    Uprose Tecumseh, with impatient bound, 

 145
    Fire in his mien, and anger in his eye;
    Flash’d his proud glance contemptuously around,
    While his tall crest plumes, nodding from on high,
    Bent o’er the brow that now indignant frown’d,
    And lent his swarthy cheek a duskier dye: 		 150
Then burst the passions of his warrior-soul,
Which e’en that council stern could not control.

XX

    No word of ire to lesser Chief he deign’d,
    The curl upon his lips spoke only there;
    But turning quick to him who then sustain’d 

 155
    The arduous duties of the regal chair,
    In speech of fire the Father’s act arraign’d,
    And, hurried by his passion’s fitful glare,
Proclaim’d his prudence—base, unmanly fear,
Which shrank from danger as the foe drew near. 		 160
 

XXI

    "Never," he cried, and as he spoke, the vault
    Rang in wild echoes to his wrathful mood,—
    "Never do I, in the strong camp’s assault,
    Or, where the foemen line the dusky wood,
    Behind the columns of my Warriors halt, 

 165
    Or bid them go and do a deed of blood:
With thirsting steel and stout arm fiercely bare
Tecumseh ever is the foremost there.

XXII

    "Ne’er do I say to these my young men, ‘go
    Do that’—then linger basely in their rear; 

 170
    But bid them come and, as they follow, show
    What perils dire their leading Chief can dare:
    With them my blood is ever wont to flow;
    With them the toils of victory I share;
And with the glaive hot reeking in my hand, 		 175
By deeds, and not by words, urge on my band.

XXIII

    "Well have I mark’d our Father of the lake,
    In pride of soul against the foeman sail;
    Well have I heard his rolling thunders break,
    And blend with war-cries rising on the gale: 

 180
    That eagle heart was never known to quake,
    That eye to falter, or that cheek to pale:
But conquest hangs not always o’er the brave,
And now, perchance, he sleeps beneath the wave.

XXIV

    "Yet he hath perish’d in the brave man’s fame, 

 185
    And though a mightier foe hath swept him down,
    He shrank not quailing from the battle’s flame,
    But scorn’d at danger with the Warrior’s frown;
    No stain can light upon his future name,
    No dark cloud hover o’er his fair renown; 		 190
And every Warrior bold shall drop a tear
O’er him who grasp’d at fame, and found a bier.

XXV

    "But thou," and here his eye glanc’d fiercely round—
    "Scarce dost thou know the foeman at thy gate,
    Than struck with terror, like some coward hound, 

 195

    Thou shunn’st the fight, and flee’st thy helpless State;
    Thy gallant youths, in combat foremost found,
    Obey thy will, nor murmur at their fate;
But well their drooping heads and hearts proclaim
How much they curse thy fiat, and their shame. 

 200
 

XXVI

    "But since the blood runs coldly thro’ thy veins,
    And love of life belies the Warrior’s creed,
    Go—flee—and leave to hostile swords these plains,
    Then tell thy Father of the glorious deed:
    Yet say, that well one native Chief maintains 

 205
    The faith he pledged, and on this spot will bleed—
For, by the Spirit of our mighty sphere,
Tecumseh moves not while a foe is near."

XXVII

    He ceas’d—and burst one vast and deaf’ning sound
    Of crashing thunder from the swarthy crew; 

 210
    Uprose each Chieftain with elastic bound,
    As high in air their glittering weapons flew;
    And yells discordant shook the walls around,
    And fiercer now the wild alarum grew:
While, thro’ the portals of that hall there rang 		 215
To the fort’s base the loud and deafening clang.

XXVIII

    Amid the fearful clamours of that day,
    How looked the Christian Chiefs assembled there?
    There was a feeling would have been dismay,
    But that such hearts are strangers to despair; 

 220
    In these had sprung the thought that treachery lay
    Beneath the darkness of that Warrior’s air,
But that they knew him, as the soul of youth,
Daring in speech—yet rich in genuine truth.

XXIX

    Nor judg’d him wrong—for with that haughty look 

 225
    Which mark’d the native empire of command—
    That glance which few could e’er unhumbled brook,
    The Chieftain motion’d silence to the band,
    Whose brandish’d weapons now more faintly shook,
    And frantic shoutings sunk to murmurs bland, 		 230
Like sounds which issue from the forest drear,
When storms are lulling with the lightning’s glare.

