 | Alhalla, or the Lord of Talladega |  |
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ALHALLA, OR THE LORD OF TALLADEGA.
A TALE OF THE CREEK WAR.
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INTRODUCTORY STANZAS.
Stretched on his couch, the Indian warrior lay,
His bow and quiver prostrate at his side,
Revolving all his fate in still dismay,
Dominion lost, skill baffled, power defied.
“Shades of my fathers!” thus his reverie ran,
“And shall the Red Man thus, in clouds decline,
“With no memorial of his name or clan,
“Or only left to point the poet's line,
“And tell to other years, the tale of his decline?
His bow and quiver prostrate at his side,
Revolving all his fate in still dismay,
Dominion lost, skill baffled, power defied.
“Shades of my fathers!” thus his reverie ran,
“And shall the Red Man thus, in clouds decline,
“With no memorial of his name or clan,
“Or only left to point the poet's line,
“And tell to other years, the tale of his decline?
“Oh, is it thus, the noble woodswise race,
“Shall steal away to an unhonored tomb,
“Who once were lords of the ascendant chase,
“And swept the forests in their pristine bloom?
“Brave were their hearts, and strong in sinewy strength
“They drew the shaft that fell'd the stately deer,
“Or spread the craven foeman at his length,
“And triumphed in the battle's wild career,
“A wanderer of the woods—lord of the bow and spear.
“Shall steal away to an unhonored tomb,
“Who once were lords of the ascendant chase,
“And swept the forests in their pristine bloom?
“Brave were their hearts, and strong in sinewy strength
“They drew the shaft that fell'd the stately deer,
“Or spread the craven foeman at his length,
“And triumphed in the battle's wild career,
“A wanderer of the woods—lord of the bow and spear.
“Ah tell me, Spirit of the Golden West!
“Say, is it want of knowledge dooms my race?
“Or the wild passions of an untamed breast,
“That leaves nor peace nor virtue there a place?
“Can raging tumults of the mortal soul
“Prejudge its fate, and lead the wayward mind
“Through seas of want and poverty to roll,
“Till in a gloom of fixed despair it find
“Life's path without a friend, and even death unkind?
“Say, is it want of knowledge dooms my race?
“Or the wild passions of an untamed breast,
“That leaves nor peace nor virtue there a place?
“Can raging tumults of the mortal soul
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“Through seas of want and poverty to roll,
“Till in a gloom of fixed despair it find
“Life's path without a friend, and even death unkind?
“Doth human rectitude, in mind and heart,
“The inward purposes of right and wrong
“In human acts—so great a boon impart,
“Or lead, by their neglect, to thraldom strong?
“And can it be, ye messengers of air!
“Who know the great high Spirit's sov'reign will,
“So vast a detriment he can prepare
“For those who follow nature's dictates still,
“And worship Manitoes on every breezy hill?
“The inward purposes of right and wrong
“In human acts—so great a boon impart,
“Or lead, by their neglect, to thraldom strong?
“And can it be, ye messengers of air!
“Who know the great high Spirit's sov'reign will,
“So vast a detriment he can prepare
“For those who follow nature's dictates still,
“And worship Manitoes on every breezy hill?
“'Tis wondrous all, and yet there are, I ween,
“Some inward inklings of the Indian soul
“That whisper to his mind of things unclean,
“That taint his rites, and all his life control,
“Leading the mind—whenever he would do
“An evil act, or e'en the purpose form,
“To that High Excellence beyond the view,
“Who guides the sun and regulates the storm,
“Dispensing winter winds, or summer breezes warm.
“Some inward inklings of the Indian soul
“That whisper to his mind of things unclean,
“That taint his rites, and all his life control,
“Leading the mind—whenever he would do
“An evil act, or e'en the purpose form,
“To that High Excellence beyond the view,
“Who guides the sun and regulates the storm,
“Dispensing winter winds, or summer breezes warm.
“And is this conscience? So the white man tells,
“Pointing to letters as the star-light kind,
“That man's own heart to man himself reveals,
“And warms and renovates the wandering mind,
“Impels the hand to drop the bloody blade,
“And seek support from art's more kindly cares,
“Where genial fields invite the plough and spade,
“And industry her golden wreath prepares,
“And peace and joy and health, the household circle shares.
“Pointing to letters as the star-light kind,
“That man's own heart to man himself reveals,
“And warms and renovates the wandering mind,
“Impels the hand to drop the bloody blade,
“And seek support from art's more kindly cares,
“Where genial fields invite the plough and spade,
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“And peace and joy and health, the household circle shares.
“But why—and here my doubts and fears arise—
“Why are kind precepts of such angel forms
“All bleared by acts that sunder friendship's ties,
“And overcast our atmosphere with storms;
“Our lands despoiled by arts, we know not how,
“Erst in the solemn council we convene,
“But ere we note the hour, the white man's plough,
“Driven reckless through each quiet hamlet scene,
“While steel-armed horsemen, stand as guards between?
“Why are kind precepts of such angel forms
“All bleared by acts that sunder friendship's ties,
“And overcast our atmosphere with storms;
“Our lands despoiled by arts, we know not how,
“Erst in the solemn council we convene,
“But ere we note the hour, the white man's plough,
“Driven reckless through each quiet hamlet scene,
“While steel-armed horsemen, stand as guards between?
“And whence—if we must acts by precepts try—
“Whence all the new-found ills that mar our life,
“The liquid fire of distillation high,
“That whelms our bands in most unseemly strife,
“And oft our maddening blood, unruled before,
“Stains with its purple tide our utmost lands?
“Is this benignly meant? say, ye who teach—
“Or be there few that aim to overreach?
“Ah, do not outward acts most eloquently preach?”
“Whence all the new-found ills that mar our life,
“The liquid fire of distillation high,
“That whelms our bands in most unseemly strife,
“And oft our maddening blood, unruled before,
“Stains with its purple tide our utmost lands?
“Is this benignly meant? say, ye who teach—
“Or be there few that aim to overreach?
“Ah, do not outward acts most eloquently preach?”
Such is the race, whose deeds of scaith and strife,
The muse essays in numbers to review,
In that dark hour of opening peril rise,
When late to arms the Southern war chiefs flew,
Albeit, misguided in their warlike ires,
By foreign counsels cast with cruel ken,
And war, through all their borders, lit his fires,
Transferring ruin to the peaceful glen,
And woe to many a band of noble hunter men.
The muse essays in numbers to review,
In that dark hour of opening peril rise,
When late to arms the Southern war chiefs flew,
Albeit, misguided in their warlike ires,
By foreign counsels cast with cruel ken,
And war, through all their borders, lit his fires,
Transferring ruin to the peaceful glen,
And woe to many a band of noble hunter men.
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CANTO I.
TRADITIONARY GLEAMS OF THE CREATION. THE COUNCIL.
[Scene. A tent on the open shores of Lake Superior—a camp fire—canoes
turned up on the beach—boatmen engaged in cooking. A conference at
the tent door. Ethwald, a traveller. Oscar, a missionary. De la Joie,
a trader. Mongazid (Azid), an Indian Prophet and hunter, with his
retinue. The pipe is about to be lit. Time—sun set.]ETHWALD.
Hoary hunter, stern and wild,
Nature's lone forsaken child!
Wand'ring born and wand'ring bred,
Forest school'd and forest fed—
Turn thy quick revolving glance,
O'er yon water's bright expanse.
See—along the purple sky,
See the billows looming high;
Not in rage as (if aright
Men report the wild affright,)
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Thy advent'rous kinsmen view,
But with long and lab'ring swells,
That of lulling tempest tells;
Seest thou? near the horizon dim,
Shadowy form upon its brim,
Dun and small—that closer scann'd,
Main and margin, should be land.
Tell!—for by thy lifted eye,
Well I ken thou read'st the sky—
Tell me!—in its shadowy forms
Is there sunshine—is there storms?
Seest thou there, a spirit mild,
Or the fiend of waters wild,
Who shall make to-morrow's wave,
Many a hapless hunter's grave,
And along the yellow strand,
Raise their mounds amid the sand?
Or to thy well-practised eye,
Is the god of south winds nigh,
With his soft, ethereal balms,
Whisp'ring peace and breathing calms?
Say, shall mortal blade essay,
O'er yon waves a tranquil way
On the morrow—spirit blest!
Shall it speed toward the west,
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Waft the vent'rous bark from land,
With a breeze and with a smile,
To yon dim-discovered isle?
MONGAZID.
Listen, white man! go not there;
Unseen spirits stalk the air!
Though the sky be clear and calm,
And the south-west winnow balm—
Though each wave be smooth and fair,
Be thou cautioned—go not there!
Misty forms, that walk the wind,
Guard the treasures there enshrined;
Hungry birds their influence lend,
Snakes defy, and kites defend:
There, the star-eyed panther prowls,
And the wolf in hunger howls;
There, the speckled adder breeds,
And the mighty canieu feeds:
Spirits prompt them—fiends incite—
They are eager for the fight,
And are thirsting, night and day,
On the human heart to prey:
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Touch not thou the sacred spot.
ETHWALD.
Tell me, red man! old and hoar,
Dweller on Igomee's shore!
Wherefore bound by spell or wile,
Spirit guarded, is yon isle?
Is there not embowelled there
Many a gem of lustre rare—
Glow there not, in hidden mine,
Jewel stones of ray divine—
Ore resplendent—crystal bright,
That illume the cavern-night?
Or, along the mystic strand,
Massy piles of golden sand?
Tell me, hunter! wilt thou not
Guide me to the treasur'd spot?
Arms, with Europe's skill prepared,
Shall the daring deed reward;
Bands shall deck thee, feathers bless,
And the pride of Albion dress,
With Columbia's banner wide,
And a chieftain's plate beside.
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Listen, white man! Moons have past
Since this earth was all a waste:
Rains had drenched it—thunders rent—
Winds demolished—waters spent—
And the ocean, black and still,
Slumbered deep o'er every hill,
And not one ling'ring beam of light
Illum'd the vast and sullen night.
'T was then the spirit of the sky,
In mercy hung yon lamps on high—
Sun, moon and stars—and by their light
Expelled the dread chaotic night:
Then clothed he hills and vales with trees,
And stated bounds to lakes and seas;
Then sent he bird and beast in woods,
And fish in all our limpid floods,
And creatures small, of foot and wing,
And every living, breathing thing:—
Last sent he man—(a barb'rous race,
From whom my long descent I trace,)
As lord o'er all—and thus benign,
Addressed the parent of our line.
Since this earth was all a waste:
Rains had drenched it—thunders rent—
Winds demolished—waters spent—
And the ocean, black and still,
Slumbered deep o'er every hill,
And not one ling'ring beam of light
Illum'd the vast and sullen night.
'T was then the spirit of the sky,
In mercy hung yon lamps on high—
Sun, moon and stars—and by their light
Expelled the dread chaotic night:
Then clothed he hills and vales with trees,
And stated bounds to lakes and seas;
Then sent he bird and beast in woods,
And fish in all our limpid floods,
And creatures small, of foot and wing,
And every living, breathing thing:—
Last sent he man—(a barb'rous race,
From whom my long descent I trace,)
As lord o'er all—and thus benign,
Addressed the parent of our line.
To thee I give these smiling woods,
These lofty hills, and peopled floods,
Filled with all needful game, and blest
For thy maintainance, peace and rest.
I give thee bow, I give thee spear,
To dart the fish, and fell the deer;
I give thee bark full light to sweep
O'er the broad stream and billowy deep;
I give thee skins for thy attire;
To shade thee, woods; to warm thee, fire;
More need'st thou not, nor covet more,
And peace her joys shall round thee pour.
But touch not gold; the tempter fly,
Or all thy kin shall droop and die;
For in that potent evil pent,
Lurk envy, pain, and discontent;
And luxury—of life the bane—
And woe, with all her haggard train.
These lofty hills, and peopled floods,
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For thy maintainance, peace and rest.
I give thee bow, I give thee spear,
To dart the fish, and fell the deer;
I give thee bark full light to sweep
O'er the broad stream and billowy deep;
I give thee skins for thy attire;
To shade thee, woods; to warm thee, fire;
More need'st thou not, nor covet more,
And peace her joys shall round thee pour.
But touch not gold; the tempter fly,
Or all thy kin shall droop and die;
For in that potent evil pent,
Lurk envy, pain, and discontent;
And luxury—of life the bane—
And woe, with all her haggard train.
Listen, white man! Dreamest thou
My soul could e'er descend so low,
To sell my country, life, and line,
For any frail reward of thine?
Or break the Sire-of-life's command,
By treading yonder sacred strand?
My fare is scant; my roof is low;
My country cold, and deep my woe,
And every moon that gilds yon hill,
Sees growing want and growing ill!
But scantier still must be my meal,
And keener woes my bosom feel,
A sharper winter chill our sky,
And louder tempests rage on high,
Gaunt famine howl along the plain,
And every limb be rack'd with pain,
Ere I compromit heaven's decree,
By touching gold, or guiding thee.
