University of Virginia Library

Act V

Scene I

(Dade's battleground. Enter Soldiers under the command of General Gaines, who march to the sound of mournful music around Major Dade's grave.
General Gaines
Soldiers! beneath this little spot of earth,
(And hallowed be the land that gave him birth—)
Lies gallant Dade the bravest of the brave,
Who we had all most freely died to save!
(They march around his grave again.)
All that could dignify the valorous heart,
And make him nobler than the rest of man,
Impelled him onward to his Country's cause.
The noblest sense of justice that the voice
Of pure Religion ever taught to man,
Inspired him for the sacrifice you see—
When, from the Altar of his body slain,
Arose the finest Offering in his soul
That ever fled away unstained to Heaven.
But what could he bequeathe his Country's cause
More sacred than the noblest of her sons?
The utterance of my lips is far too poor
To speak his praises whose sad death deserves
An eulogy pronounced by Angels' tongues.
Though his lamented death now mourned by all,
Disdains the mockery of my feeble praise,
Yet it shall be the Argument for song
In Future Ages when the dulcet strains
Of Genius shall flow down the tide of Time
To fill Eternity with noble deeds!
Let not the Sacred Vail that hides him in
This solitude, be lifted from his grave;
But let the Silence that surrounds him here,
Speak the deep gratitude of all our hearts!
For speechless as this solitude now is,
There is, about its stillness, more profound
And audible eloquence, then in the deep
And loud-mouth thunder! All is silent now!
There is no deep-toned bell to toll, in long
Drawn intervals, the Requiem of his death!
There is no pompous monument to rear
Its ghostly aspect for the passers by!
The Silence of this tongueless Solitude
Shall speak sublime language for the dead,
Than ever could the cold lips of the pale
And letered Monument! The mighty Winds
In Nature's stormy concert shall attune
The shafted columns of the giant Oaks
In wonderous melody to sing his praise.
His Country's voice can speak his virtues best.
What are the glorious Sepulchres of Kings,
To genius laureled with immortal fame?
The one is fleeting as the drunkard's thoughts—
The other lasting as the immortal soul.
The weakness of my heart has sealed its tears
With the brave poet that I am called to act.
The Soldier in the battle-strife weeps not
Above the body of his brother slain.
The funeral pageant keeps the mourner's tears
All dry until at some auspicious hour,
When, like the unsealed gratitude of Heaven,
The heart pours out its weight of wo unseen;
And gathering strength from such divine relief,
Wakes vigorous like the strong man for the race.
(They march around his grave again to mournful music.)
Hail, Music! blessed Angel of the skies!
There was no language worthy of the Sons
Of God, but music such as Angels used,
To celebrate the Birth-day of the World.
The mighty cataracts were heard to pour
Their giant voices on the ear of Night!
And now, the humblest of Columbia's Sons
Lift up their proud hearts responsive to the strain.
But shall that brave man's death be unavenged?
No! let the lasting memory of his name
Sink deep in all our hearts for fierce revenge!
The blood-stained earth looks in the peaceful face
Of Heaven, imploring vengeance on the foe!
The last fond duty that we owe the dead,
Is thus to scatter flowers upon his grave!

(They scatter flowers on his grave to the sound of mournful music, then march out.)

Scene II

(The banks of the Ouithlacoochee. Alarums without. Enter Indian Warriours commanded by Osceola.
Osceola
Rejoice, brave Warriours! for the day is ours!
During the battlement the cries abroad,
Rending the columns of sulphurous smoke,
As through the gorge—like vista soared the souls,
Where looked they back upon destruction near,
But tempest-towering took them to the sky;
While those who had not perished in the fight,
Lay calling out for Mercy—but their cries
Were unavenged for Mercy did not come.
But Miccanopy came, that old Top Chief—
The good old governor of the Lake of Swans—
Who meeting their brave general front to front,
Stood up before him there with eyes of fire,
As if to see which one should die the first,
When gathering fury from the panting pause,
As clouds collect their lightnings in the sky—
The brave old Miccanopy laid him low!
But while they thus contended—after all
Were slain—away fled Glory from the Field,
Bearing her white-winged daughter, Hope, with her—
And dashing down her laurels at our feet,
Left Indian Victory trampling them to dust!
On—on, brave Warriours! for another fight!

(Exeunt omnes.)

Scene III

(General Gains' camp. Enter General Gains meeting Soldiers bringing in Naymoyah captive.)
General Gains
What is thy name, young girl?

Naymoyah
Naymoyah, Sir.