XXX

    Restor’d the order of that solemn scene,
    The Christian Father, in his judgment firm,
    Still deems retreat the most expedient mean 

 235
    To thwart the foeman’s measures in the germ;
    To this, as late, the elder Warriors lean,
    And urge again the Thames’ banks as the term
Of retrogressive march, where less secure,
The foe may fall, and perish in the lure. 		 240
 

XXXI

    Already high the spectre Famine rears
    Her hideous crest along the fated land,
    While twice five thousand fresh and hostile spears
    Are joined to leap upon th’ unguarded strand:
    To these a force inferior far appears, 

 245
    And, of the whole defensive little band,
Scarce now two thousand active youth remain,
To wage the contest with that mighty train.

XXXII

    The lonely harbour, of her strength divest,
    No fire repulsive warms within her womb; 

 250
    While on the fortress’ weaken’d sides there rest
    Faint means to throw the round shot or the bomb:
    The dreaded barriers which they late possess’d,
    Are wrested from their grasp, while deeper gloom
Awaits the Warriors, in the scanty hoard 		 255
Of food essential which the walls afford.

XXXIII

    But where the wild yclep’d Moravian spreads
    Her scatter’d hamlets o’er the Thames’ fair banks,
    A dark ravine, where rear their giant heads
    Thick pines and firs, in Nature’s tallest ranks, 

 260
    Affords the war defensive in its beds
    Of rocks uneven, while the bending flanks
Are hemm’d securely by the rolling flood,
And heights close studded with impervious wood.

XXXIV

    Here then the Father, after due debate, 

 265
    And those most prudent of the league, propose
    To lead their several Warriors, and await
    The first fierce onset of their numerous foes;
    Who, flush’d with hope, and in their strength elate,
    Would scarcely reck to linger in repose; 		 270
But, close pursuing in their flying rear,
Fall in the toil their wily arts prepare.

XXXV

    High glowed the Warrior’s cheek with generous heat,
    And flash’d his eye with deep contemptuous scorn;
    What! he join tamely in that base retreat! 

 275
    But, hark—the troop-call from the Christian horn
    Now bids the glittering forces instant meet:
    The light artillery the roads adorn,
And all the movements of that band proclaim
The firm resolve to stamp their mutual shame. 		 280
 

XXXVI

     "Then be it on the Thames’ broad banks—I yield
    To riper Chieftains and more prudent Sires,"
    (And with the prudent there was ill conceal’d
    The scorn which mingled with his soul’s hot fires)
     "But by the mighty Prophet, on that field 

 285
    Tecumseh combats—conquers or expires;
There shall he wash in blood this damning stain,
And crush his foe, or perish on the plain.

XXXVII

     "Ere then ten suns have roll’d their daily course,
    Upon the spot conven’d we, Father, meet; 

 290
    Not there, as here, to count the adverse force—
    To shrink from numbers, or propose retreat;
    But there to speed the death-shot from its source—
    To fall, or lay our foemen at our feet,
Who talks of council there has my disdain; 		 295
Peace to thee, Father, till we meet again."

XXXVIII

    He said, and strode indignant from the throng,
    Whose every eye close fixed his martial frame;
    No heart was there that felt inclined to wrong
    The noble ardor which his wrath became: 

 300
    Hot words were his; but such, I ween, belong
    To sanguine men, whose every thought is flame,
Whose burning passions mark the generous soul,
And shine most virtuous where they least control.

XXXIX

    Dissolv’d that warlike council by the Sire, 

 305
    The various Chieftains to their tribes resort;
    While, by the Leader, to the sweeping fire
    The fortress is condemn’d, and gloomy port,
    And holds of strength, and all that may require
    A foe invading for their due support: 		 310
So that stern Famine’s hideous frown may greet,
And mock their columns landing from the fleet.