My soul could e'er descend so low,
To sell my country, life, and line,
For any frail reward of thine?
Or break the Sire-of-life's command,
By treading yonder sacred strand?
My fare is scant; my roof is low;
My country cold, and deep my woe,
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Sees growing want and growing ill!
But scantier still must be my meal,
And keener woes my bosom feel,
A sharper winter chill our sky,
And louder tempests rage on high,
Gaunt famine howl along the plain,
And every limb be rack'd with pain,
Ere I compromit heaven's decree,
By touching gold, or guiding thee.
ETHWALD.
Man of the woods! thy fancies seem
Like some distemper'd midnight dream;
Wild and devoid of reason. Vain
Are all thy fears of gold or gain!
Not more vain the infant's call
To the starry skies to fall;
Or the fear this ocean-lake
O'er yon cliffs its way shall take,
If a single pebble-trace
Circles in its glassy face.
MONGAZID.
Wealth is a curse, our old men said,
[Their wisdom speaks, though they be dead,]
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A breath of wind—a heap of dust:
'T is here—'t is gone! told or untold—
And Mystery is my name for gold.
We have been pining, since we knew
The wonders ye could make it do—
But find with cavil, years, and time,
It is the white man's curse and crime.
Of old, our fathers held it good
To deal in shells, and rove the wood;
And had no fear of scaith or storm,
With food, and skins to keep them warm.
But ye, with your unhallowed gain,
Have burned our forests from the plain,
Causing our hope—our game—to fly,
And making life itself a lie.
ETHWALD.
Know! thou man of suff'ring proud,
Ills that press, and woes that cloud!
Know, that gold doth hold a charm
Want to banish, care disarm—
To dispel the father's fears,
And suppress kind woman's tears.
Gold ensures the ready meal,
And the joys the lib'ral feel,
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Fam'd, applauded, or forgot.
Oft its peace-inspiring power
Gilds fair virtue's evening hour—
Oft, at stern-eyed power's command,
Renovates a drooping land—
Opening, by a blest employ,
Founts of noble, lasting joy:
From its toil-impelling springs,
Commerce spreads her daring wings;
Art uprears the public dome,
Agriculture treads her loom,
And a thousand pleasures stand
To obey its potent wand.
It is not wealth that ills produce—
So sages write—but its abuse.
MONGAZID.
Yet, is the sweet with bitter blent,
And all without that boon—content!
Else hadst thou not quit friend and home,
In these unmeasured wilds to roam;
Or boldly dared this forest-sea
For gains, that still thy grasp shall flee—
Or proffered me thy valued pelf
To sell my gods—my peace—myself!
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Thou wouldst shun the white man's joy,
Lest there should be slight alloy:
Know, to mortal is not given
Joy unmixed, by righteous heaven:
Death and sorrow, toil and woe,
All must dread, and all must know.
But methinks thy purpose stern,
That would neither teach nor learn,
Give nor guide, remit or feel,
Doth some secret power reveal—
Power that doth thy being sway,
And thou must, perforce, obey!
Is it pride of hunter fame,
Azid's art, or Azid's name?
Is it dread of fate severe,
Is it hope, or is it fear?
MONGAZID.
Fear of mortal shaft or ill,
Foeman's ire or foeman's skill—
Dread of pain or dread of woe,
Azid's heart can never know!
It hath breasted famine drear,
And the jagged flinty spear,
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Nor doth dread the force of thine!
ETHWALD.
Wizard am I not, nor part,
Read or know of such foul art,
False and visionary. There,
Wrapt in his robes of holy care,
Behold you pilgrim, early gray,
Companion of my toilsome way,
As now along the desert strand,
With sober tread, he marks the sand—
E'en now his lips the skies implore,
Thy long-lost people to restore;
To lead their steps where joys invite,
And love, and truth, and life, and light!
Disciple he, severe and high,
Of the great ruler of the sky,
To thee but known by thunders loud,
The rushing wind, the fire-lit cloud;
But to our fathers, sage and eld,
By holy word and book revealed.
If aught from fiend, or spirit's wile
Thou fearest on the desert isle,
His simple, solemn, sacred pray'r
Shall guard and guide and bless thee there.
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The fear from which you fly, is this—
You would not make but find your bliss.
But so God ruleth not his people. He
Hath so hewn out our destiny,
And linked it with our own free will,
That means with ends must tally still.
The bliss for which you chase and roam,
You might more truly find at home,
If but one tittle of the time
You give to hunting, war, and crime,
Were turned, with simple, peaceful hand,
To stocks or grain upon the land.
Besides, in every good man's view,
You worship now—ye know not who;
The very Power, which, dark of eye,
If seen, ye would most swiftly fly.
MONGAZID.
'T is well! Thy god will list to thee,
And think'st thou mine shall turn from me?
More may be vain: thee and thy crew
Fair skies o'ershadow—friend, adieu!
DE LA JOIE.
Hunter, stay; I have a gift,
Of such potence it shall lift
From thy brain, and from thy mind,
Every care of grosser kind,
Every latent, earthly woe,
Such as weary mortals know,
And induce the lifted soul
In one round of joy to roll.
It shall banish selfish care,
Change the fouler fate to fair,
And inspire, with visions high,
Thy sedate, prophetic eye,
Of such potence it shall lift
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Every care of grosser kind,
Every latent, earthly woe,
Such as weary mortals know,
And induce the lifted soul
In one round of joy to roll.
It shall banish selfish care,
Change the fouler fate to fair,
And inspire, with visions high,
Thy sedate, prophetic eye,
Take this little vase; the draught
May be oft and freely quaffed,
By those only who have felt
Oft its sovereign power to melt,
Raise and gladden; but with care
Let thy lips the liquid share!
When the sun, with splendor bright,
Wakes the drowsy world with light,
Come thou hither, straight, and tell
If my gift be ill or well:
If my words thou findest true—
If such raptures may ensue—
And, with new-found courage brave,
Thou wilt tempt with me the wave.
May be oft and freely quaffed,
By those only who have felt
Oft its sovereign power to melt,
Raise and gladden; but with care
Let thy lips the liquid share!
When the sun, with splendor bright,
Wakes the drowsy world with light,
Come thou hither, straight, and tell
If my gift be ill or well:
If my words thou findest true—
If such raptures may ensue—
And, with new-found courage brave,
Thou wilt tempt with me the wave.
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[An attendant here introduces the pipe of peace.]
Accept my pledge of purpose high,
That calls me to your northern sky.
Much have I heard, and longed to view
These spreading coasts, and waters blue,
These rosy skies, and beaming shores,
Replete with all their sylvan stores.
Nor less my interest in that race
Who poise the dart, and lead the chase;
And, with a pride of kin and sire,
Still light up here their council fire.
Tradition hath informed me well
Of deeds in which ye yet excel:
Your skill by water, rift and rock,
The war-path and the battle's shock;
And all those arts, through which ye sing,
“I am the wild-wood's subtle king.”
Take of my proffered pledge: we stand
Thus heart in heart, as hand in hand.
MONGAZID.
So be it, sire: the heavens turn black
On all who from this pledge draw back.
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CANTO II.
THE SACRED ISLAND. A DISCOVERY.
[Scene. The broad expanse of the Lake. An assemblage of Indian canoes
on the water. One, in advance, bearing the national flag of the United
States. Time—morning.]
The golden sun with early ray,
Saw Ethwald on his ocean way,
With silent Azid for his guide,
And mission-father by his side:
His birchen vessel light and gay
Speeds swan-like o'er the liquid way—
The sky is calm—the morning air
Scarce stirs that mass, so vast, so fair—
That, like a sheet of waving gold,
The eye may not undimm'd behold;
Yet is there motion—bark and crew
Dance lightly on that ocean blue,
And ever, as up and down they ride
Upon that broad, eternal tide,
The strained sight descries the while,
Short glimpses of that holy isle,
Like dreams of bliss, that, fair and sheen,
Flit in the moment they are seen.
Nearer and nearer as they ply,
A gathering mist swells up the sky,
And every object, dun or fair,
Spreads wild distorted through the air—
The trees like shrouded spectres stand,
To guard that evil haunted land—
The pointed cliffs spread broad and square,
Like castles with their banners fair,
And motley shapes of monstrous size
Start up, and glare before the eyes.
To all but Azid's fearful view
The scene is glorious, grand, and new,
But wondrous not—they know and prize
The gay refractions of these skies;
But Azid—ghastly forms pursue,
All that he fears he sees in view!
At first he mutters—then he speaks,
Cold drops bedew his aged cheeks;
But ere he lifts th' imploring eye,
T' appease the spirit of the sky,
An offering meet of sacred things
Upon the misty wave he flings,
But chief that herb whose sacred fame
And power, the tribes Ussáma name.
Then with brief word and solemn air
Recites the simple hunter's prayer.
“'Tis now with Thee—Great Spirit free,
My rite is done—it is with Thee!”
Saw Ethwald on his ocean way,
With silent Azid for his guide,
And mission-father by his side:
His birchen vessel light and gay
Speeds swan-like o'er the liquid way—
The sky is calm—the morning air
Scarce stirs that mass, so vast, so fair—
That, like a sheet of waving gold,
The eye may not undimm'd behold;
Yet is there motion—bark and crew
Dance lightly on that ocean blue,
And ever, as up and down they ride
Upon that broad, eternal tide,
The strained sight descries the while,
Short glimpses of that holy isle,
Like dreams of bliss, that, fair and sheen,
Flit in the moment they are seen.
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A gathering mist swells up the sky,
And every object, dun or fair,
Spreads wild distorted through the air—
The trees like shrouded spectres stand,
To guard that evil haunted land—
The pointed cliffs spread broad and square,
Like castles with their banners fair,
And motley shapes of monstrous size
Start up, and glare before the eyes.
To all but Azid's fearful view
The scene is glorious, grand, and new,
But wondrous not—they know and prize
The gay refractions of these skies;
But Azid—ghastly forms pursue,
All that he fears he sees in view!
At first he mutters—then he speaks,
Cold drops bedew his aged cheeks;
But ere he lifts th' imploring eye,
T' appease the spirit of the sky,
An offering meet of sacred things
Upon the misty wave he flings,
But chief that herb whose sacred fame
And power, the tribes Ussáma name.
Then with brief word and solemn air
Recites the simple hunter's prayer.
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My rite is done—it is with Thee!”
Now western breezes briskly play,
And sweep those fleecy forms away;
In broken fields they wheel on high,
And show that treasur'd island nigh,
In all its loveliest verdure drest,
Like sanctuary of the blest,
Where peace hath rear'd her forest throne,
To man and all his works unknown.
With joy they reach the silver strand,
With joy they gaze—they leap to land,
Like beings from a higher sphere,
Dropt down to dwell and worship here.
And sweep those fleecy forms away;
In broken fields they wheel on high,
And show that treasur'd island nigh,
In all its loveliest verdure drest,
Like sanctuary of the blest,
Where peace hath rear'd her forest throne,
To man and all his works unknown.
With joy they reach the silver strand,
With joy they gaze—they leap to land,
Like beings from a higher sphere,
Dropt down to dwell and worship here.
On all its cliffs and arching bays,
They pour intent their ardent gaze—
Each airy, wild, fantastic sight,
They scan with ever new delight,
As if the very earth-clod there
Had something more than earthly fair,
And every rock that wall'd the shore
Were jewel set, or bright with ore;
Each pebble on the saffron sands,
They search with prying, chemic hands,
By glass or magnet, lest perchance
Aught should escape a grosser glance:
The fragile little helix shell
Along the shore their steps impel,
Intent each speck'd and striped whorl
To find a mass of orient pearl:
The fallen trunk they search with care,
For mark of ancient hatchet there;
Or scan the antler bleach'd and dry
With curious, searching, eager eye.
They pour intent their ardent gaze—
Each airy, wild, fantastic sight,
They scan with ever new delight,
As if the very earth-clod there
Had something more than earthly fair,
And every rock that wall'd the shore
Were jewel set, or bright with ore;
Each pebble on the saffron sands,
They search with prying, chemic hands,
26
Aught should escape a grosser glance:
The fragile little helix shell
Along the shore their steps impel,
Intent each speck'd and striped whorl
To find a mass of orient pearl:
The fallen trunk they search with care,
For mark of ancient hatchet there;
Or scan the antler bleach'd and dry
With curious, searching, eager eye.
Hours thus elapse: and every hour
Is fraught with some expressive power;
But now a task must be essayed,
They seek the island's central shade;
And first they pass a thicket green,
Where birch and aspen intervene,
And next a grove of sombre hue,
Where spruce and fir arrest the view;
A hill succeeds, and then a wold,
With pines encumber'd, sere and old,
That stretch their branches dead and bare,
High forked amid the upper air—
Beyond, a beetling rock is seen,
Of massy granite—crown'd with green,
And from its clefts a limpid stream
Pours on the sight its silver gleam,
And murm'ring on its downward way
Speeds idly to a neighb'ring bay.
