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ETACTEAL: 
 
 OR, 
 
 THE DOWNFALL OF THE NATCHEZ, 
 
 A POEM, 
 
 IN FOUR PARTS. 
 
 TOGETHER WITH OTHER PIECES, 
 
 BY 
 ROBERT F. COLEMAN. 
 
 CINCINNATI: 
 PUBLISHED BY THE AUTHOR 
 
 18 5 6. 
 
?S> J3-T* 
 
 
 
 CINCINNA T I 
 WILLIAM O VEREXD &• CO., Printers-. 
 25 West Fourth Street. 
 
TO THE 
 
 HON. .1 AMES M . PRESTON, 
 % \ i & |) o t m is ftistribefc. 
 
 AS A TOKEN OF RESPECT AND GRATITUDE, 
 BY HIS NEPHEW, 
 
 THE AUTHOR. 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 Of the two longer pieces contained in this volume, it 
 is only necessary to say of the second, that it is a versifi- 
 cation, and a very close one, of a wild Indian Legend, 
 originally communicated to the Saturday Evening Post, 
 (Phila.) The author has added very little, nothing in fact, 
 except the dream by which the hunter received warning 
 of his fate. 
 
 The first piece is entirely fictitious. If it be true, as 
 has often been said, that the best field for poetry, of the 
 narrative kind, is, that where a few great outlines only 
 of fact are seen dimly, through the mist of fable and 
 tradition, leaving all the details to be supplied hj the 
 imagination, the Natchez, furnish one of the best sub- 
 jects that could be conceived. All that we know, is 
 that they were a great people, and that they fell before the 
 French arms, at the begining of the last century. The 
 only further information concerning them is given in a 
 note to the first part of the Poem, and the following 
 from " Traits of Indian Character." 
 
 " The Natchez were a very considerable people. 
 They formed several villages, that were under some 
 peculiar chief, and these obeyed one superior of the 
 
VI PREFACE. 
 
 whole nation. All these chiefs "bore the name of Suns. 
 They adored that luminary, and wore his image on their 
 breasts, rudely carved. The manner in which the Natch- 
 ez rendered divine service to the Sun, had something 
 solemn in it. The High Priest got up at break of day 
 and marched at the head of his people, with the calu- 
 met in his hand. He smoked in honor of the Sun, and 
 blew the first mouthful toward the deity. When he 
 rose above the horizon they bowed, after the High 
 Priest, and contemplated the orb with their hands ex- 
 tended to heaven. They had a temple in which they 
 kept up an eternal fire. So proud were those chiefs — 
 who pretended to trace their origin to the Sun — that 
 they had a law that every Natchez who married a girl 
 of the blood, must follow her to death as soon as she 
 breathed her last." 
 
 Then follows a tale, illustrating this last clause, from 
 which I have taken only the nameEtacteal. 
 
 As the book is intended to meet the eye only of the 
 
 author's friends and relatives, he deems it unnecessary 
 
 to offer any other apology for defects, than that this is 
 
 his first attempt at book-making. 
 
 THE AUTHOR. 
 Burlington, Ky. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 Page 
 
 Invocation ix 
 
 Etacteal. — Part 1 10 
 
 Part II 34 
 
 Part III 52 
 
 Part IV 73 
 
 Conclusion 93 
 
 The Specter and Hunter 105 
 
 The Irish Girls 123 
 
 Lines (on the Death of a Friend ) 129 
 
 Song 131 
 
 Dying Wanderer's Request 132 
 
 The Cities of the Dead 135 
 
 Our Union 141 
 
 Lines (on Reading "the Art of Love") 143 
 
 Crossing the Delaware 146 
 
 Oh! bury me by my Kindred 149 
 
 Turkish War Song 150 
 
 Fragments 153 
 
 Notes to Etacteal 157 
 
 Notes to Specter and Hunter. 163 
 
INVOCATION. 
 
 Inspiress come, while moonlight pale around, 
 
 Sleeps in deep silence on the distant cones 
 
 Of mountains grand, with pines and cedars crowned ; 
 
 *Nbt ye who did inspire great Maro's tones, 
 
 Nor tuneful Flaccus : No, to other zones 
 
 And other times your influences belong ! 
 