XL

    This task unwelcome slow the troops obey,
    With sadden’d hearts, and more unwilling hands;
    Alas! how oft within those precincts gay, 

 315
    The laugh has echoed to their joyous bands;
    How oft at eve, in summer-tide, have they
    Pitch’d the firm quoit where now the fireman stands;
Or bent the bow, or whirl’d the flying ball,
Where now the miner saps the tottering wall.		 320
 

XLI

    It is in truth a joyless sight to view
    The home which housed us from the winter blast—
    The scenes which hourly more familiar grew,
    In one wild ruin darkly overcast:
    Others may rise upon their site more new, 

 325
    But still the heart clings fondly to the past:
And, though their form and matter be the same,
They come as strangers, and without a name!

XLII

    Fast now the crackling flames ascend and fly;
    Low sinks each buttress with tremendous crash: 

 330
    While clouds of smoke pollute the spotless sky,
    And gleams afar the blazing column’s flash;
    The ponderous beams fall startling from on high,
    And lighter fragments in the river splash,
While anguish’d crowds, deplorers of the scene, 		 335
Watch the flames’ progress with distracted mien.

XLIII

    The work of melancholy waste complete,
    The shrill-toned bugles sound the Chief’s command;
    And soon, upon the adjacent plain sad meet
    The different stragglers of the little band; 

 340
    Each heart with various images replete,
    As still they mark the fiercely flaming brand
Feed on those scenes, which, ere the morrow’s dawn,
Must be, forever, from their gaze withdrawn.

XLIV

    The moon shines dimly, as the close ranks bend 

 345

    Their joyless march throughout the gloomy wood,
    Whose hollow moanings with the night-winds blend,
    And stamp more deep their melancholy mood:
    While oft’ at intervals, the storm-birds send
    Their lonely plainings o’er the hazy flood, 

 350
And fiercer wolves, recovered from their spell,
Speed their wild howlings o’er each echoing dell.

XLV

    Near where the ashes of young Uncas sleep,
    As now the much-encumbered troop repose,
    A tall and lonely form is seen to creep, 

 355
    And bear him cautious where the forest throws
    A shade upon the wilderness more deep,
    And where, alone illuminate, there glows
The fire-fly lingering near that rayless tomb,
Whose very light is borrowed from its gloom.		 360
 

XLVI

    That figure was Tecumseh, who had stayed
    To pay sad tribute o’er his lov’d boy’s grave;
    Sore was the Chieftain’s heart, but not dismayed:
    His son had perished as e’er fall the brave;
    And though all-lonely in that spot is laid 

 365
    The latest, fairest hope his spring-tide gave,
In other realms the boy shall greet his Sire,
With deathless welcome, and with holiest fire.

XLVII

    Fair wreaths of flowers and sweet grass deck his tomb,
    Cull’d by the hands of brightest Indian maids; 

 370
    And, nursed by dew-drops from that forest’s gloom,
    Shed their sweet odours o’er the deepening shades;
    The air around imbibes the rich perfume
    And wafts the scent voluptuous to the shades,
Like incense rising on the wing of Night, 		 375
Pure and most hallowed to the throne of light.

XLVIII

    Low bent the Warrior o’er the fragrant clay
    Which press’d the bosom of his Uncas dear;
    Till now the glittering arms, in moonlight gray,
    And hum of feet, attest the columns near; 

 380
    When, starting from the grave on which he lay,
    He sought concealment ’mid the forest drear,
And, by a pass circuitous and wild,
Had join’d his Warriors ere the troops defiled.

 

 

Canto Fourth.

 

I

 
    The lonely call proclaims the waning night,
    And faint, along the face of darkness, gleams
    The dying watch-fire’s pale and trembling light, (1)
    Which sheds, at intervals, its fiercer beams;
    While, o’er the summit of the wooded height, 		 5
    The red-cross banner of the Father streams,
And all within that silent camp repose,
As if no dawn should light them to their close.

II

    Along the lower ridge of hills are spread
    The wearied columns of the Christian force: 

 10
    These, not luxurious, the humble shed,
    Form’d of the willow bough and fir-bark coarse,
    With summer leaves thick strew’d, their only bed,
    Affords a shelter from the night-winds hoarse,
While, close envelop’d in his mantle gray, 		 15
The sentry counts the lone, lone, hours till day.