General Gains
A beautiful Indian name. But say,
Art thou as good as thou art beautiful?

Naymoyah
Ask Selma, he can tell.

General Gains
Ah! who is he?
One whom Naymoyah loves?

Naymoyah
As thou hast said.
Didst ever love thy mother, father—wife?
If so, then smile not at Naymoyah's love.

General Gains
Where are thy father, mother, brothers—friends?

Naymoyah
Where poor Naymoyah soon would be, had she
Not Selma's love!

General Gains
Your parents, then, are dead?

Naymoyah
I have no father, mother—none but thee
And Selma! Will you let me go to him?

General Gains
What is he more than any other man?

Naymoyah
The same as is thy life-blood to thy heart,
Which cannot do with any other blood.

General Gains
His name says he is not of Indian blood.

Naymoyah
Had he been so, Naymoyah had not loved.

General Gains
But thou wilt soon forget him in this camp.

Naymoyah
Soon as the turtle dove forgets her mate,
And soars off with the Vulture to find rest.
Soon as the mother shall forget her child—
Or any other most unnatural thing
Shall come to pass—when love shall not be love—
Then will Naymoyah cease to love her love.

General Gains
Then it is better thou hadst never loved.

Naymoyah
The Moon shines brightest in the darkest night.

General Gains
We think, we love, in absence, better than
We know we do, when the beloved is nigh.

Naymoyah
The more we know of that which gives us joy,
The more of joy we feel in knowing it.
And 'tis the attribute of spotless love
To cling to that which is congenial to it.
Thus have we clung together like two birds
Born on one stalk—so, if you take away
The one that helped the other on to live
You will be sure to take the life of both

(She kneels.)
General Gains
Oh! woman! woman! who shall speak thy praise?
Thou art the brightest perfection of the Heavens—
Our Sun by day—our Pillar of Fire by night—
The only Light we have on earth to lead
Our Ship of Life save in the Port of Heaven!
Rise up, Naymoyah! thou art free to go.

(Enter an Officer)
Officer
General! we have an Indian spy in camp,
Who says he is an exile from old Spain

General Gains
A Spanish exile as an Indian spy!
Well, that is strange! what is his name?

Officer
'Tis Selma, so he says

General Gains
Then bring him forth (Exit officer.)

Perhaps he is in search of that fond girl.

(Reenter Officer with Selma)
Selma
General! untimely as this visit seems,
It could not have been made in better time.
Like all the Workings of the Natural World,
It brings along with it its own reward.

General Gains
But you are called an Indian spy.

Selma
The calling does not change the being called.

General Gains
But are you not an exile from old Spain?

Selma
And hoping in such destiny to know
That kind Misfortune placed me in your power—
Proving that there is joy for all our pains.
My Prophecy is now fulfilled—my cup
Of vengeance full.

General Gains
Thy cup of vengeance full!
What does he mean? I do not understand!

Selma
Misfortune, who was tutor to my youth,
Has left me wiser than most men. My fate
Had long ago been sealed in death, had it
Not been preserved by one most dear to me.
Now that my oath is registered in Heaven,
I swear to be the husband of that girl,
And take revenge for her dear father's death!

General Gains
Then it is private wrong, not public good,
That brought you here?

Selma
Though circumstance may change
The outward man, no destiny can change
The inward soul. The Rose is just as sweet—
Will give out just as many hues to Heaven—
Born in the Desert, as in Paradise

General Gains
Perhaps you know the Indian girl they call
Naymoyah?

Selma
She it was who saved my life—
Stabbing the thirsty blood-hound to the heart,
Who stood above me, threatening me with death!

General Gains
She did not seem the savage thou hast said.

Selma
Love that is tenderest in the peaceful hour,
Is strongest in the hour of greatest ill.
I trust that she is safe now in your bounds?

General Gains
No, she was taken captive in the fight,
But craving to return, we let her go—
Breathing your name with accents full of love.
Indeed she seemed the model of her sex.

Selma
Yes, General, we are destined to be one.
No power can separate us now on earth.
And now to consummate this hope, let me
Unfold the object of this interview.
I will direct your soldiers to the camp
Where Osceola in his fastness lurks,
And make him captive an hour from this.

General Gains
Then you would hook him with his own foul bait?

Selma
The Rising Sun will rise to set no more.
Come, General, do not scruple at your wish.
An armistice like this will make him fast,
And cancel all the debt of my revenge.

General Gains
The Soldiers of the camp are free to go;
But should you prove untrue—remember Heaven!

