And age hath bow'd me, and the torturing foe, Bring me my boy-and he will his deliverer know!"

XIII.

It was not long, with eyes and heart of flame,
Ere Henry to his loved Oneyda flew ;

"Bless thee my guide!"-but backward, as he

came,

The chief his old bewilder'd head withdrew. And grasp'd his arm, and look'd and look'd him through.

'Twas strange-nor could the group a smile control

The long, the doubtful scrutiny to view :

At last delight o'er all his features stole,

"It is my own," he cried, and clasp'd him to his soul.

XIV.

"Yes! thou recall'st my pride of years, for then The bowstring of my spirit was not slack, When, spite of woods, and floods, and ambush'd

men,

I bore thee like the quiver on my back,

Fleet as the whirlwind hurries on the rack; Nor foeman then, nor cougar's crouch I fear'd,1 For I was strong as mountain cataract:

1 Cougar, the American tiger.

And dost thou not remember how we cheer'd, Upon the last hill-top, when white men's huts appear❜d?

XV.

Then welcome be my death-song, and my death!
Since I have seen thee, and again embraced."
And longer had he spent his toil-worn breath;
But with affectionate and eager haste,
Was every arm outstretch'd around their guest,
To welcome and to bless his aged head.
Soon was the hospitable banquet placed;
And Gertrude's lovely hands a balsam shed
On wounds with fever'd joy that more profusely
bled.

XVI.

"But this is not a time," he started up,

And smote his breast with woe-denouncing hand"This is no time to fill the joyous cup,

The Mammoth comes,—the foe,—the Monster
Brandt,-

With all his howling desolating band ;-
These eyes have seen their blade and burning pine
Awake at once, and silence half your land.
Red is the cup they drink; but not with wine:
Awake, and watch to-night, or see no morning
shine!

XVII.

Scorning to wield the hatchet for his bribe,

Gainst Brandt himself I went to battle forth:

Accursed Brandt! he left of all my tribe

Nor man, nor child, nor thing of living birth: No! not the dog that watch'd my household hearth,

Escaped that night of blood, upon our plains!
All perish'd!—I alone am left on earth!

To whom nor relative nor blood remains,
No!-not a kindred drop that runs in human

veins !

XVIII.

But go!—and rouse your warriors, for, if right
These old bewilder'd eyes could guess, by signs
Of striped and starred banners, on yon height
Of eastern cedars, o'er the creek of pines—
Some fort embattled by your country shines:
Deep roars th' innavigable gulf below
Its squared rock, and palisaded lines.

Go! seek the light its warlike beacons show;
Whilst I in ambush wait, for vengeance, and the

foe!"

XIX.

Scarce had he utter'd-when Heaven's verge

extreme

Reverberates the bomb's decending star,―

And sounds that mingled laugh, and shout,

To freeze the blood, in one discordant jar, Rung to the pealing thunderbolts of war. Whoop after whoop with rack the ear assail'd; As if unearthly fiends had burst their bar;

While rapidly the marksman's shot prevail'd: And aye, as if for death, some lonely trumpet wail'd.

XX.

Then look'd they to the hills, where fire o'erhung
The bandit groups, in one Vesuvian glare;
Or swept, far seen, the tower, whose clock

unrung

Told legible that midnight of despair.

She faints, she falters not, th' heroic fair,—
As he the sword and plume in haste array'd.
One short embrace-he clasp'd his dearest care-
But hark! what nearer war-drum shakes the
glade?

Joy, joy! Columbia's friends are trampling through the shade!

XXI.

Then came of every race the mingled swarm, Far rung the groves and gleam'd the midnight

grass,

With flambeau, javelin, and naked arm ;

As warriors wheel'd their culverins of brass,
Sprung from the woods, a bold athletic mass,
Whom virtue fires, and liberty combines :
And first the wild Moravian yagers pass,
His plumed host the dark Iberian joins—
And Scotia's sword beneath the Highland thistle
shines.

XXII.

And in the buskin'd hunters of the deer,

To Albert's home, with shout and cymbal throng:

Roused by their warlike pomp, and mirth, and cheer,

Old Outalissi woke his battle-song,

And, beating with his war-club cadence strong,
Tells how his deep-stung indignation smarts,
Of them that wrapt his house in flames, ere long,
To whet a dagger on their stony hearts,
And smile avenged ere yet his eagle spirit parts.

XXIII.

Calm, opposite the Christian father rose,
Pale on his venerable brow its rays
Of martyr light the conflagration throws;
One hand upon his lovely child he lays,
And one the uncover'd crowd to silence sways;
While, though the battle flash is faster driven,—
Unaw'd, with eye unstartled by the blaze,
He for his bleeding country prays to Heaven,-
Prays that the men of blood themselves may be
forgiven.

XXIV.

Short time is now for gratulating speech:

And yet, beloved Gertrude, ere began

Thy country's flight, yon distant towers to reach,