III

    Not more exempt, the different leaders share
    The simple covering of their faithful train;
    Thrice happy he—who from the savage bear
    Has borne his warmer clothing, to sustain 

 20
    The deadly coldness of the fog-charg’d air;
    Or, from the shaggy buffalo of the plain
Procur’d a couch more soothing to his limbs,
When the north wind along the ice-lake skims.

IV

    Few are the comforts of that warrior-band 

 25

    But, ’mid the pressure of privation, smiles
    The bond of union and affection bland,
    Which bitter Suffering of her sting beguiles;
    Here Hatred lowers not, by stern Rancor fann’d,
    Nor falls the victim by his fellow’s wiles; 

 30
But sweet community of toil imparts
The first of blessings to the best of hearts.

V

    Oh! who is there, of all that generous crew,
    Whose scanty food was oft the coarse brown bread,
    Whose drink the streamlet, fed by morning dew, 

 35
    The rock whose pillow, and the turf whose bed,
    Who would not now those checker’d scenes renew,
    And, from the world’s cold bosom ever fled,
Seek that sweet fellowship of thought and mind
Which shuns the heartless circles of mankind? 		 40
 

VI

    For they were joyous days, with all their ill;
    And though, at eve, they hung upon his bier
    Whose voice at morn rang loudly o’er the hill,
    ’Twas friendship’s sacred source whence flow’d the tear,
    Not shed by eyes well-tutor’d to distil; 

 45
    Each wept a friend with fervency sincere
And felt that other hearts would mourn his grave,
When sped the death-wound which awaits the brave.

VII

    Thrice happy he whom still those bonds unite,
    Which form the gold-link in life’s mingled chain; 

 50
    Whose youthful years no mildewing sorrows blight,
    No malice injures and no wrongs attain—
    Whose thoughts can slumber in the dead of night,
    Unrack’d his heart-strings and unmov’d his brain;
While but the morrow’s dawn breaks fair to send 		 55
To his gay hopes a brother or a friend.

VIII

    Yet ah! how many o’er the wide world roam,
    And curse the loneness of their rayless doom;
    For them no friendship warms—no smiling home
    Lights the dark picture of their bosom’s gloom; 

 60
    For them the pathless wastes and wild waves’ foam
    Are scenes more suited than the crowded room,
Where social man scarce takes the pains to hide
His cold hypocrisy, and upstart pride.

IX

    But this is not my song—apart from these, 

 65
    And o’er the surface of the valley, float
    The native tent-poles, bending to the breeze;
    Fierce tribes of Warriors these, and most remote
    From all who dwell along the salt green seas,
    Mingled with those who wear the light capote,		 70
Who till the ground, and plant the lofty corn,
And, with devices fair, their homes adorn.

X

    There the mild Huron who forsakes his plough,
    Beside the Winnebago fierce reclines;
    And artful Chippewa, whose vengeful vow 

 75
    Ne’er slumbers ’till his steel unerring shines,
    Rests near the Sawkie of the noble brow—
    That race, of all those Western tribes, whose lines
Of form and feature, high, imposing, grand,
Approach most near to those of Roman land. 		 80
 

XI

    Here the stern Munsee, near the Kickapoo,
    Lies wrapt in sleep, his rifle at his side:
    While, blended with the Foxes’ warlike few,
    The watchful Shawanee (Tecumseh’s pride)
    Rears his white tent amid the swarthy crew; 

 85
    And, as the night-breeze whispers o’er the tide,
Starts from his couch, and with attentive ear,
Half deems the foeman in the shrill sounds near.

XII

    Within the bosom of the valley rise
    The loftier tent-poles of a bolder race; 

 90
    There the devoted man who never flies,
    Or flying stamps him with unwash’d disgrace—
    And wild Minoumini of flaming eyes, (2)
    Who feeds on human flesh, divide the space:
Both fiercest tribes from the remotest West, 		 95
Who scoff at death, and treat it as a jest.

XIII

    Th’ opposing flank the other Warriors line:
    There the Ottawas in their tents repose,
    The Pottawatamies and Fallsowine,
    From where Superior’s source majestic flows: 

 100
    And gentler Nations who in field arts shine,
    And rear their dwellings where the sweet grass grows,
And in the Christian temples meet to speed
Their hearts’ pure incense in the Roman creed.

