 | Songs of a Stranger |  |
LAMENT OF AN ASHANTEE WARRIOR,
CONDEMNED TO DEATH AS A SACRIFICE TO
THEIR GODS
For an affecting account of an aged chief, whose life was
forfeit to the gods, see Bowdich.
“An island, called Bird Island, abounds in singing birds;
among the rest, a nightingale, whose note is peculiarly sweet.
“Their Fetishes, or subordinate deities, are supposed to inhabit
peculiar rivers, woods, and mountains. The favourite
of Ashantee is that of the river Tando.
“The higher orders are supposed to live with the deity after
death, and enjoy all they did on earth; for which reason they
sacrifice so many persons at their funerals, that they may
form their attendants in the next world. Those whose
wickedness has deprived them of the general custom of sacrificing,
or whom neglect or circumstances may have deprived
of it, are supposed to haunt the gloom of the forest—stealing
occasionally to their former abodes in rare, but lingering visits.”
See Bowdich and Hutton's Ashantee.
.
For an affecting account of an aged chief, whose life was forfeit to the gods, see Bowdich.
“An island, called Bird Island, abounds in singing birds; among the rest, a nightingale, whose note is peculiarly sweet.
“Their Fetishes, or subordinate deities, are supposed to inhabit peculiar rivers, woods, and mountains. The favourite of Ashantee is that of the river Tando.
“The higher orders are supposed to live with the deity after death, and enjoy all they did on earth; for which reason they sacrifice so many persons at their funerals, that they may form their attendants in the next world. Those whose wickedness has deprived them of the general custom of sacrificing, or whom neglect or circumstances may have deprived of it, are supposed to haunt the gloom of the forest—stealing occasionally to their former abodes in rare, but lingering visits.” See Bowdich and Hutton's Ashantee.
Who among the train was greater than I?
Whose golden bow could brighter shine—
Whose eagle plume was prouder than mine?
And the battle-sound was high,
What trumpet 'midst the foes
First raised the conquering cry?
No spear more swift, no sword more true!
And is this the meed the brave should claim—
Is this the end of a life of fame?
And the deeds of my youth are remembered no more:
I can lead no longer to victory—
I am worthless, feeble, and fit to die!
And heard the sound of its gentle tide,
As it dashed on the shore with lively din,
Where the mangroves dip their boughs within.
With black and glittering wings;
And one, whose note has the softest swell,
Chaining the soul in its powerful spell,
So mournfully he sings.
And the parrot's plumes in the sun were gay.
But, while I lingered, the waves arose,
And darkness was in the sky;
The river heaved with troubled throes,
And the wind moaned fearfully.
The mighty of the deep ;
And I knew my fated hour was near,
When he roused him from his sleep.
Slow in the river's depth he passed,
And I knew my time was ebbing fast.
As the frighted waters rushed along;
I knew that death was in the knell,
And I bade to lengthened days farewell.
As my fathers had before;
I thought to fill a glorious grave,
And none be honoured more!
Shall wander many a night,
And fill the Indians, as they roam
Onwards to their welcome home,
With sorrow and affright.
At the chieftain's death was no offering made?
His name was spread afar,
He was unsubdued in war;
He should have had a glorious train
To bear him to his bright domain.
Why does the hero's spirit stay
To trouble us on our dreary way?”
I shall fall like the lightning that mocks the sight.
My children shall gaze and ask the trace
Of him who was first in power and place:
None shall point out the warrior's grave—
I shall die like a felon and a slave!
| Songs of a Stranger | |