Is fraught with some expressive power;
But now a task must be essayed,
They seek the island's central shade;
And first they pass a thicket green,
Where birch and aspen intervene,
And next a grove of sombre hue,
Where spruce and fir arrest the view;
A hill succeeds, and then a wold,
With pines encumber'd, sere and old,
That stretch their branches dead and bare,
High forked amid the upper air—
Beyond, a beetling rock is seen,
Of massy granite—crown'd with green,
27
Pours on the sight its silver gleam,
And murm'ring on its downward way
Speeds idly to a neighb'ring bay.
Here pause the travellers, joy'd to meet
Such lonely, wild, and still retreat;
And oft the streamlet's mossy side
They press, to taste the crystal tide,
Or lost in pleasing converse gay,
Review the devious, toilsome way.
But hark! a sound or voice is heard,
A human voice—perchance a bird?
Or, in some spiral cliff around,
Can rushing winds produce the sound?
Or is the gaunt hyena here?
To Azid—'tis a voice of fear!
But hark again—the softening sound
Reverb'rates as if cavern-bound.
They pause, they list—a strain is sung,
'Tis in the well-known Indian tongue.
They list—a female voice essays
This fond lament of other days.
Such lonely, wild, and still retreat;
And oft the streamlet's mossy side
They press, to taste the crystal tide,
Or lost in pleasing converse gay,
Review the devious, toilsome way.
But hark! a sound or voice is heard,
A human voice—perchance a bird?
Or, in some spiral cliff around,
Can rushing winds produce the sound?
Or is the gaunt hyena here?
To Azid—'tis a voice of fear!
But hark again—the softening sound
Reverb'rates as if cavern-bound.
They pause, they list—a strain is sung,
'Tis in the well-known Indian tongue.
They list—a female voice essays
This fond lament of other days.
28
EDNEE'S SONG.
1.
To sunny vales—to balmy skies,My thought—a flowery arrow flies.
I see the wood—the bank—the glade,
Where first a wild-wood girl I played:
I think on scenes and faces dear;
They are not here—they are not here.
2.
In this cold sky—in this lone isleI meet no friend's—no mother's smile:
I list the wind—I list the wave,
They seem like songs around the grave,
And all my heart's young joys are gone;
It is alone—it is alone.
3.
Ah! can I ever cease recallMy father's cot, though it were small;
The stream where oft, in sun and shade,
I roved, a happy Indian maid,
Pleased with the wild flowers, pink and red,
A brave youth bound around my head.
4.
I love the land that gave me birth,Its woods and streams, its air and earth;
29
Sweet woodland sounds—when life was new;
I love the garb my fathers had,
And my own bright Muscogee lad.
That voice is mute: with care they seek,
By winding rock and fallen peak,
For rift or path that foot may tread,
To gain the crag's o'erhanging head.
At length a rugged path they spy,
That seems nor light, nor safe to try;
But still with patience, skill and might
Suffices to attain that height.
A faintly beaten path succeeds;
This through a cedar coppice leads,
Then by a rock, when turning short,
A cave displays its ample port;—
An Indian maid of stature fair,
And forehead high and flowing hair,
Sits pensively, secure and lone,
Beside that rustic hall of stone;
A string of shining shells she prest
Upon her slender chisell'd breast;
Unmoved her air,—and now again
She raised the half unfinished strain,
When that priz'd guardian of the night,
The hunter's dog, and fond delight,
Darts forth instinctive, and defies
Their near approach with doubling cries.
Instant she starts, as with a shock,
And flies within the cavern'd rock.
By winding rock and fallen peak,
For rift or path that foot may tread,
To gain the crag's o'erhanging head.
At length a rugged path they spy,
That seems nor light, nor safe to try;
But still with patience, skill and might
Suffices to attain that height.
A faintly beaten path succeeds;
This through a cedar coppice leads,
Then by a rock, when turning short,
A cave displays its ample port;—
An Indian maid of stature fair,
And forehead high and flowing hair,
Sits pensively, secure and lone,
Beside that rustic hall of stone;
A string of shining shells she prest
Upon her slender chisell'd breast;
Unmoved her air,—and now again
She raised the half unfinished strain,
30
The hunter's dog, and fond delight,
Darts forth instinctive, and defies
Their near approach with doubling cries.
Instant she starts, as with a shock,
And flies within the cavern'd rock.
Soon from within a man of years,
The warrior father, slow appears;
Tall, rigid—firm of step and eye,
That speaks of sage, or prophecy;
A head, by nature bald, or shorn,
A look of care, but not forlorn—
A simple spear is in his hand;
With brow upraised, and gesture bland,
He stands beside the cavern way,
With silent gaze, that seems to say,
Come friend—come foe—ye still shall find
A proud, resolved, unbroken mind,
That oft hath tried the battle blade,
Or set the deadly ambuscade;
That neither shuns, nor seeks to die,
That will not stoop, and will not fly.
OSCAR.The warrior father, slow appears;
Tall, rigid—firm of step and eye,
That speaks of sage, or prophecy;
A head, by nature bald, or shorn,
A look of care, but not forlorn—
A simple spear is in his hand;
With brow upraised, and gesture bland,
He stands beside the cavern way,
With silent gaze, that seems to say,
Come friend—come foe—ye still shall find
A proud, resolved, unbroken mind,
That oft hath tried the battle blade,
Or set the deadly ambuscade;
That neither shuns, nor seeks to die,
That will not stoop, and will not fly.
Holy hermit—not in ire
Press we on thy cavern fire;
Travellers we, from distant shores,
Where the loud Atlantic roars,
And the sun its earliest light
Pours on valley, plain and height.
By the Erie's fretted shore,
Plied we fast the cedar oar,
And the Huron's placid sea
Swept with spirits light and free:
Northward still we held our way,
Glancing on by isle and bay,
Bank and river, rift and wall,
To St. Mary's sounding fall—
Foamy pass of waters wild!
Islet green and rock up-piled,
Where the torrent silver-crown'd,
Dances on with murm'ring sound,
Deep and mellow—while the eye
Glows with thrilling ecstasy!
Press we on thy cavern fire;
31
Where the loud Atlantic roars,
And the sun its earliest light
Pours on valley, plain and height.
By the Erie's fretted shore,
Plied we fast the cedar oar,
And the Huron's placid sea
Swept with spirits light and free:
Northward still we held our way,
Glancing on by isle and bay,
Bank and river, rift and wall,
To St. Mary's sounding fall—
Foamy pass of waters wild!
Islet green and rock up-piled,
Where the torrent silver-crown'd,
Dances on with murm'ring sound,
Deep and mellow—while the eye
Glows with thrilling ecstasy!
There we paus'd, and gazed, and felt
Nature's potent power to melt;
But with ever brief delay
Urged again our watery way,
Till we felt the dizzy swell,
As it rose, and as it fell,
Of this vasty sheet and breeze,
Sire of continental seas!
And with joy unfelt before,
Gazed upon its ocean shore.
Nature's potent power to melt;
But with ever brief delay
Urged again our watery way,
Till we felt the dizzy swell,
As it rose, and as it fell,
32
Sire of continental seas!
And with joy unfelt before,
Gazed upon its ocean shore.
Nor upon that border hoarse,
Bent we many days our course,
When a hunter, old and hoar,
Spied we joyous on the shore.
Him we urged, and by his skill
Reached this storm-indented isle:
Yet in all our lengthened way,
Nought of wondrous, grave or gay,
Have we met in joy or fear,
Strange as thy existence here,
Deemed by men a sacred shore,
Mortal never trod before.
Bent we many days our course,
When a hunter, old and hoar,
Spied we joyous on the shore.
Him we urged, and by his skill
Reached this storm-indented isle:
Yet in all our lengthened way,
Nought of wondrous, grave or gay,
Have we met in joy or fear,
Strange as thy existence here,
Deemed by men a sacred shore,
Mortal never trod before.
ALHALLA.
Hear me! of thy race severe,
Nought I hope and nought I fear,
Steel'd in heart, and steel'd in mind,
To the ills of human kind;
Yet, if in fate's thorny round,
Woes that press, and pains that wound,
There were still a pang unblest,
Deeper, keener than the rest,
'Twould be, in this secret place,
To behold the white-man's face—
Fatal race! to whom I owe
Bitter, lasting streams of woe—
Hunted from my native plains,
By wild war's horrific strains—
From my nation's council-fire,
By the plunderer's reckless ire—
From my lov'd, paternal streams,
By the cannon's battle-gleams—
Driven from all I valued most,
Kindred, country, fortune lost!
I resolved apace to flee
To some valley lone and free,
Friendly wood or sheltering cave,
Or some wild and distant wave,
All too frigid, poor and dread,
E'er to tempt the white-man's tread;
There unknown to pass my life,
Free from rapine—free from strife—
Happy in th' unpeopled wild,
With my loved, my only child!
And full happy, freed from cares,
Envy breeds, or hate prepares!
Here in numbers brief and low,
All unseen to vent my woe—
Dream o'er scenes of early peace,
And, as life's pulsations cease,
Sink to earth without a groan,
Calm, unnoticed, and alone.
Nought I hope and nought I fear,
Steel'd in heart, and steel'd in mind,
To the ills of human kind;
Yet, if in fate's thorny round,
Woes that press, and pains that wound,
33
Deeper, keener than the rest,
'Twould be, in this secret place,
To behold the white-man's face—
Fatal race! to whom I owe
Bitter, lasting streams of woe—
Hunted from my native plains,
By wild war's horrific strains—
From my nation's council-fire,
By the plunderer's reckless ire—
From my lov'd, paternal streams,
By the cannon's battle-gleams—
Driven from all I valued most,
Kindred, country, fortune lost!
I resolved apace to flee
To some valley lone and free,
Friendly wood or sheltering cave,
Or some wild and distant wave,
All too frigid, poor and dread,
E'er to tempt the white-man's tread;
There unknown to pass my life,
Free from rapine—free from strife—
Happy in th' unpeopled wild,
With my loved, my only child!
And full happy, freed from cares,
Envy breeds, or hate prepares!
34
All unseen to vent my woe—
Dream o'er scenes of early peace,
And, as life's pulsations cease,
Sink to earth without a groan,
Calm, unnoticed, and alone.
But e'en this may not be so,
Fresh the springs of sorrow flow!
And the fiat black and drear
Still pursues its victim here;
As if 'twere a boon too high
Thus to live and thus to die!
To declare thy presence here
Doth inspire a joy sincere,
Or with gladness fills my eye,
Were most base, unseemly lie!
Yet, to wayward mortal feet,
Is my roof a safe retreat;
Be ye foes, or be ye friends,
If impelled by noble ends,
Chance, or circumstance severe,
Chilly blast, or famine drear,
Welcome is my stony cot,
Welcome is my forest lot;
Freely enter—freely share
Cottage fire and cottage fare.
Fresh the springs of sorrow flow!
And the fiat black and drear
Still pursues its victim here;
As if 'twere a boon too high
Thus to live and thus to die!
To declare thy presence here
Doth inspire a joy sincere,
Or with gladness fills my eye,
Were most base, unseemly lie!
Yet, to wayward mortal feet,
Is my roof a safe retreat;
Be ye foes, or be ye friends,
If impelled by noble ends,
Chance, or circumstance severe,
Chilly blast, or famine drear,
Welcome is my stony cot,
Welcome is my forest lot;
Freely enter—freely share
Cottage fire and cottage fare.
35
CANTO III.
THE BATTLES OF TALLASATCHES AND TALLADEGA.
[Scene. A Cave on the Island. The king of the Hillabees, his sister and
daughter. Ethwald and Oscar. Others in attendance. Time, evening.]The fire shone bright on rift and wall,
Within Alhalla's cavern-hall;
And oft had that lone maid, his pride,
With splinter'd pine the flame supplied,
And kindly spread, with ready zeal,
The wholesome, frugal cottage meal:
The ruddy haunch, the shreded moose,
With vermil trout, and firland grouse,
And sapid rice, and many a root,
And many a tiny forest-fruit;
And oft, in birchen vase, supplied
The limpid fountain's crystal tide,
With such obeisance kind and brief,
As well may suit an Indian chief.
Nor wanting she—whose age and art
Supplied the maid—a mother's part.
And now that chieftain, proud and high,
Glanced round a wild, unsettled eye,
36
Up, strangers, and pursue your way!
This Oscar marked with ready art,
And thus express'd his glowing heart.
OSCAR.
Thanks were but light and all too weak,
Hearts mantling o'er, like ours, to speak,
But we shall hold and carry hence,
Of thee and thine, so high a sense,
Thy courtesy—thy life—thy lot,
As but with life can be forgot.
One only wish—one strong desire,
Still draws us to thy cavern-fire,
And stays th' intent we felt the while,
To quit this ocean-cinctured isle.
'Tis more to know—to hear—to see,
Of one so noble, poor, and free,
So proud—unfortunate as thee.