XIV

    In all, one thousand dauntless hearts are there 

 105
    Who wait the dawn to front them with their foe;
    While, near the flanking watch-fire’s brighter glare,
    Some lonely out-scout twangs his sturdy bow,
    Or twines in plaited folds his matted hair,
    Or, as he lingers o’er the embers’ glow, 		 110
Conjures the Manitou to save his son
From the wild rage of the Chemocomon.

XV

    Between that camp and where the Christians sleep,
    A narrow pathway winding through the dell,
    Conducts to where, above the glassy deep, 

 115
    A full magnolia’s blooming branches swell
    Their giant arms, wide spreading o’er the steep;
    Beneath whose shade, and in whose bowels, dwell
The playful tenants of that gloomy wild—
The agile squirrels—black as Afric’s child. 		 120
 

XVI

    There, as beneath the placid waters roll,
    And toy with moon-beams on their sportive wave,
    That fair enchantress of the human soul,
    Voluptuous Melancholy—sweetly grave,
    Swells on the heart, and softens down the whole 

 125
    Of joy extreme or sorrow which enslave
The surcharg’d mind, and ministers a calm
Pure and refreshing as the morning’s balm.

XVII

    Amid that lovely scene the Warrior stood,
    Revolving in dark thought the morrow’s cast; 

 130
    And as his sleepless eye, in mournful mood,
    Hung o’er the wave in meditation vast,
    The scene surrounding in his breast renew’d
    The visions of his boyhood long since past;
For such, in earlier youth, he loved to trace, 		 135
When his worn limbs sank wearied in the chase.

XVIII

    But where were now those gay and peaceful shades—
    Where the lov’d dwelling of his warlike Sire?
    Oh! they had vanish’d, as the night-dew fades
    Before the morning sun’s all-conquering fire; 

 140
    The foe had broken on their fertile glades,
    Beneath their steel he saw his blood expire—
And none remain’d of all his Father’s line
Save he—the Prophet of the brow divine.

XIX

    All rose in dark array before his view, 

 145
    And cried for vengeance in that silent hour—
    The shades of those whom treacherous white-men slew,
    Whose lives pass’d harmless in the chase or bower:
    Whose doors in welcome ever open flew,
    And hail’d the stranger from the night-blast’s power, 		 150
Reckless of harm, nor conscious of the guile
Which lurk’d unpitying in the guest’s dark smile.

XX

    Where spread their cabins o’er Ohio’s flood,
    And the dark Wabash’ banks their hunters bore,
    His slaughter’d kindred sleep within the wood, 

 155
    All gash’d with wounds, and slimy in their gore,
    The foeman’s fortress rises o’er their blood,
    Their bones lie crumbling at his very door;
And naught of Indian life or growth remains
Along the vastness of those conquer’d plains. 		 160
 

XXI

    Well had his arm avenged his fallen race—
    Thick were the streams which crimson’d the dark soil;
    The scalps scarce found within his tent a space,
    And vast were his heaps from the Warrior’s spoil:
    Still his soul slept not, and his wrath kept pace 

 165
    With the hate that mock’d at suffering or toil,
For with his Uncas’ death-pang snapp’d the tie
Which bound him latest to humanity.

XXII

    Alas! this was his lone house’ only stay—
    The last sad promise of his fallen name; 

 170
    Had they but spar’d that son on battle-day,
    His hate had rag’d not an undying flame.
    But he all cold within the dark tomb lay;
    And while the life-blood feeds his burning frame,
The Father’s ire, like the destroying blast, 		 175
Must speed in desolation to the last.

XXIII

    Yet as he linger’d o’er that mountain’s side,
    With tall rocks crown’d and fir trees overhung,
    And watch’d the eddies of the curling tide,
    A softer feeling to his lone breast sprung, 

 180
    Which, while it sooth’d the fierceness of his pride,
    Confirm’d the spirit of despair that clung
Around his heart, and blended with the grief
Which pal’d the features of that Warrior-Chief.

XXIV

    For him again that moon may never rise, 

 185
    That sweet air freshen, or those waters flow;
    Another sun shall gild his native skies,
    But ere in the far West his last tints glow,
    The shout of war, which o’er the valley flies,
    Shall bear him swift on his accursed foe, 		 190
Whose ranks must thicken in the path of death,
Or purchase victory with his dying breath.