Selma
Then he is ours. Now Soldiers, follow me.

(Exeunt omnes)

Scene IV

(Osceola's Tent in the Indian camp. Celuta is discovered scattering flowers on the dead body of her child.)
Celuta
Bright Rose of the Desert! brightest of all!
Thou wert the first young love of Celuta's heart!
I baptized thee with the new milk from my breast,
In the shadow of the aged Oak, where
Thy poor dear mothers shall see thee no more!
The Pigeons may come from the frozen North,
And the young Doves from the Isles of the Sea,
But thou, oh, my soul! will return no more!

(Enter Osceola.) Osceola.
Celuta! the big tears are in thine eyes!
The Great Spirit, who tries the soul of men,
Will lead us along by our father's groves
To where the spirit of our young child lives!

Celuta
He is gone to the Big Light's Father there
To rest in the arms of the Milky Moon.
But will the White-Man tread upon his bones?

Osceola
Yes, they will crush his body into dust!
But the hour is nigh when the silent woods
Shall tremble again at the warriour's voice,
And the sulphurous smoke of the noisy gun
Turn the bright Sun up in the Heavens to eclipse!
Two Moons ago, we had no tears to shed—
Now we are fuller than the sea with waves!

(Enter an Indian Warriour guarding Selma who is disguised as a Soldier.)
Warriour
Great Chief! this captive Soldier—shall he die?

Osceola
What is his name?

Selma
Graham.

Osceola
Graham? that voice?
No—let him go.

Warriour
But Miccanopy says
All White-men, caught by us, must die.

Osceola
Touch not
A hair upon his head! I recollect he cured
A little child of mine some Moons ago;
And Osceola's heart does not forget.
The best of men are not without some fault,
And for the little that is in my soul,
He shall not die. Let him alone! away!

(Exit warriour.)
Selma
Our general sent me here to say to you
That he is tired of war, and now wants peace—
That all who carry rifles in their hands,
From this day forth, shall be shot down.

Osceola
(aside)
That voice!
That is not Graham's voice!—Go, tell thy Chief
I am the Gulf Stream of the Sea of all
My people. Did you ever know it to run back?
When did the Eagle ever cease to be
A bird of prey because the turtle mourns?
Then put thy one hand into both of mine
And take back to thy general all my heart,
And tell him that the streams run down the hills.

Selma
Perhaps thy people will agree to this.

Osceola
The Chiefs are the Hills of their native land—
The people are the streams from these great Hills.
When they all gather into one great Stream,
There is no power on earth can stay their course!
A full blood Indian never changed his mind.
So Osceola, called the Rising Sun,
And Miccanopy, old Top Chief,
Can never change. Go tell thy general this.

(Enter Soldiers, armed, who surround Osceola).
Selma
Look, Osceola! look! they come for thee!
Behold, the soul of Simighan is here!

(Throwing off his disguise).
Osceola
Oh! ye Almighty Whirlwinds of the Deep!
Gather yourselves together in the clouds,
And mustering up the Engines of your wrath,
In one consuming Cataract of Fire,
Let it be syllabled in one deep word,
And let that word be poured out by the mouth,
Of an immortal Thunder as the curse
Of Osceola on that traitor's head!
What, Selma? is this you, my boy? then die!

(Osceola stabs him and, in falling, is caught by one of the Soldiers).
Selma
Oh, God! Where is Naymoyah? Call her here!
To me! there! hold! she did not think of this!
Brave Soldiers! lash him to the same foul stake
They bound poor Selma to—then cut his throat!
I go to find Naymoyah! Fare thee well!

(Exit).
Osceola
No mortal's eyes did ever yet look on
The full-orbed glory of the Rising Sun
Unblinded! Never yet did mortal man
Stand up to Osceola, face to face,
And afterwards, confronting him to live!
The prize he has been fighting for is life;
The one foe which he now contends is death!
So meet me every coward one of you—
Come on, ye pale-face, chicken-hearted brats!
And let me teach you Indian skill! No, stand!
And let your hearts grow stronger by delay!
For now ye all stand huddled round like sheep.
Stamping the desert earth with meaning looks
Each one the other watching who flies first!
Ye may be Stars of Certain magnitude,
But already flabbergasted at the Rising Sun!
But now that he has passed his noontide hour,
Where none shall ever shine as he has shone!
And setting, never more shall shine again!
In the dark night that he shall leave behind,
Shine out the little sparks of light, ye have
The brightest in the darkest hour—for now
The cloud that passes on my soul, shall be
The darkest that the Indian ever saw!
Look at the plague-spot that your treachery daubs
Upon the brightest name that ever shone!
But all the glory ye shall ever gain
By gazing at this huge eclipse, is that
Which Osceola's name shall give to thine—
Linked with the foulest deed that ever stained
The Annals of the damned! The Night is here!
(turning to Celuta)
Celuta! come to me, my love! look up!
See how my foes now compass me around!