Deign, then, oh chief!—for trust you may,
If aught that man can feel or say
Can give assurance of our faith,
To hold thee quit of ill or scaith.
Deign, then, thy latent woes to tell,
The rush and struggle, rout and yell,
The scenes of care, or deeds of strife,
That mark thy onward course through life,
37
Of age and care that ne'er abate,
Have sear'd thy cheeks, and sear'd thy heart,
And made thee, exile! what thou art.
So when we reach our native vales,
Dear land where home-bred bliss prevails!
With joy—with pride we may relate
A good man's fame, a brave man's fate.
ALHALLA.
Man of prayer—for I ween,
By thy words, and dress, and mien,
Such thou art,—words, words are vain
To cure my woes, or soothe my pain.
Little boots it thee, to know
Whence I came or whence I go.
Hard my lot—nor would I e'er
Draw afresh the scalding tear,
Tear the wound that has been heal'd,
Or renew the bloody field;
And if e'en my tongue were prone
Thus to dwell on actions done,
Could I? 'twere reliance base,
E'er again to trust thy race.
OSCAR.
Deem not, stoic of the wood,
Harshly thus of Christian blood;
38
For the suff'ring Indian's woes,
Proudly beats and nobly swells,
Where bland pity's voice impels,
Honor points, or justice draws—
Justice! guide of Christian laws!
There are bosoms burning high,
Souls of bland philanthropy!
Hearts and hands and means and space
That would joy to serve thy race,
Joy to see thee happier here,
Happier in another sphere,
And e'en life itself would give,
That the Indian's soul should live.
And were none to teach or pray,
Point or lead the heavenly way,
Soothe the lot so roughly cast,
Or avert fate's angry blast—
Were there not in all the land,
One kind heart with love so bland,
Aim so noble, care divine,
Trust, lone recluse, trust to mine!
Mine the purpose, mine the will,
Heaven's kind message to reveal,
Teach the ever-glorious Son,
Mercies promised, doing, done!
39
And lead to worlds beyond the skies.
ALHALLA.
Man of wisdom, on mine ear
Dark thy holy truths appear,
And I would not, old and weak,
Novel rites or doctrines seek,
Or a path unknown pursue,
That my fathers never knew,
Though thou put the thorns aside,
And lead on, a zealous guide.
Ponder well this furrow'd face,
See in me a hunter race,
Rude in manners, poor in skill,
Wanting knowledge, wanting will,
Means and purpose, care and force,
To pursue the white man's course,
But not lacking means or power
That may suit the hunter's bower,
Brave the ills a man may brave,
And deserve an honored grave.
I would scorn the labor base
Of thy wonder-working race;
As my fathers lived, would I
Wish to live and wish to die,
40
Seek with them my final heaven;
Proper are thy gifts to thee,
Proper are my gifts to me;
Go thy way—my fervent cry
Is here undisturbed to die.
ETHWALD.
Yet when, beside the stormy wave,
The tall grass whistles o'er thy grave,
'Twere sweet, perhaps, for thee to know
Kind hearts remember thee below.
Thy glorious feats in earthly wars,
Thy name, thy honors, and thy scars.
OSCAR.
And when the good, by word or pen,
Spoke praises meet of gallant men,
Chief, hunter, warrior—hearts divine!
Who grace the manly Indian line,
'Twere grateful thy proud course to scan,
And say, thou wert the braver man.
ALHALLA.
Hear my words:—Thrice twenty snows
Have bleach'd and chill'd these frontless brows,
And sun and frost, and wind and rain,
Prevail'd alternate o'er the plain,
As moons revolved—since erst with joy
I roved a careless hunter boy,
Full free from sorrow, care, and pain,
On Talladega's sunny plain,
And every year with fresh delight,
Gleamed on my fond enraptured sight,
And youth fled fast, and manhood came,
But manhood found me still the same.
I swept the woods with bended bow,
And laid the deer and panther low;
I sail'd the streams with net and line,
And captive schools were often mine;
I marched against the western foe,
And laid the roving Paunee low;
I sung my war-song, danced my round,
Spurning with manly tread the ground;
I met my peers in wood and glen,
And knew no want, and fear'd no men,
But look'd, and spoke, and felt, and thought,
As one that lack'd and dreaded nought;
And all was glorious—all was gay,
A happy, bright, transcendent day.
Have bleach'd and chill'd these frontless brows,
41
Prevail'd alternate o'er the plain,
As moons revolved—since erst with joy
I roved a careless hunter boy,
Full free from sorrow, care, and pain,
On Talladega's sunny plain,
And every year with fresh delight,
Gleamed on my fond enraptured sight,
And youth fled fast, and manhood came,
But manhood found me still the same.
I swept the woods with bended bow,
And laid the deer and panther low;
I sail'd the streams with net and line,
And captive schools were often mine;
I marched against the western foe,
And laid the roving Paunee low;
I sung my war-song, danced my round,
Spurning with manly tread the ground;
I met my peers in wood and glen,
And knew no want, and fear'd no men,
But look'd, and spoke, and felt, and thought,
As one that lack'd and dreaded nought;
And all was glorious—all was gay,
A happy, bright, transcendent day.
But years, that turn the young man gray,
Brought silent on another day.
War came:—not such as mem'ry tells
Once rung through Tuscaloosa's dells,
When simple wood-craft plied her art,
Club against club, and dart to dart,
But grim, exterminating wrath,
That heaped with dead his giant path,
Embracing in one gen'ral sweep
Both those who strike and those who weep,
The young and old, the weak and brave,
Driv'n onward to one gen'ral grave.
Upon the front of this fell storm,
Rode gallant chief of martial form,
Whose woodland skill, and battle ire,
E'en vanquish'd warriors may admire.
Brought silent on another day.
42
Once rung through Tuscaloosa's dells,
When simple wood-craft plied her art,
Club against club, and dart to dart,
But grim, exterminating wrath,
That heaped with dead his giant path,
Embracing in one gen'ral sweep
Both those who strike and those who weep,
The young and old, the weak and brave,
Driv'n onward to one gen'ral grave.
Upon the front of this fell storm,
Rode gallant chief of martial form,
Whose woodland skill, and battle ire,
E'en vanquish'd warriors may admire.
OSCAR.
Sayest thou there was no mercy shown,
No prisoner saved in battle—none?
ALHALLA.
Little there was—I must be brief,
Yet would not play the knave or thief,
By robbing foeman, chief or youth,
Of one small tittle of the truth,
To save this wither'd trunk the ire
And rack of slow-consuming fire.
43
Red with the wrath of many foes,
And men and steeds promiscuous slain,
Strewed Tallasatche's fatal plain,
The struggle o'er, compassion fair,
Perched on the standards floating there!
I, on that sanguinary day,
Mixed freely in the dubious fray,
And with my war-axe, lance and brand,
Fought with the foremost of my band.
These scars upon my arm and breast,
My valor on that day attest.
But vain was every warrior art,
By charge or war-whoop, club or dart;
The foeman pressing on our ground,
With horse and bayonet wall'd us round,
And with fierce courage bearing down,
Swept plain and covert, host and town,
And nine score warriors, whom I led,
Upon that day lay cold and dead.
Few suns set on that dismal scene,
My wounds were still unsear'd and green,
When thundering on with trump and drum,
I heard again the war-horse come,
Like gathering tempest, big and black,
That through the forest wings its track,
Sweeping and tearing all that stand,
And desolating wood and land.
But I had oft seen danger near,
And knew not that base feeling—fear!
I roused my warriors from the rest
That with short, fitful dreams they prest,
And armed for fight, and strife and pain,
Stood firm on Talladega's plain.
Oh Talladega! thou art still
My native wood! my native hill!
There knew I first my father's voice,
And felt my infant mind rejoice,
And all those sweet endearments start,
That nature winds about the heart,
And home, and love, and bliss, and fame,
That cluster round a parent's name.
And there I hoped to live and die,
In nature's sweet simplicity;
Unmov'd with arts, or cares, or strife,
That mingle in the white man's life;
Nor knew I whence th' intruder came,
Nor what his race, or what his fame;
Nor car'd, nor wish'd, nor sought to be
Else than I was—a Hillabee.
And still I hoped, when nature threw
Around my brows the silver hue,
And fainting limbs proclaimed the close
Of earthly cares and earthly woes,
To lay me down with sober care,
And slumber with my fathers there.
My wounds were still unsear'd and green,
When thundering on with trump and drum,
I heard again the war-horse come,
44
That through the forest wings its track,
Sweeping and tearing all that stand,
And desolating wood and land.
But I had oft seen danger near,
And knew not that base feeling—fear!
I roused my warriors from the rest
That with short, fitful dreams they prest,
And armed for fight, and strife and pain,
Stood firm on Talladega's plain.
Oh Talladega! thou art still
My native wood! my native hill!
There knew I first my father's voice,
And felt my infant mind rejoice,
And all those sweet endearments start,
That nature winds about the heart,
And home, and love, and bliss, and fame,
That cluster round a parent's name.
And there I hoped to live and die,
In nature's sweet simplicity;
Unmov'd with arts, or cares, or strife,
That mingle in the white man's life;
Nor knew I whence th' intruder came,
Nor what his race, or what his fame;
Nor car'd, nor wish'd, nor sought to be
Else than I was—a Hillabee.
45
Around my brows the silver hue,
And fainting limbs proclaimed the close
Of earthly cares and earthly woes,
To lay me down with sober care,
And slumber with my fathers there.
Ah! land of all my heart holds dear,
Thy groves are desolate and sear—
The echoes of thy winding shore
Shall charm my listening ear no more—
The winds that whistle o'er thy plain
Repeat a sad and hollow strain,
And all thy haunts are fill'd with moans,
And whitened by my nation's bones.
But let me drop this strain of woe:Thy groves are desolate and sear—
The echoes of thy winding shore
Shall charm my listening ear no more—
The winds that whistle o'er thy plain
Repeat a sad and hollow strain,
And all thy haunts are fill'd with moans,
And whitened by my nation's bones.
I told thee of the coming foe,
And he did come, in such array
As well foretold a stubborn day.
Few words I spoke to those who stood,
With ready arms, within that wood;
But, when I ceas'd, the battle cry
Rung long and loudly—strike or die!
Erst trampling horse, in armor bright,
Pricked to the front and wooed the fight,
46
Essayed th' assault, and, wheeling, fled.
I forward sprang, and at one yell
A thousand warriors served me well,
And urging ball and feather'd dart,
Play'd hot and strong the warrior's part;
And once I drove the reeling ranks
Back on their chief—the chief outflanks,
Pours from behind his galling horse,
And opes the war with all his force.
Thick round my sides my bowmen lie—
They faint, they waver, and they fly;
Then streams afresh the battle gore
Wider and wider along the shore,
And those who fly but fly to feel
Th' avenging horsemen's angry steel.
And when the night closed on that plain,
To veil the dying and the slain,
Few, out of all my gallant band,
Had 'scaped the mark of ball or brand;
And death, of brave Muscogee men,
Had numbered fourteen score and ten.
47
CANTO IV.
THE WARRIOR'S DREAM. A PROPHECY.
[Scene in reminiscence. The forest of Talladega. Alhalla alone. Time,
midnight.]ALHALLA.
The sun went down that fatal night,
Not as it wont, in glory bright,
But veil'd in clouds of sombre trace,
Prophetic of my falling race.
I stood upon a rising ground,
As darkness flung her mantle round,
And heard the last, departing din,
Of horse and footmen, gathering in,
With clank of steel, and sharp hallo,
As from the onset they withdrew,
Far winding down the distant hill,
Faint, and more faint—then all was still,
Save crackling tread, or groan severe
Of hapless comrade, weltering near:
For all that wide, extended wood,
Was strewed with carnage, death and blood.
I stood as petrified, with thought
On all one fleeting day had wrought—
Of friend and foe—the brave and dead—
And those who fought, and those who fled;
And bitter were the pangs that came
That hour within my inmost frame:
For I had seen a father slain,
A father old in years and pain;
Two brothers stricken at my side,
And a fond parent's dearest pride,
The child hope shone most brightly on,
My loved, my first-born, only son!
In grief absorbed and musing high,
And yet no tear escaped my eye—
No sigh my bosom heaved—no moan
Bespoke my heart's forsaken tone;
But sealed in woe, within that wood,
Unmoved as storm-beat rock I stood.
Not as it wont, in glory bright,
But veil'd in clouds of sombre trace,
Prophetic of my falling race.
I stood upon a rising ground,
As darkness flung her mantle round,
And heard the last, departing din,
Of horse and footmen, gathering in,
With clank of steel, and sharp hallo,
As from the onset they withdrew,
Far winding down the distant hill,
Faint, and more faint—then all was still,
Save crackling tread, or groan severe
Of hapless comrade, weltering near:
For all that wide, extended wood,
Was strewed with carnage, death and blood.