XXV

    Such fate with him can boast no other sting
    Than that which fastens on the truly brave—
    Those deep despairings of the soul, that bring 

 195
    The thought that, in his dark and lonely grave,
    Must die the hopes which to his bosom cling—
    To free his groaning country, and to save
The faithful remnants of his weaken’d bands
From the dire fury of the foeman’s hands. 		 200
 

XXVI

    And, as he linger’d o’er the thought, like burning oil
    The prestige deeper fed his wrathful fire;
    The hours which flew in darkness o’er the soil
    Were weights, impos’d upon his deathless ire:
    And now he panted for the fierce turmoil 

 205
    With rage unpitying, and with wild desire,
And gnash’d his teeth, as fancy trac’d each foe
Gasping, and writhing ’neath his vengeful blow.

XXVII

    But now is hush’d the howling wild wolf’s cry—
    More faint the moon-beams on the waters play; 

 210
    While coruscations in the Eastern sky
    Proclaim the birth of that eventful day:
    Fast and more fast the dews transculent fly,
    The matin-bird attunes his lonely lay,
And Nature doffs her sable garb to meet 		 215
The day-god robed in folds of radiant heat.

XXVIII

    O’er hill and glen the clanging bugles ring,
    And swell in echoes all that waste around;
    Forth from their couch the Christian warriors spring,
    And gird their arms and brighten at the sound; 

 220
    Gay o’er their brows the glittering casque they fling,
    And spread their ranks, and thunder o’er the ground:
While fierce in ardor, and with warlike air,
The anxious Indians for the fight prepare.

XXIX

    It is a fearful sight to view that train 

 225
    All deck’d in terror for the battle-hour;
    Half white—half black, their swarthy forms they stain,
    And look like hell-fiends raging to devour:
    Their piercing eyes alone untouch’d remain,
    And give their gaze a basilisk-like power, 		 230
’Till e’en their colleagues scarce can brook the glare
Of light demoniac which those wild orbs wear.

XXX

    And oh! it is a strange and anxious hour,
    That which precedes the battle’s fearful din;
    When dark reflections o’er the still heart lower, 

 235
    And bring to Man the thought of unwept sin;
    Who has not felt th’ accusing conscience’ power,
    When left to solitude, ere wars begin,
The guilty past quick rises to his view,
And self-reproach is faithful to pursue? 		 240
 

XXXI

    Not the sharp whistling of the death-wing’d ball,
    Nor gleaming brands which sweep along the air,
    Nor shouts of horrid triumph, worse than all,
    Can fill the valiant bosom with despair;
    But serious thought those feelings must recall 

 245
    Which press upon the heart and fasten there,
In those still moments which precede the war,
Less stern and fearful than reflection far.

XXXII

    But now the instant of alarm is near,
    For quick, upon each other’s recent track, 

 250
    The panting scouts along the rocks appear,
    Who state the foemen even at their back,
    A numerous band with captives in their rear,
    Borne from the hapless villages they sack,
Whose smoking ruins gleam along the flood, 		 255
And cry aloud for vengeance and for blood.

XXXIII

    Hark! soon a shot sounds faintly from the strand,
    And on the stillness of the air fast float
    The trumpet signals from the hostile band,
    In harshest sound and wild unmeasur’d note; 

 260
    Up springs each Warrior at his Chief’s command;
    And now, less indistinct and less remote,
The horrid clang breaks fiercer on the ear,
And rings the war-peal through the forest drear.

XXXIV

    Loud through the waste the adverse bugles swell, 

 265
    And breathe defiance in the foeman’s teeth;
    Fast fly the shrill blasts over hill and dell,
    And springs each shining weapon from its sheath;
    Fierce through the dark glen screams the Indian yell,
    And speed the shot that wild wood’s arch beneath; 		 270
While hoarse, at intervals, the cannon howls,
And shakes the covert where the scar’d wolf growls.

