 | American poems, selected and original |  |
COLOLOO,—an Indian Tale,
Thrown into English Verse.
By William Dunlap.
Colwall! the Women crie;
Colwall! the dales resound,
Colwall, the hills reply,
And hollow caves rebound.
Colwall! the dales resound,
Colwall, the hills reply,
And hollow caves rebound.
Wild shrieks thro thickets ring,
Fast flies the dark-brown night:
“Come ye Warriors bring
The Captive ta'en in fight.
Fast flies the dark-brown night:
“Come ye Warriors bring
The Captive ta'en in fight.
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Draw tight the cutting bands!
Bring matches blazing blue!
Now! now! the victim stands
To mighty Colwall due.”
Bring matches blazing blue!
Now! now! the victim stands
To mighty Colwall due.”
With scorn the Captive smil'd,
With scorn he ey'd the throng,
Then thus his pain beguil'd,
With high exulting song.
With scorn he ey'd the throng,
Then thus his pain beguil'd,
With high exulting song.
SONG.
And are these all the means ye know
To give a warrior pain?
Oh give your fires a fiercer glow;
Remember Colwall slain.
To give a warrior pain?
Oh give your fires a fiercer glow;
Remember Colwall slain.
My father gloried in his son.
My warriors came from fight,
None staid behind; the scalps we won
Declar'd our matchless might.
My warriors came from fight,
None staid behind; the scalps we won
Declar'd our matchless might.
Who has not heard Cololoo's fame?
My nation well ye know,—
And dreadful is the Tiger's name,
And fear'd by every foe.
My nation well ye know,—
And dreadful is the Tiger's name,
And fear'd by every foe.
Pain does not lie so near the skin,
More burning pine-knots bring!
Cololoo's all at peace within,—
And Logan's fame he'll sing.
More burning pine-knots bring!
Cololoo's all at peace within,—
And Logan's fame he'll sing.
RECITAL.
Then whilst from every limb the red streams gush,
And round him glows the fire;
Whilst thorns and nails transfix the quivering flesh,
The death song rises higher.—
And round him glows the fire;
Whilst thorns and nails transfix the quivering flesh,
The death song rises higher.—
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Song.
Aged Logan led the fight,
Logan's fame is ever new,—
Logan seiz'd a treacherous White,
His murder'd Children rush to view:
Logan's fame is ever new,—
Logan seiz'd a treacherous White,
His murder'd Children rush to view:
“Curses blast thee! pale-fac'd Savage,
Ruin seize thy ruthless kind,
Train'd to rapine, skill'd to ravage,
Gain, the God that grasps thy mind.
Ruin seize thy ruthless kind,
Train'd to rapine, skill'd to ravage,
Gain, the God that grasps thy mind.
Now ye red men take your fill,
Give the scalping knife its due,
The red right arm is bare to kill,—
This my children, this to you.”
Give the scalping knife its due,
The red right arm is bare to kill,—
This my children, this to you.”
Reeking from the white man's brain,
Lo! he lifts the scalp on high;
“Logan does not wish thee pain,
Fly to death's dark caverns, fly!
Lo! he lifts the scalp on high;
“Logan does not wish thee pain,
Fly to death's dark caverns, fly!
See they come! they come to meet us!
Raise the yell that makes them quake,
Say,—shall puny white men beat us?
Men that every blast can shake?
Raise the yell that makes them quake,
Say,—shall puny white men beat us?
Men that every blast can shake?
Men that fear the rushing rain,
Men that fear the clouded sky,
Men that shrink and howl at pain,
Nor know to triumph when they die.
Men that fear the clouded sky,
Men that shrink and howl at pain,
Nor know to triumph when they die.
Now ye Tiger tribe be brave,
Think that Logan sees the fight;
Scalps on scalps adorn my cave,
Glad'ning to my children's sight.
Think that Logan sees the fight;
Scalps on scalps adorn my cave,
Glad'ning to my children's sight.
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Sulph'rous smokes obscure the view,
War! the hills and dales reply.
Now ye red men, now be true!
Ye know to fight! ye dare to die!”
War! the hills and dales reply.
Now ye red men, now be true!
Ye know to fight! ye dare to die!”
Hand to hand the Warriors rush,
Shouts and yells in echos die;
Tom'hawks cleave, and bay'nets push,—
They fly! they fly! the white men fly!
Shouts and yells in echos die;
Tom'hawks cleave, and bay'nets push,—
They fly! they fly! the white men fly!
One brave band alone remains,
One alone of all that band,
Every shot and blow sustains,
Red like ours his heavy hand.
One alone of all that band,
Every shot and blow sustains,
Red like ours his heavy hand.
See they sink,—he's left alone,—
Still our Warriors stain the fields;
See! he falls, but fighting on
Sits, and still his sword he wields.
Still our Warriors stain the fields;
See! he falls, but fighting on
Sits, and still his sword he wields.
Logan seiz'd the brave man's arm,
Longing, look'd upon his face;
Logan will not do thee harm,
Tho' thou art of faithless race.
Longing, look'd upon his face;
Logan will not do thee harm,
Tho' thou art of faithless race.
Logan's sons had been like thee,—
White men shot them from the bush;
The brave shall not be harm'd by me,—
He's dead,—he's flown,—and all is hush.—
White men shot them from the bush;
The brave shall not be harm'd by me,—
He's dead,—he's flown,—and all is hush.—
None thy beauteous corse shall wound;
None thy hairy scalp shall tear;
Thou shalt sleep with warriors round,
Thou the dead-mens, feast shall share.
None thy hairy scalp shall tear;
Thou shalt sleep with warriors round,
Thou the dead-mens, feast shall share.
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Seize the scalps, and count the slain;
White-men, weep your brothers' woes!
Ease our dying chiefs from pain:—
White-men learn to fear your foes!
White-men, weep your brothers' woes!
Ease our dying chiefs from pain:—
White-men learn to fear your foes!
So, Logan triumph'd o'er the foe;
Logan's fame was fairly won:
So, Logan laid the white-men low,—
—But set is Logan's sun.—
Logan's fame was fairly won:
So, Logan laid the white-men low,—
—But set is Logan's sun.—
Why bring ye not the heated stone
To sear and seam my manly breast?
Why sure the torture is not done!
Such pain Cololoo bears in jest.
To sear and seam my manly breast?
Why sure the torture is not done!
Such pain Cololoo bears in jest.
RECITAL.
Round his head Idiego hurl'd
His hatchet keen and good;
Whizzing, fierce the weapon whirl'd,
And quiver'd in the wood.
His hatchet keen and good;
Whizzing, fierce the weapon whirl'd,
And quiver'd in the wood.
Reldor then with sullen stride,
His knife was in his hand,
Advanc'd, and thus aloud he cried,—
And cut the twisted band.
His knife was in his hand,
Advanc'd, and thus aloud he cried,—
And cut the twisted band.
Reldor takes thee for his son,
Colwall in battle slain,
In many a fight his fame he won,
Nor shrunk from death or pain.—
Colwall in battle slain,
In many a fight his fame he won,
Nor shrunk from death or pain.—
Silent now the warrior train
Bear the blood-stain'd chief,—
No more they weep for Colwall slain,—
No more is known of grief.—
Bear the blood-stain'd chief,—
No more they weep for Colwall slain,—
No more is known of grief.—
| American poems, selected and original | |