48
On all one fleeting day had wrought—
Of friend and foe—the brave and dead—
And those who fought, and those who fled;
And bitter were the pangs that came
That hour within my inmost frame:
For I had seen a father slain,
A father old in years and pain;
Two brothers stricken at my side,
And a fond parent's dearest pride,
The child hope shone most brightly on,
My loved, my first-born, only son!
In grief absorbed and musing high,
And yet no tear escaped my eye—
No sigh my bosom heaved—no moan
Bespoke my heart's forsaken tone;
But sealed in woe, within that wood,
Unmoved as storm-beat rock I stood.
The moon, in pity veiled that night,
Shed out a transitory light,
As dusky clouds, in rapid chase,
Now hid, and now revealed her face;
And by her feeble, trembling ray,
I took my solitary way—
The narrow, winding, leaf-clad road,
Conducting to my own abode—
The fragile shed, that, low and poor,
So oft hath made me feel secure;
So oft hath spread its sheathing wild
To guard the mother and the child;
That shed, which, howsoe'er he roam,
Still forms the Indian warrior's home—
And which he would not change, or give,
Like Briton, Scot, or Gaul to live,
For all the wealth that kings command,
Or temples made with mortal hand.
Shed out a transitory light,
As dusky clouds, in rapid chase,
Now hid, and now revealed her face;
And by her feeble, trembling ray,
I took my solitary way—
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Conducting to my own abode—
The fragile shed, that, low and poor,
So oft hath made me feel secure;
So oft hath spread its sheathing wild
To guard the mother and the child;
That shed, which, howsoe'er he roam,
Still forms the Indian warrior's home—
And which he would not change, or give,
Like Briton, Scot, or Gaul to live,
For all the wealth that kings command,
Or temples made with mortal hand.
Brief space I walked, when, turning round
A beetling rock that walled the ground,
And just o'erhung my lodge, there fell
Sounds on my ear I knew not well;
A murmur indistinct—and then
The harsh, brief words of stranger men.
A pause ensued—a shriek! I sped
To guard my lowly, leaf-crowned shed,
And saw, with deeply rous'd alarms,
My Ednee in a soldier's arms
Borne shieking off, in accents wild,
‘Oh, father! save thy injured child!’
What space there was 'twixt him that bore
And my own stand upon the shore,
Ill can I vouch—but, wide or spare,
One instant served to waft me there.
I raised one yell my warriors knew—
For I had warriors still, and true—
Then sprang, and drew, and smote with might,
And still the plunderers answered—smite!
And still those thrilling accents wild,
Rung in my ears—“Oh, save thy child!”
Vain cry! outnumbered, hand to hand
I felt the foeman's heavy brand,
And reeled to earth—and bleeding there,
I felt unutt'rable despair,
For still I heard that plaint so wild,
“Oh, father! save thy injured child!”
A beetling rock that walled the ground,
And just o'erhung my lodge, there fell
Sounds on my ear I knew not well;
A murmur indistinct—and then
The harsh, brief words of stranger men.
A pause ensued—a shriek! I sped
To guard my lowly, leaf-crowned shed,
And saw, with deeply rous'd alarms,
My Ednee in a soldier's arms
Borne shieking off, in accents wild,
‘Oh, father! save thy injured child!’
50
And my own stand upon the shore,
Ill can I vouch—but, wide or spare,
One instant served to waft me there.
I raised one yell my warriors knew—
For I had warriors still, and true—
Then sprang, and drew, and smote with might,
And still the plunderers answered—smite!
And still those thrilling accents wild,
Rung in my ears—“Oh, save thy child!”
Vain cry! outnumbered, hand to hand
I felt the foeman's heavy brand,
And reeled to earth—and bleeding there,
I felt unutt'rable despair,
For still I heard that plaint so wild,
“Oh, father! save thy injured child!”
As hungry panther from his tree
Darts on his victim, bold and free,
Or black crotalis, ere he spring,
Gives warning of the deadly sting,
Thus swift and sure in strength and mood
Ten warriors leapt from out the wood,
Upon the instant when, with pain,
I sank upon the dewy plain;
Each armed with arms of steel and dread,
With brave Clewalla at their head,
And at one shout, and at one bound,
They shake the trembling woods around.
They fight—they vanquish! words are vain,
They bring me safe my child again.
What boots it, that I here should tell,
Or those who 'scap'd, or those who fell?
Th' assailants, merged in margin damp
And tangled brushwood, sought their camp.
Of those who fell, a liquid grave
We gave in Coosa's yellow wave;
Which, soft and slow, and winding, bore
Its charge to ocean's sand-bound shore.
Now sober silence once again
Began to hold her wonted reign;
My wounds, with simple skill, were bound,
My warriors lay reclining round,
And ere the hour of midnight chill,
All seemed as dreary, hush'd, and still,
As if the shout, or battle's roar,
Had ne'er been heard upon that shore.
Darts on his victim, bold and free,
Or black crotalis, ere he spring,
Gives warning of the deadly sting,
Thus swift and sure in strength and mood
Ten warriors leapt from out the wood,
Upon the instant when, with pain,
I sank upon the dewy plain;
51
With brave Clewalla at their head,
And at one shout, and at one bound,
They shake the trembling woods around.
They fight—they vanquish! words are vain,
They bring me safe my child again.
What boots it, that I here should tell,
Or those who 'scap'd, or those who fell?
Th' assailants, merged in margin damp
And tangled brushwood, sought their camp.
Of those who fell, a liquid grave
We gave in Coosa's yellow wave;
Which, soft and slow, and winding, bore
Its charge to ocean's sand-bound shore.
Now sober silence once again
Began to hold her wonted reign;
My wounds, with simple skill, were bound,
My warriors lay reclining round,
And ere the hour of midnight chill,
All seemed as dreary, hush'd, and still,
As if the shout, or battle's roar,
Had ne'er been heard upon that shore.
I sat within my tent, and mused,
(As oft in peaceful days I used,)
Upon the Spirit, great and high,
That rules the earth, the sea, the sky,
And that mysterious power and will
That warrants man still man to kill,
Sends powers and nations to and fro,
And fills the earth with strife and woe.
I thought upon my own wild kin,
And all their wand'rings, want, and sin,
And that untoward fate that gave,
Profuse, their bodies to the grave,
And seemed to set them in array,
For Saxon arms to drive and slay.
I cast my eye in thought profound,
On that dear circle slumb'ring round,
And mark'd th' unoccupied recess
A son, a father, once could press;
And last bethought me of the fate
And juncture of my own estate:
Weak, wounded, foiled, and sore distrest—
Of friends bereav'd—by foemen prest—
Sad, bitter thoughts my heart control,
A dreamy madness steeps my soul,
Or wake or sleeping wist I not,
By whom environ'd, whom forgot;
Unreal scenes before me rise,
And visions pass before my eyes.
Methought I looked upon the sea,
And low, dark waves, not large nor free,
Came rolling in towards the shore,
With scarce a pebble dash, or roar,
Then larger grew, and louder sound,
Till one wide tumult rings around.
I looked again—a monster bear,
With claws of steel, and fiery hair,
Emerged from out the deep—his head,
Two polished horns of brass o'erspread,
And at his side a leader stood,
Of visage pale,—a full-plum'd hood
Danced o'er his brows, and in his hand
He held a sharp and shining brand.
I looked again, and from a tree,
A beauteous bird sang joyfully;
A ray of light from either eye
Shot forth in bright tranquillity,
Illuminating all the wood,
Within whose ample disk I stood.
Yet once again my view I cast;
Another changing vision past:
A fleecy cloud came from its height,
And stood before my wond'ring sight,
And parting, like two banners drawn,
A figure stept upon the lawn,
In size, and color, dress and air
Like my own kindred—but more fair.
I, wondering much what these should bode,
Put question meet—he answer'd—“God,
Whom once thy sires, on burning sands,
In other years and other lands
Most truly served, hath doomed thy race
To melt before the white-man's face,
To fail in battle, and in store,
A scorn—a by-word on the shore;
For ye from his commands have turn'd,
And ye unholy fires have burn'd,
And with new altars and abodes
Set up and worship'd other gods,
And through unholy rites and sin,
In word and deed become unclean;
And for a season he hath given
Your nations to the wrath of heaven,
By divers men from foreign climes,
Who loathe your waywardness and crimes,
And congregate from far and near
To worship God in spirit here.”
(As oft in peaceful days I used,)
52
That rules the earth, the sea, the sky,
And that mysterious power and will
That warrants man still man to kill,
Sends powers and nations to and fro,
And fills the earth with strife and woe.
I thought upon my own wild kin,
And all their wand'rings, want, and sin,
And that untoward fate that gave,
Profuse, their bodies to the grave,
And seemed to set them in array,
For Saxon arms to drive and slay.
I cast my eye in thought profound,
On that dear circle slumb'ring round,
And mark'd th' unoccupied recess
A son, a father, once could press;
And last bethought me of the fate
And juncture of my own estate:
Weak, wounded, foiled, and sore distrest—
Of friends bereav'd—by foemen prest—
Sad, bitter thoughts my heart control,
A dreamy madness steeps my soul,
Or wake or sleeping wist I not,
By whom environ'd, whom forgot;
Unreal scenes before me rise,
And visions pass before my eyes.
53
And low, dark waves, not large nor free,
Came rolling in towards the shore,
With scarce a pebble dash, or roar,
Then larger grew, and louder sound,
Till one wide tumult rings around.
I looked again—a monster bear,
With claws of steel, and fiery hair,
Emerged from out the deep—his head,
Two polished horns of brass o'erspread,
And at his side a leader stood,
Of visage pale,—a full-plum'd hood
Danced o'er his brows, and in his hand
He held a sharp and shining brand.
I looked again, and from a tree,
A beauteous bird sang joyfully;
A ray of light from either eye
Shot forth in bright tranquillity,
Illuminating all the wood,
Within whose ample disk I stood.
Yet once again my view I cast;
Another changing vision past:
A fleecy cloud came from its height,
And stood before my wond'ring sight,
And parting, like two banners drawn,
A figure stept upon the lawn,
54
Like my own kindred—but more fair.
I, wondering much what these should bode,
Put question meet—he answer'd—“God,
Whom once thy sires, on burning sands,
In other years and other lands
Most truly served, hath doomed thy race
To melt before the white-man's face,
To fail in battle, and in store,
A scorn—a by-word on the shore;
For ye from his commands have turn'd,
And ye unholy fires have burn'd,
And with new altars and abodes
Set up and worship'd other gods,
And through unholy rites and sin,
In word and deed become unclean;
And for a season he hath given
Your nations to the wrath of heaven,
By divers men from foreign climes,
Who loathe your waywardness and crimes,
And congregate from far and near
To worship God in spirit here.”
'Tis well, I said; but tell me true,
What bodes this vision to my view?
It comes with a prophetic air,
But can I see the Red Race there?
“The little waves which erst thou spy'd,
Calm and unruffled,” he replied,
“Denote the earliest flag unfurl'd,
Advent'rous in this western world;
Whence gaining strength, in heart and hand,
The stranger spreads along the strand,
Like tumbling waves, whose onward way
No human force can check or stay.
The monster rising from the sea,
Imports dominion—once by thee
In peace and war triumphant sway'd,
But now to other hands convey'd;
His horns of brass and claws of steel,
A more obdurate power reveal;
His altered, red and fiery hair,
Denotes unnumbered means of war,
Complex inventions, sharp and true,
Such as thy fathers never knew,
Whereby the rule at first he gains,
And then with growing power maintains;
The leader is that iron race,
Who drive thee on, from place to place,
And long have driv'n, and long shall drive,
The waning, scattered, Indian hive,
Till they forsake th' accursed road,
And turn to virtue, peace, and God.
Then shall they quit the forest gloom,
The sceptre and the plough resume,
Renounce all base, revengeful ires,
Rebuild the altars, light the fires,
And cherish every sweet employ
Denoted by the bird of joy,
Whose beaming eyes, with stellar light,
Shall chase away barbaric night,
And teach thy race in holy lays
To sing the great Elohim's praise.”
What bodes this vision to my view?
55
But can I see the Red Race there?
“The little waves which erst thou spy'd,
Calm and unruffled,” he replied,
“Denote the earliest flag unfurl'd,
Advent'rous in this western world;
Whence gaining strength, in heart and hand,
The stranger spreads along the strand,
Like tumbling waves, whose onward way
No human force can check or stay.
The monster rising from the sea,
Imports dominion—once by thee
In peace and war triumphant sway'd,
But now to other hands convey'd;
His horns of brass and claws of steel,
A more obdurate power reveal;
His altered, red and fiery hair,
Denotes unnumbered means of war,
Complex inventions, sharp and true,
Such as thy fathers never knew,
Whereby the rule at first he gains,
And then with growing power maintains;
The leader is that iron race,
Who drive thee on, from place to place,
And long have driv'n, and long shall drive,
The waning, scattered, Indian hive,
56
And turn to virtue, peace, and God.