XXXV

    The sturdy war the hostile bands maintain,
    And deaths fly thickly all that waste around;
    Fast fall the Christian columns, while in vain 

 275
    They seek the marksmen o’er the cover’d ground—
    Well us’d the native combat to sustain,
    These last in homelier garb are careful bound,
And match their costume with the wood’s dark grey,
Which yields them shelter on the battle-day. 		 280
 

XXXVI

    Secure themselves, each hissing ball conveys
    A wound unerring to that glittering few,
    Whose scarlet vesture and whose bright arms’ rays
    Assure them victims to the skulking crew;
    In vain they pierce throughout that forest’s maze, 

 285
    In vain they ponder whence the death-wound flew;
On every hand some dying comrade groans,
Yet scarce a foeman with his life atones.

XXXVII

    Far on the right, more equal meet the troop—
    With fiercest howlings and with thirst of blood, 

 290
    The dusky Warriors, ’mid their hellish whoop,
    O’ertake their victims in the thickest wood:
    There as they spring upon their prey, and stoop
    To seize the quivering scalp, with gore imbued,
Some well-directed bullet wings its way, 		 295
And chills a victor on the bleeding clay.

XXXVIII

    Amid that scene, like some dark towering fiend,
    With death-black eyes, and hands all spotted o’er,
    The fierce Tecumseh on his tall lance lean’d,
    Tir’d with much spoil, and drunk with human gore; 

 300
    And now his blasting glance ferocious glean’d
    The Chief who leads the foemen to his shore,
When, with loud yells that devils might appal,
Deep in his breast he lodged the whizzing ball.

XXXIX

    This was the moment of his soul’s delight— 

 305
    The deed that paid him for a life of care;
    The meteor-ray that flash’d along his night,
    And sooth’d the wildness of his dark despair:
    The foe may triumph in their giant might,
    But he, at least, their Head shall perish there, 		 310
And groan and quiver ’neath his vengeful blade,
A worthy offering to each Indian shade.

XL

    Like the quick bolt which follows on the flash
    Which rends the mountain oak in fearful twain,
    So sprang the Warrior with impetuous dash, 

 315
    Upon the Christian writhing in his pain.
    High gleam’d his hatchet, ready now to crash,
    Along the fibres of his swimming brain,
When from the adverse arm a bullet flew
With force resistless, and with aim too true. 		 320
 

XLI

    The baffled Chieftain tottered, sank and fell—
    Rage in his heart, and vengeance in his glance;
    His features ghastly pale—his breast was hell—
    One bound he made to seize his fallen lance,
    But quick the death-shades o’er his vision swell, 

 325
    His arm drops nerveless—straining to advance—
One look of hatred, and the last he gave,
Then sank and slumbered with the fallen brave.

XLII

    Forth from a copse a hundred foemen spring,
    And pounce like vultures on the bleeding clay; 

 330
    Like famish’d blood-hounds to the corse they cling,
    And bear the fallen hero’s scalp away:
    The very covering from his nerves they wring,
    And gash his form, and glut them o’er their prey,
Wild hell-fiends all—and revelling at his death, 		 335
With bursting shrieks and pestilential breath.

XLIII

    The sounds have ceas’d, and carnage is no more;
    But he whose god was War, eternal deep,
    Lies pierc’d with wounds, and shapeless in his gore:
    A lifeless loathsome mass which hate might weep, 

 340
    And yield sepulture even at its door:
    May they who left him thus e’er howl, and creep
As vile through life, as cruel in that hour,
Which gave the first of victims to their power.

XLIV

    In the lone night, when dissolution’s pang 

 345
    Shall paint the horrors of the gloomy grave,
    Oh! may remembrance of that direful clang
    Which rose infernal, with the red-stain’d glaive,
    The jests inhuman, and the shouts which rang
    Insulting o’er the memory of the brave, 		 350
Like adder stings recoil upon his heart,
And blast the promise which their creeds impart.

XLV

    Then may the presence of some much-lov’d child,
    Some faithful brother, or some aged sire,
    Recall his deeds, who by their hands defil’d 

 355
    Had spar’d their blood in many a battle dire:
    And as the thought occurs, with recollections wild,
    Ere yet the conscience-stricken wretch expire,
Oh! may he hear his offspring loud proclaim
That Chieftain’s worth, where glory is his shame. 		360