Celuta
Alas! what will they do with thee, great Chief?

Osceola
The great high Spirit, who now walks in Heaven,
Has called for Osceola—he must go!
Celuta! we must part!

Celuta
Oh! say not so!

Osceola
What the Great Spirit says, it must be done!

Celuta
How long will thou be gone?

Osceola
Five Moons or more.
If any longer, than wilt come to me,
Where the Great Spirit lives! But do not weep!
And when the Sun goes down upon the Sea,
Leaving the full orbed Moon walking through Heaven
In Silence—see how very true she is—
Be so to Osceola!

Celuta
That I will!

Osceola
But, White-Man! write not Osceola's name!
No! bring him back again, when he is dead
And dig his grave deep in the blessed earth—
Here, where the noisy cataract now sings
The wild sweet anthem of his native land,
And tells the world of freedom! Lay me here;
And let the joyous birds sing at my grave!
But write not Osceola's name again!
Let not the White-Man stain the virgin sheet
Writing the name that he has blackened so!
For it is written on the mighty Hills
In characters that shall outlive the Sun!
No, White-Man! lock it in the deep cold grave
With Osceola's heart!—there let it rest!
And when the dusky slave shall come to tell
The Axman's Signal to my native Oaks—
Rousing the ponderous silence of the woods
With pompous noise of axes—bid him tread
Not on the willow-shaded grave of him
Who never looked upon created thing—
Save on the footsteps of his God—with fear!
Then, when they tread upon my father's bones,
That they shall plough up from my native soils,
They will remember Osceola's name,
And stand upon his only Monument!
And when the children, wandering through the woods,
Shall pluck the flowers that he has gazed upon,
Teach them to say that Osceola died
Just as he lived—the White-Man's foe! (turning to Celuta again)

Look up, thou bending flower to the Setting Sun!
And catch the last fond glimmer of his beams!
For, in one hour from this, he will be dark—
Dark as the unlighted world beyond the grave!
How hard it is for me to part from thee!
Harder than dying by the White-Man's hand!
But it must be—there is no other hope!

Soldier
Great Chief! thy wife is privileged to go.

Osceola
Who was it spoke that blessed word? Thank God!

(Exeunt omnes).

Scene V

(Selma is discovered leaning against a moss-covered rock in the desert. Enter Naymoyah as if in search of him).
Naymoyah
Oh! God! what is it that I see? my love?

(Rushes to him and kneels by his side)
Selma
Naymoyah!

Naymoyah
Selma!

Selma
I did look for thee!

Naymoyah
What is the matter, Selma? speak, my love!
There's blood upon thy bosom! speak to me!

Selma
By hoping future pleasure, present woes
Took sudden birth! Naymoyah! I must die!

(Falls back and dies).
Naymoyah
What! Selma! do not die! speak to me, love!
(Feels his head).
No! the nest is warm, but the bird has flown!
There! there! the white wings of my first fond love
Pluming his soul for instant flight to Heaven!
See! on the rosy atmosphere of Joy,
It soars away to find the Blessed Isles!
The sweet little bird of my hope is gone,
Pillowed away up in the peaceful sky
Upon the beautiful wings of his soul!
Oh! beauteous Island in this Sea of Life!
How dark have been the waves around thee cast!
How fond Naymoyah loved to worship thee,
And make thy life as joyous as her own—
Moulting thy bosom with the Spring of Love!
Now, now, on the same bosom will I die,
Where I first built my utmost hope of life—
Here, on this little island girt by waves
Of sorrow, dashing on him now—lie down!
Oh! God! they rush upon him now! they roll!
They roll! they roll! I drown beneath the waves!
I drown beneath the waves that drown my love!
I sink beneath the sea that whelms his soul!
I hear it now, oh! God! I hear it now!
It rolls! it rolls! it rolls above his head—
Washing away my utmost hope of life!
Now, farewell, world! Wait, Selma, wait!
Naymoyah comes to thee! Wait, heavenly dove!
I come to thee! I come to thee in Heaven!

(Dies).
Curtain falls