Then shall they quit the forest gloom,
The sceptre and the plough resume,
Renounce all base, revengeful ires,
Rebuild the altars, light the fires,
And cherish every sweet employ
Denoted by the bird of joy,
Whose beaming eyes, with stellar light,
Shall chase away barbaric night,
And teach thy race in holy lays
To sing the great Elohim's praise.”
57
CANTO V.
THE FALL OF THE MUSCOGEE RACE. THE VOLUNTARY EXILE.
[Scene in reminiscence. The valley of the Coosa river, and parts adjacent.]ALHALLA.
Who is Elohim? who? I said—
The vision broke—the angel fled.
Dread on my ear these accents broke,
And high—it seemed a god who spoke—
His features, as my race he drew,
Assumed a clear and heavenly hue,
And voice, and attitude, and air,
Became more fearful, bright and fair,
Till the transcendence pained the sight;
And when he ceas'd—a cloud of light,
Far stretching up the starry frame,
Told whence he flew, and whence he came.
My soul an inward tremor shook,
And in a wild amaze I woke.
The sun was darting from his bed
A gorgeous flame of gold and red,
That streaming far, and wide, and free,
Gilt bank and bower, cliff and tree,
And merry birds of plumage fair,
With varied sweetness fill'd the air.
The vision broke—the angel fled.
Dread on my ear these accents broke,
And high—it seemed a god who spoke—
His features, as my race he drew,
Assumed a clear and heavenly hue,
And voice, and attitude, and air,
Became more fearful, bright and fair,
Till the transcendence pained the sight;
And when he ceas'd—a cloud of light,
Far stretching up the starry frame,
Told whence he flew, and whence he came.
My soul an inward tremor shook,
And in a wild amaze I woke.
The sun was darting from his bed
A gorgeous flame of gold and red,
58
Gilt bank and bower, cliff and tree,
And merry birds of plumage fair,
With varied sweetness fill'd the air.
The man who o'er unfathom'd brink
Hangs trembling, and in dread to sink,
By friendly arm quick rescued thence,
Feels not more deep or joyful sense
Of peril past—than to my heart
That morning's opening scenes impart.
But as that fear the trembler knew,
My joy was all as transient too.
I could not chase away the gleam,
And semblance of that mystic dream;
And still before my waking eyes,
I saw that bloody monster rise,
And heard the furious dash and roar,
Of waves loud beating on the shore—
I felt the truths that spirit said,
I felt that we had err'd and stray'd,
And left the bright and shining road,
That leads through nature up to God:
And yet, I ill could comprehend,
That vision's proper type and end,
Or tell what time my warlike band,
Had worship'd him in other land,
Or followed other rites, or why
Thus doomed to quit that kindlier sky;
Or how I might direct my race,
Their 'wildered track again to trace.
Hard, dark and cruel seem'd my lot,
Part knew I, and part knew I not—
And as, on either hand I weighed
Thought and belief—the more I stray'd:
This told me, it were sure design'd,
One God should rule all human kind;
That, that the white and red man's road
Led upward to a sep'rate god;
That spirits obdurate or kind,
Of lesser rank o'erruled the mind,
And that, of powers who o'er us stood,
The good, unasked, were ever good,
While some fit rite and off'ring had
Been deem'd a duty tow'rd the bad.
Hangs trembling, and in dread to sink,
By friendly arm quick rescued thence,
Feels not more deep or joyful sense
Of peril past—than to my heart
That morning's opening scenes impart.
But as that fear the trembler knew,
My joy was all as transient too.
I could not chase away the gleam,
And semblance of that mystic dream;
And still before my waking eyes,
I saw that bloody monster rise,
And heard the furious dash and roar,
Of waves loud beating on the shore—
I felt the truths that spirit said,
I felt that we had err'd and stray'd,
And left the bright and shining road,
That leads through nature up to God:
And yet, I ill could comprehend,
That vision's proper type and end,
59
Had worship'd him in other land,
Or followed other rites, or why
Thus doomed to quit that kindlier sky;
Or how I might direct my race,
Their 'wildered track again to trace.
Hard, dark and cruel seem'd my lot,
Part knew I, and part knew I not—
And as, on either hand I weighed
Thought and belief—the more I stray'd:
This told me, it were sure design'd,
One God should rule all human kind;
That, that the white and red man's road
Led upward to a sep'rate god;
That spirits obdurate or kind,
Of lesser rank o'erruled the mind,
And that, of powers who o'er us stood,
The good, unasked, were ever good,
While some fit rite and off'ring had
Been deem'd a duty tow'rd the bad.
Oscar.
An erring creed! one God alone,
Rules and supports the starry throne,
And earthly spheres—and all the host,
Of various men, from coast to coast;
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To sanction discord, crime, or lust.
Alhalla.
Thou speakest of thy knowledge. Mine,
Ill should I speak, to call divine.
In forests nurtured, raised, and taught,
Of simple nature is my thought—
That nature which, if e'er it felt
The power of love divine to melt,
And purify and raise the heart,
And tread the darkling maze of art,
Or ever learned to think or feel,
With holy, pure, ethereal zeal,
Long since hath fall'n and wander'd thence,
To deeds of plain, material sense;
And what we touch, and know, and see,
With form or life to move or be,
And all that is not such, or seems,
Makes up the Indian's world of dreams.
Nor, till that well remembered hour,
E'er felt I aught of other power,
Or task'd my mind to think my fate
Hung on supernal love or hate;
Or when, from this frail tenement
To other worlds the spirit went,
Had questioned my confiding breast,
The brave man's spirit should be blest.
Ill should I speak, to call divine.
In forests nurtured, raised, and taught,
Of simple nature is my thought—
That nature which, if e'er it felt
The power of love divine to melt,
And purify and raise the heart,
And tread the darkling maze of art,
Or ever learned to think or feel,
With holy, pure, ethereal zeal,
Long since hath fall'n and wander'd thence,
To deeds of plain, material sense;
And what we touch, and know, and see,
With form or life to move or be,
And all that is not such, or seems,
Makes up the Indian's world of dreams.
Nor, till that well remembered hour,
E'er felt I aught of other power,
Or task'd my mind to think my fate
Hung on supernal love or hate;
Or when, from this frail tenement
To other worlds the spirit went,
61
The brave man's spirit should be blest.
But anxious thoughts opprest me now,
I felt—what I could scarce avow—
A sense of error deep and base,
Both in myself and in my race,
And that whate'er in former hour
Had been my nation's fame or power,
Or whatsoe'er that power might be,
In distant, dim futurity,
We now were given o'er to feel
The strong oppressor's heavy steel,
And weak and vain must be that fight,
Maintain'd in fate's and heaven's spite.
I felt—what I could scarce avow—
A sense of error deep and base,
Both in myself and in my race,
And that whate'er in former hour
Had been my nation's fame or power,
Or whatsoe'er that power might be,
In distant, dim futurity,
We now were given o'er to feel
The strong oppressor's heavy steel,
And weak and vain must be that fight,
Maintain'd in fate's and heaven's spite.
I call'd the elders—they who prest
Still on the leafy couch of rest,
And leaning on my staff arose,
To paint our bleeding country's woes—
I spoke of losses dread and sore,
By shot or brand, in field and store,
And that still sorer press and great,
I saw within the womb of fate;
And last—upon th' awaken'd ear,
With voice and gesture strong and clear,
I poured my high prophetic dream,
Part after part—such as still gleam
Before my mind, its features dread,
With all that boding spirit said.
“And oh, my people,” thus I cried,
“Snatch from your breast the serpent, pride;
“Forsake the war-path and the strife,
“Throw from your hands the murd'rous knife,
“And bury deep, and bury free,
“The purple war-club; and decree,
“That he who digs it up in ire,
“The same shall expiate in fire.”
I ceas'd—approving plaudits loud,
Rang heart-responsive through the crowd.
Still on the leafy couch of rest,
And leaning on my staff arose,
To paint our bleeding country's woes—
I spoke of losses dread and sore,
By shot or brand, in field and store,
And that still sorer press and great,
I saw within the womb of fate;
62
With voice and gesture strong and clear,
I poured my high prophetic dream,
Part after part—such as still gleam
Before my mind, its features dread,
With all that boding spirit said.
“And oh, my people,” thus I cried,
“Snatch from your breast the serpent, pride;
“Forsake the war-path and the strife,
“Throw from your hands the murd'rous knife,
“And bury deep, and bury free,
“The purple war-club; and decree,
“That he who digs it up in ire,
“The same shall expiate in fire.”
I ceas'd—approving plaudits loud,
Rang heart-responsive through the crowd.
The sun had not ascended high,
Along the blue, unclouded sky,
When, bearing pipe and wampum gay,
My counsellors were on their way,
And ere the heath had lost its damp,
They stood within the foeman's camp,
Prepared from further strife to cease,
The firm ambassadors of peace,
And urge their suit: the war-worn chief,
Assents in words direct and brief,
But calls on all the gathered band,
Before his star-crown'd tent to stand,
By chief or elder—there to treat,
And judge of peace, and limits meet;
Meantime with promise bids them speed,
To consecrate such holy deed.
Along the blue, unclouded sky,
When, bearing pipe and wampum gay,
My counsellors were on their way,
And ere the heath had lost its damp,
They stood within the foeman's camp,
Prepared from further strife to cease,
The firm ambassadors of peace,
63
Assents in words direct and brief,
But calls on all the gathered band,
Before his star-crown'd tent to stand,
By chief or elder—there to treat,
And judge of peace, and limits meet;
Meantime with promise bids them speed,
To consecrate such holy deed.
But ah! what mortal man can say,
He counts upon one single day
Of fortune, favor, health, or bliss,
In such uncertain scene as this!
For, ere another setting sun,
All—all! was vanished, lost, undone!
And while, from war-mark'd front and cheek
My young men washed the vermil streak,
And elders counsel and prepare
To drop the war-club and the war—
Upon a sudden—horse and men
Come rushing on o'er hill and glen,
And wide encircling field and cot,
With fire and sword, and hissing shot,
Assail my wonder-stricken bands,
Who stand with peace-pipes in their hands!
He counts upon one single day
Of fortune, favor, health, or bliss,
In such uncertain scene as this!
For, ere another setting sun,
All—all! was vanished, lost, undone!
And while, from war-mark'd front and cheek
My young men washed the vermil streak,
And elders counsel and prepare
To drop the war-club and the war—
Upon a sudden—horse and men
Come rushing on o'er hill and glen,
And wide encircling field and cot,
With fire and sword, and hissing shot,
Assail my wonder-stricken bands,
Who stand with peace-pipes in their hands!
64
Unarmed and unprepared, they spy
The foe perfidious drawing nigh,
Yet scarce can deem that deed so base
Should stain the whites' obdurate race;
Nor deigned they—when they felt th' attack,
With all its missile horror black!
To raise a lance—or draw a bow,
Or supplicate th' infuriate foe;
Or break that honest pledge of faith
Once given: but calmly meeting death,
There brave as noble martyrs stood,
Nor shed one drop of foeman's blood,
While three score warriors, honor-crown'd,
In mortal silence pressed the ground,
And twice six score the conq'ror saves,
To grace his tarnish'd sword as slaves.
The foe perfidious drawing nigh,
Yet scarce can deem that deed so base
Should stain the whites' obdurate race;
Nor deigned they—when they felt th' attack,
With all its missile horror black!
To raise a lance—or draw a bow,
Or supplicate th' infuriate foe;
Or break that honest pledge of faith
Once given: but calmly meeting death,
There brave as noble martyrs stood,
Nor shed one drop of foeman's blood,
While three score warriors, honor-crown'd,
In mortal silence pressed the ground,
And twice six score the conq'ror saves,
To grace his tarnish'd sword as slaves.
Perfidious! have I called—who slights
Or peace or war's time-honored rights!
For then I knew not other head
That band of fierce assailants led,
And not that chief surnamed The Hard,
Who erst received our warm regard.
But ours the wrong, and ours the woe,
We only saw one gen'ral foe,
And knew not name or rank, or who
Th' extended hand of peace withdrew.
Or peace or war's time-honored rights!
For then I knew not other head
That band of fierce assailants led,
And not that chief surnamed The Hard,
Who erst received our warm regard.
65
We only saw one gen'ral foe,
And knew not name or rank, or who
Th' extended hand of peace withdrew.
Me, wounds detained within my bower,
Upon that fell, destroying hour,
Nor deemed I rout, or battle roar,
Should vex my suppliant nation more;
Their hapless fate my bosom mourn'd,
And all to peace my hopes I turn'd.
Old as I was, and weak and scarr'd,
Meet seemed the thought, to be prepared,
At night or noon, in bed or field,
The prisoned spark of life to yield,
And leave to those with vigor rife,
Its sweets and sorrows, joys and strife.
One wish alone inspir'd my breast,
It was to see my Ednee blest.
Upon that fell, destroying hour,
Nor deemed I rout, or battle roar,
Should vex my suppliant nation more;
Their hapless fate my bosom mourn'd,
And all to peace my hopes I turn'd.
