Scene III
(The Indian Camp. Yelling without. Enter
Warriours commanded by Osceola, and attended
by Jumper and Miccanopy.)
Osceola
Brave Warriours! we have gathered here today
To swear destruction to the White-Man's soul!
Now, like the furious Hurricane let loose
From Hell to fell his prarie-path along
The woods; so let us with our blood hound yells,
Pour lightning thunders on their heads, till all
The woods are shaken with the cries of death!
Miccanopy
Hear you the thunders of that voice? Shout!
The Tommahawk is now dug up again—
Never to rust beneath the Tree of Peace!
Osceola
Now, Warriours! place your hands upon your hearts,
And with the fresh remembrance of our wrongs,
Continually reminding us of home,
Sweat never to smoke the Calumet of Peace
Again with man, till we are free! Now shout!
(They shout).
Brave Warriours! Osceola has been chained!
These hands that, with my father's locust-bow, once stayed
The bold Eagle in his flight to Heaven—
Piercing the bosom of the milky Swan
Soaring aloft above the Reed-Isles green—
They have been chained-chained by the power of man!
For that indignity the White-Man dies!
No! never shall my soul find rest again,
Until the wound made by that chain is healed!
For, like the gathering fury of the stream,
That from the cataract's awful brink rolls down,
Like one hurled hopeless into Hell to sink;
So gathers in my soul the mighty power
That strengthens while I speak! Now let us teach
The puny Pale-face what it is to rouse
The vengeance of the Indian's hate! On-on!
(Exeunt omnes.)