Old as I was, and weak and scarr'd,
Meet seemed the thought, to be prepared,
At night or noon, in bed or field,
The prisoned spark of life to yield,
And leave to those with vigor rife,
Its sweets and sorrows, joys and strife.
One wish alone inspir'd my breast,
It was to see my Ednee blest.
And now, around my cottage fire
Due care the festive rites require,
For oft had bold Clewalla sued
Alliance with my ancient blood,
And with meet gifts and parlance bland,
Implored my Ednee's timid hand;
But ne'er before—that gentle claim
Enforced in fame and valour's name,
For now in the same person blend,
The swain, deliverer and friend.
But still, a cruel fate in this,
Pervades, and mars the cup of bliss!
And while the gallant warrior stands
Expectant—at my willing hands,
A sudden tumult wild and high,
Rings fearfully along the sky—
“A foe—a foe!” the runners shout,
And all is hurry, whoop, and rout!
Due care the festive rites require,
For oft had bold Clewalla sued
Alliance with my ancient blood,
66
Implored my Ednee's timid hand;
But ne'er before—that gentle claim
Enforced in fame and valour's name,
For now in the same person blend,
The swain, deliverer and friend.
But still, a cruel fate in this,
Pervades, and mars the cup of bliss!
And while the gallant warrior stands
Expectant—at my willing hands,
A sudden tumult wild and high,
Rings fearfully along the sky—
“A foe—a foe!” the runners shout,
And all is hurry, whoop, and rout!
Short space there is for look or word—
The warriors, with one spirit stirr'd,
Seize club and bow, and fusil light,
And fly towards the gathering fight;
Clewalla leads—along the wood
Deep shouts resound, and cries of blood,
And soon the distant crack and roar
Proclaim another scene of gore.
And rumor rise, along the plain,
Repeats a tale of lost and slain.
From out a wood two hosts advance,
With glittering sword and pointed lance,
Rank upon rank—our light clad men,
Unbooted all, re-sought the glen,
There, tree to tree, to ward the blow,
And best their forest breeding show;
But while they rally, shout and form,
Behold athwart—another storm!
Fierce, heavy horsemen, sword on high,
Gleam through the woods and fill the sky.
Environed thus, no hope remains
But that a brave man's hand sustains;
Nor this availed, though plied with skill
O'er mead and valley, wood and hill,
And sixty brave hearts, slain that day,
Attest the fury of the fray;
Clewalla, known for daring cry,
Where bayonets cross and bullets fly,
With rampant arm is seen maintain
The strife, till sinking with the slain;
But whether wounded, or if low,
The pulse of life still kept its flow,
Spake rumor not; we searched in vain
Along the wood, amid the slain;
We traced each secret glen and shore,
But never saw Clewalla more.
Murmur there was of varying sound
That he to distant fort was bound,
A captive held; yet ever prone
To swell and shift, and change her tone,
We found it like an evening's tale,
And all our search was doomed to fail:
Or if he e'er returned, his tread
Was light as ghost of warrior dead.
The warriors, with one spirit stirr'd,
Seize club and bow, and fusil light,
And fly towards the gathering fight;
Clewalla leads—along the wood
Deep shouts resound, and cries of blood,
And soon the distant crack and roar
Proclaim another scene of gore.
And rumor rise, along the plain,
Repeats a tale of lost and slain.
67
With glittering sword and pointed lance,
Rank upon rank—our light clad men,
Unbooted all, re-sought the glen,
There, tree to tree, to ward the blow,
And best their forest breeding show;
But while they rally, shout and form,
Behold athwart—another storm!
Fierce, heavy horsemen, sword on high,
Gleam through the woods and fill the sky.
Environed thus, no hope remains
But that a brave man's hand sustains;
Nor this availed, though plied with skill
O'er mead and valley, wood and hill,
And sixty brave hearts, slain that day,
Attest the fury of the fray;
Clewalla, known for daring cry,
Where bayonets cross and bullets fly,
With rampant arm is seen maintain
The strife, till sinking with the slain;
But whether wounded, or if low,
The pulse of life still kept its flow,
Spake rumor not; we searched in vain
Along the wood, amid the slain;
We traced each secret glen and shore,
But never saw Clewalla more.
68
That he to distant fort was bound,
A captive held; yet ever prone
To swell and shift, and change her tone,
We found it like an evening's tale,
And all our search was doomed to fail:
Or if he e'er returned, his tread
Was light as ghost of warrior dead.
Betrayed, encompassed, beaten, prest!
Stern desperation fired each breast;
They burn with wild revenge and ire,
Re-light again the battle fire;
Re-poise the lance—re-plume the dart,
And rousing each bold warrior art,
Poured on the reckless battle tide,
Nor asked the boon which they denied.
Stern desperation fired each breast;
They burn with wild revenge and ire,
Re-light again the battle fire;
Re-poise the lance—re-plume the dart,
And rousing each bold warrior art,
Poured on the reckless battle tide,
Nor asked the boon which they denied.
And long they fought and freely bled,
And heaped their valleys with the dead;
For plain, defile, or wild retreat,
Still brought disaster and defeat,
And every hallowed wood and shore,
Was soiled with war-hoof, axe, or gore.
I mixed again amid the strife,
Light estimating limb or life,
And for a season strove to guide
And stem the furious battle tide.
But why repeat the bitter tale?
I saw each manly effort fail;
We fought, as if against a spell,
And, foiled, with Tuscaloosa fell.”
The poor Muscogee race may say,
They yet shall see a happier day;
That happier day I ne'er shall see,
I deem none happy if not free:
And with that war—so fates conspire—
Went out the brave Muscogee fire.
I, scorning on that soil to be
No longer honor'd, lov'd, or free!
Resolved to leave those sunny strands,
For distant woods and stranger's lands,
And bending far, still onward hied,
By vale and torrent, rock and tide,
With purpose high, and aim severe,
To close a life of suff'ring here.
Here in my house, which nature made
Without the white man's skill or aid,
A few short years shall close my eyes,
And leave my bones in northern skies,
And not a trace be left to show
Alhalla's fate—Alhalla's woe.
And heaped their valleys with the dead;
For plain, defile, or wild retreat,
Still brought disaster and defeat,
And every hallowed wood and shore,
Was soiled with war-hoof, axe, or gore.
69
Light estimating limb or life,
And for a season strove to guide
And stem the furious battle tide.
But why repeat the bitter tale?
I saw each manly effort fail;
We fought, as if against a spell,
And, foiled, with Tuscaloosa fell.”
The poor Muscogee race may say,
They yet shall see a happier day;
That happier day I ne'er shall see,
I deem none happy if not free:
And with that war—so fates conspire—
Went out the brave Muscogee fire.
I, scorning on that soil to be
No longer honor'd, lov'd, or free!
Resolved to leave those sunny strands,
For distant woods and stranger's lands,
70
By vale and torrent, rock and tide,
With purpose high, and aim severe,
To close a life of suff'ring here.
Here in my house, which nature made
Without the white man's skill or aid,
A few short years shall close my eyes,
And leave my bones in northern skies,
And not a trace be left to show
Alhalla's fate—Alhalla's woe.
The fall of Tuscaloosa, or the Black Warrior, is here symbolically fixed on as the fall of the nation. This noted chief was not, however, killed in battle; he came voluntarily to Gen. Jackson's camp and surrendered himself. He had disguised himself in mean clothes to prevent his being shot down by the soldiers, as a price had been set on his head. Hence the nobility of his declaration, on entering the General's tent—“I am Tuscaloosa.”
71
CANTO VI.
THE RE-UNION.
[Scene. The Cave; Alhalla, Ethwald, Oscar, Mongazid, Ednee, Clewalla,
De la Joie; with their separate retinues and attendants. Time,
Evening.]
As spoke the chief of waning fate,
And foeman's ire, and spirit's hate,
And hurried on through martial feats,
And routs, and battles, and defeats,
No tremor weak, or muscle's throe,
Betoken'd mark of inward woe,
Or, aught the scanning eye could see,
That stoic warrior should not be.
And foeman's ire, and spirit's hate,
And hurried on through martial feats,
And routs, and battles, and defeats,
No tremor weak, or muscle's throe,
Betoken'd mark of inward woe,
Or, aught the scanning eye could see,
That stoic warrior should not be.
But when he told of sacred seats,
And winding shores, and still retreats,
By trampling hoof, and rampart soil'd,
And sepulchre of gifts despoil'd
To light the torch, that spread amain
One smoking ruin o'er the plain,—
And that, though loved and cherish'd yet,
The land his soul could ne'er forget,
He sicken'd on that soil to be,
When now no longer blest or free—
An altered brow, a look of fire,
Betray a burst of scorn and ire,
And that high spirit, air, and gait,
Which rises still above its fate,
And though hem'd in by want or pain,
Stoops not to parley or complain.
And when he ceas'd—in conscious pride,
He drew his ample robe aside,
Revealing gorget, crest, and ring,
Th' insignia of an Indian King,
And cowry shell, and wampum wreath,
That ill-conceal'd the scars beneath,
And all might know, and all might see,
His double honors and degree.
Then folding back, with lofty air,
His wrapper-robe—erect and fair,
With martial pomp, and thoughtful mood,
In silent majesty he stood;—
An object, more ennobled far,
By high-born soul, and honored scar,
Than all the baubles, gaud, and show,
That mortal monarch can bestow.
And winding shores, and still retreats,
By trampling hoof, and rampart soil'd,
And sepulchre of gifts despoil'd
To light the torch, that spread amain
One smoking ruin o'er the plain,—
And that, though loved and cherish'd yet,
The land his soul could ne'er forget,
72
When now no longer blest or free—
An altered brow, a look of fire,
Betray a burst of scorn and ire,
And that high spirit, air, and gait,
Which rises still above its fate,
And though hem'd in by want or pain,
Stoops not to parley or complain.
And when he ceas'd—in conscious pride,
He drew his ample robe aside,
Revealing gorget, crest, and ring,
Th' insignia of an Indian King,
And cowry shell, and wampum wreath,
That ill-conceal'd the scars beneath,
And all might know, and all might see,
His double honors and degree.
Then folding back, with lofty air,
His wrapper-robe—erect and fair,
With martial pomp, and thoughtful mood,
In silent majesty he stood;—
An object, more ennobled far,
By high-born soul, and honored scar,
Than all the baubles, gaud, and show,
That mortal monarch can bestow.
73
While yet the chieftain's accents rung
Upon the mind, and chain'd each tongue,
With looks that spoke some latent care,
Though ill concealed by studied air,
Advanced, with ever sober speed,
That spare and silver'd Jossakeed,
Grave Mongazid, and in his hand
He bore a pipe, and held a wand,
And from his belt, securely drawn,
Impends the furr'd Metá-wyaun—
A sacred care—while eagle's crest
And amulet protect his breast
From ill by unseen spirit sent,
Or fiend's transforming punishment;
(Such as once fell, to his deep ken,
When gods assumed the shapes of men,)
And over all, the quiver light,
And javelin-club, for mortal fight
Contingent: Bold and free his tone,
Bow or obeisance makes he none;
But, pois'd erect as plummet's line,
Thus speaks of evil thought—design:
The while on Oscar casts his eyes,
Or Ethwald, bent in mute surprise.
Upon the mind, and chain'd each tongue,
With looks that spoke some latent care,
Though ill concealed by studied air,
Advanced, with ever sober speed,
That spare and silver'd Jossakeed,
Grave Mongazid, and in his hand
He bore a pipe, and held a wand,
And from his belt, securely drawn,
Impends the furr'd Metá-wyaun—
A sacred care—while eagle's crest
And amulet protect his breast
From ill by unseen spirit sent,
Or fiend's transforming punishment;
(Such as once fell, to his deep ken,
When gods assumed the shapes of men,)
And over all, the quiver light,
And javelin-club, for mortal fight
Contingent: Bold and free his tone,
Bow or obeisance makes he none;
But, pois'd erect as plummet's line,
Thus speaks of evil thought—design:
The while on Oscar casts his eyes,
Or Ethwald, bent in mute surprise.
74
Not far the golden orb of light
Had sped, on his aerial flight,
Nor gamed he yet the central sky,
Ere—bent on mystic rite and high—
I sought a lone, embower'd place,
And just within the wood's embrace,
But not excluding partial sight
Of winding shore, and waters bright,
There had I rais'd my humble stone
Of sacrifice;—that duty done,
Would have return'd, when object new,
Half veiled in mist, arrests my view;—
In human form it seem'd bedight,
Of giant limb and giant might—
Onward it came, along the strand,
With thoughtful pace and outstretch'd hand,
As if in act to speak, or press,
But changing, still grew less and less,
Till burst of sunbeam, quick and bright,
Displayed a stature human quite,
And as he came more near to me,
Behold, a noble Hillabee!
A youth of pensive mien, and tall,
Whom in thy thoughts thou may'st recall.
Had sped, on his aerial flight,
Nor gamed he yet the central sky,
Ere—bent on mystic rite and high—
I sought a lone, embower'd place,
And just within the wood's embrace,
But not excluding partial sight
Of winding shore, and waters bright,
There had I rais'd my humble stone
Of sacrifice;—that duty done,
Would have return'd, when object new,
Half veiled in mist, arrests my view;—
In human form it seem'd bedight,
Of giant limb and giant might—
Onward it came, along the strand,
With thoughtful pace and outstretch'd hand,
As if in act to speak, or press,
But changing, still grew less and less,
Till burst of sunbeam, quick and bright,
Displayed a stature human quite,
And as he came more near to me,
Behold, a noble Hillabee!
A youth of pensive mien, and tall,
Whom in thy thoughts thou may'st recall.
75
He stopt;—and drawing from his breast
A knife-sheath, oft its surface prest
With fervent lip—and it seem'd fair,
With inwrought quill, and stained hair—
Then look'd he up to heaven, with eyes
That sought the pity of the skies,
And once again that pledge he prest,
Then drew the blade—and in his breast
Had plung'd it deep, but from my stand
I sprang, and foil'd his lifted hand.
Pale and aghast awhile he stood,
Then flung that weapon in the flood,
And, with embraces warm and rise,
Thank'd and re-thank'd me for his life.
A knife-sheath, oft its surface prest
With fervent lip—and it seem'd fair,
With inwrought quill, and stained hair—
Then look'd he up to heaven, with eyes
That sought the pity of the skies,
And once again that pledge he prest,
Then drew the blade—and in his breast
Had plung'd it deep, but from my stand
I sprang, and foil'd his lifted hand.
Pale and aghast awhile he stood,
Then flung that weapon in the flood,
And, with embraces warm and rise,
Thank'd and re-thank'd me for his life.
EDNEE.
Didst thou not ask, what fate severe
Had driv'n the hapless wand'rer here?
What cruel ills his life had prest,
Or woes were rankling in his breast?
MONGAZID.
Speech had we some; but ever shy
And cautious, seemed he, in reply:
He spoke of wandering and of loss,
In war and peace, by wile and cross;
76
Upon the grasp, yet never near;
With much of wild and frantic lore,
That spoke a bosom pain'd and sore,
But ever indistinct, and still
He thank'd me for my friendly will.
EDNEE.
[aside]
Strange! tale most strange! ah, could it be!
But he is dead!—a Hillabee!
ALHALLA.
Saw'st thou no mark upon his breast,
To note the chieftainship? or crest?
MONGAZID.
Mark saw I none, and ill could test
What neither word nor sign exprest;
More if ye would of purpose ask,
Himself shall spare my tongue the task.
[Enter an Indian, clad in the Southern costume.]
What neither word nor sign exprest;
More if ye would of purpose ask,
Himself shall spare my tongue the task.
Ceas'd Azid's voice; when there appears
A form, in stature, looks, and years,
Such as the fondest wish might trace
When dreaming on the human race;
Bold, tall, upright of frame and tone,
The image of proud nature's son;
Thought mark'd his brow, and inward care
Had flung o'er all a pensive air;
The scars he bore, the eagle plume,
Bespoke a warrior, not a groom
Decked for the dance, with gay metasse,
And figured band, and bell of brass.
A collar of the sacred shell
He wore, that graced his figure well.
Loose was his robe of banded blue,
And ample fold, and gather true.
Light was his tread, as zephyr's sigh,
And youth beam'd brightly from his eye.
Cautious he passed the cavern bound,
Then paus'd, and gazed intently round.
It is Clewalla!—deftly o'er
He sped, across that cavern floor,
And at one rush, with joy confest,
He clasps his Ednee to his breast.
A form, in stature, looks, and years,
Such as the fondest wish might trace
When dreaming on the human race;
77
The image of proud nature's son;
Thought mark'd his brow, and inward care
Had flung o'er all a pensive air;
The scars he bore, the eagle plume,
Bespoke a warrior, not a groom
Decked for the dance, with gay metasse,
And figured band, and bell of brass.
A collar of the sacred shell
He wore, that graced his figure well.
Loose was his robe of banded blue,
And ample fold, and gather true.
Light was his tread, as zephyr's sigh,
And youth beam'd brightly from his eye.
Cautious he passed the cavern bound,
Then paus'd, and gazed intently round.
It is Clewalla!—deftly o'er
He sped, across that cavern floor,
And at one rush, with joy confest,
He clasps his Ednee to his breast.
No word is said—the sudden gush
Of feeling warm, and memory's flush—
Of cares, and doubts, and hopes, and pains,
Th' o'ermaster'd tongue awhile enchains,
While heart to throbbing heart careers,
And vents its joy, at first, in tears!
And then with quick response is heard,
Soft interchange of fitting word,
And all the fervid greeting kind,
That rivets constant mind to mind.
Oh love, there is no word, no sign,
No token half so sweet as thine,
When sighing hours, when ling'ring years,
When hopes deferred, when pallid fears,
Are banish'd all, and, at a start,
Kind heart is riveted to heart.
Whether the face be white or red,
Within a cot or palace bred,
Beneath the line, or at the pole,
An unwont rapture fires the soul.
We cannot say that sigh or vow
Were brought to mind, or uttered now;
We cannot say, that months or years
Were counted o'er amid their tears;
But this we can, and this we know,
That past and gone was every woe;
That former crosses—former tears,
Were cast behind, with other years,
And every thought that could annoy
Deep buried in the present joy.
Of feeling warm, and memory's flush—
78
Th' o'ermaster'd tongue awhile enchains,
While heart to throbbing heart careers,
And vents its joy, at first, in tears!
And then with quick response is heard,
Soft interchange of fitting word,
And all the fervid greeting kind,
That rivets constant mind to mind.
Oh love, there is no word, no sign,
No token half so sweet as thine,
When sighing hours, when ling'ring years,
When hopes deferred, when pallid fears,
Are banish'd all, and, at a start,
Kind heart is riveted to heart.
Whether the face be white or red,
Within a cot or palace bred,
Beneath the line, or at the pole,
An unwont rapture fires the soul.
We cannot say that sigh or vow
Were brought to mind, or uttered now;
We cannot say, that months or years
Were counted o'er amid their tears;
But this we can, and this we know,
That past and gone was every woe;
That former crosses—former tears,
Were cast behind, with other years,
79
Deep buried in the present joy.
And now had gratulation past,
And warrior-lover broken fast,
And dainty haunch, and wild-fruit shar'd,
By Ednee's gentle hand prepar'd,
And all in high expectance wait
The annals of his wayward fate.
And warrior-lover broken fast,
And dainty haunch, and wild-fruit shar'd,
By Ednee's gentle hand prepar'd,
And all in high expectance wait
The annals of his wayward fate.
CLEWALLA.
Little suits it tide or time
I should here descant on crime,
War or loss, mischance or boast,
That befell on southern coast,
Where, by cruel fate impelled,
As a captive I was held.
Little boots it, that I here
Once again should drop the tear,
Not by red man often shed,
Save above the honored dead;
Or, by sad recitals, throw
O'er this scene a garb of woe.
Let it, once for all, suffice,
That my path was hemmed by vice,
Power, misfortune, cross and ill,
Such as stoutest bosoms kill;
But I had a warrior's heart,
That not light with life could part.
I should here descant on crime,
War or loss, mischance or boast,
That befell on southern coast,
Where, by cruel fate impelled,
As a captive I was held.
Little boots it, that I here
Once again should drop the tear,
Not by red man often shed,
Save above the honored dead;
Or, by sad recitals, throw
O'er this scene a garb of woe.
Let it, once for all, suffice,
That my path was hemmed by vice,
80
Such as stoutest bosoms kill;
But I had a warrior's heart,
That not light with life could part.
Oft I fought with club and knife,
Strewing death's dark path with life,
But not often felt the blight
Fate prepared that fearful night,
When by river, rock, and dell,
There Alhalla's household fell:
As I lifted high my brand,
O'er the wide retreating strand,
Hot the fight and loud the yell,
This I only know, I fell:
Consciousness, as with a thought,
Left me, as the fight I fought,
Sudden, as, if in a dream,
What we do may only seem.
When, from this unguarded stroke,
First to life and sense I woke,
Darkness spread around the plain,
Shielding dying, dead, and slain;
Slowly rising from my gore,
Faint, I sought the river's shore;
Fatal act! to drink or die,
Purchased by captivity.
Yet my fate was not to fall
By the broadsword or the ball;
Taught by kindly hands to know
War doth mingle balms with woe,
And 'tis only on the field
Saxon men will never yield.
Soft they made my prison bed,
Kindly nurtured, kindly fed,
Till my wounds and fevered brain
Health and soundness felt again.
Strewing death's dark path with life,
But not often felt the blight
Fate prepared that fearful night,
When by river, rock, and dell,
There Alhalla's household fell:
As I lifted high my brand,
O'er the wide retreating strand,
Hot the fight and loud the yell,
This I only know, I fell:
Consciousness, as with a thought,
Left me, as the fight I fought,
Sudden, as, if in a dream,
What we do may only seem.
When, from this unguarded stroke,
First to life and sense I woke,
Darkness spread around the plain,
Shielding dying, dead, and slain;
Slowly rising from my gore,
Faint, I sought the river's shore;
81
Purchased by captivity.
Yet my fate was not to fall
By the broadsword or the ball;
Taught by kindly hands to know
War doth mingle balms with woe,
And 'tis only on the field
Saxon men will never yield.
Soft they made my prison bed,
Kindly nurtured, kindly fed,
Till my wounds and fevered brain
Health and soundness felt again.
Seasons now had passed their round
When I sought my native ground;
But I found no kindred tone,
Fire had swept it, friends were gone;
Men were ploughing, where, in cheer,
Once I chased the noble deer;
Piles of brick, and wood, and stone,
Rose to heaven—the engine's groan,
The big wheel's dash, the rattling train,
Announced the white man's iron reign.
When I sought my native ground;
But I found no kindred tone,
Fire had swept it, friends were gone;
Men were ploughing, where, in cheer,
Once I chased the noble deer;
Piles of brick, and wood, and stone,
Rose to heaven—the engine's groan,
The big wheel's dash, the rattling train,
Announced the white man's iron reign.
I sought thy cot—it was a plain
Where reapers reapt the yellow grain;
I sought the grove, whose solemn shade
Our council fire so oft displayed:
It was with angled piles beset,
Dome, dwelling, garnished minaret,
Or steeple called;—with pensive tread
I wound me, where repose the dead,
And long affection's pious hand
With evening fires illumed the land;
It was a shorn and mangled glade,
Where not a staddle cast a shade.
Where reapers reapt the yellow grain;
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Our council fire so oft displayed:
It was with angled piles beset,
Dome, dwelling, garnished minaret,
Or steeple called;—with pensive tread
I wound me, where repose the dead,
And long affection's pious hand
With evening fires illumed the land;
It was a shorn and mangled glade,
Where not a staddle cast a shade.
Still thee I sought, the wide west round,
But need I say, I never found,
Or where thou hadst in solace flown,
To what strange people, not thine own.
At length I came where I could hear
That thou wert living, but not near;
But still so balked by wayward fate,
My footsteps they were e'er too late;
Last, chanced I, with a random aim,
For still I heard thy father's fame,
Ethwald's rapid bark to spy
Bound to this magnific sky;
Him I followed—but no wail,
Word or gesture, told my tale,
Trusting some kind chance would ope
Fortune, which I scarce could hope;
And so led, by heaven's decree,
Ventured in this sylvan sea.
Ask me not of other woes,
Why I chose not—why I chose?
Why I did not—why I did?
Time will tell what now is hid;
For my joy that thus we meet,
Changing bitter scenes to sweet,
Is as flowing, fair, and free,
As kind heaven could make it be.
But need I say, I never found,
Or where thou hadst in solace flown,
To what strange people, not thine own.
At length I came where I could hear
That thou wert living, but not near;
But still so balked by wayward fate,
My footsteps they were e'er too late;
Last, chanced I, with a random aim,
For still I heard thy father's fame,
Ethwald's rapid bark to spy
Bound to this magnific sky;
Him I followed—but no wail,
Word or gesture, told my tale,
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Fortune, which I scarce could hope;
And so led, by heaven's decree,
Ventured in this sylvan sea.
Ask me not of other woes,
Why I chose not—why I chose?
Why I did not—why I did?
Time will tell what now is hid;
For my joy that thus we meet,
Changing bitter scenes to sweet,
Is as flowing, fair, and free,
As kind heaven could make it be.
ALHALLA.
Warrior, rest thee. Take the seat
Due thy rank and presence meet,
By ancient custom, right and power,
Deemed sacred in the forest bower.
It is our wont, that groom and bride,
As heart in heart, so side by side
Be-seat them: act and sight
Thus simple, seals our forest rite.
To-morrow, ere the dawning east
The sun illumes, prepare the feast,
Where joy and plenty shall preside,
To crown the warrior and his bride.
| Alhalla, or the Lord of Talladega | |