 But thou, my country's genius, guide my song ; 
 
 Teach me to pour thy untaught melody along. 
 
 Attune my soul to those grand harmonies 
 
 That swell unceasing from thy forests deep, 
 
 As o'er their tops the breeze or tempest flies, 
 
 Blent with the cadence of the floods that sweep 
 
 In grandure o'er thy wide domain, and keep 
 
 A solemn low and melancholy tone, 
 
 Fit requiem for the nations that now sleep 
 
 Forgotten by them ; ages hence, that moan 
 
 Another race may hear, when ours like theirs is gone. 
 
ETACTEAL. 
 
 Sire of floods ! whose waters sweep 
 In solemn silence wide and deep, 
 From the North's bleak fields of ice, 
 Where thy springs keen winter freezes, 
 To the South, where breathing spice 
 With aroma loads the breezes : 
 How solemn ' t is to look on thee ! 
 How thrills the heart, how reels the eye ! 
 While gazing on thy majesty, 
 To think of thy eternity ! 
 Nations have flourished on thy shore, 
 And claimed thy flood as thy empire — 
 
ETACTEAL. 11 
 
 Alas ! those empires are no more ! 
 Thou'st seen almost their names expire. 
 
 i. 
 
 Yes, Mississippi, once along thy shore 
 
 A mighty race existed : long before 
 
 The great Genoese, with prophetic eye, 
 
 Divined the orbed world's deep mystery, 
 
 Or taught his venturous sail with bold career, 
 
 To seek ' neath western skies, an unknown 
 
 sphere ; 
 Here, when at eve in Europe's eastern clime 
 From thousand convents rose the vesper chime, 
 And on the tinted sunset air was borne 
 The long soft cadence of the Alpine horn, 
 While on thy bosom glowed the noontide ray, 
 The Natchez dreamed the languid hour away ; 
 And nature all in solemn stillness lay, 
 Save some lone vulture, wheeling slowly there 
 On balanced pinion, slumbering on the air. 
 
12 ETACTEAL. 
 
 II. 
 
 And when, one broad expanse of burnished gold, 
 Beneath Selucia's glittering pagods rolled 1 
 In slumbry pride, historic Euphrates, 
 Scarce undulated by the perfumed breeze, 
 That, laden with the scent of bidmusk flowers, 
 Came wandering from the hills at sunset hours 
 To catch another charm from gilded bowers, 
 And waft away o'er Mesopotamian plains, 
 In mellow notes prolonged the pensive strains 
 Which Iran's maids from strings melodious 
 
 flung, 
 Or from pomegranate groves, the amorous 
 
 bulbul sung; 
 As glorious Mithra to the west descended 
 In orient pomp, by golden clouds attended, 
 To Mithra setting, knelt the Grebir there ; 
 To Wachil 2 rising, bowed the Natchez here; 
 To different votaries known by different name, 
 In awe and adoration held the same. 
 
ETACTEAL. 13 
 
 III. 
 
 And when fierce Khaled to the heathen North, 
 Sped on his path of blood and rapine forth, 3 
 And, mad with martial and fanatic zeal, 
 Grave but the choice, "The Koran or the 
 
 steel," 
 Earth had no barriers to his winged flight, 
 And armies mustered to disastrous flight. 
 He swept with vengeful sword Cadesa's plain 
 Till Iran vanquished mourned her heroes slain, 
 And Mithra's sons beneath the Moslem sword 
 Abjectly knelt, and Allah's name adored. 
 Age after age o'er that fallen land he shone 
 But altars, votaries, offerings, all were gone ; 
 And from the Oxus to the Indian sea 
 The crescent rose o'er all victoriously; 
 And through her wide domain, on Iran's sod, 
 No knee was humbled to her ancient god, 
 Who o'er the ruins of his shrines of fire 
 Saw domes expand and minarets aspire; 
 
14 ETACTEAL. 
 
 From which, as died his farewell beams away, 
 The Muezzins voice called sinful men to pray : 
 But Allah's name alone was in the cry, 
 While Mithra sunk unhonored from the sky; 
 But when he sought the western hemisphere, 
 He joyed to find a people faithful here, 
 To hail him still with song and sacrifice, 
 And in his orb behold their god arise. 
 
 IV. 
 
 But here at last the appointed hour drew 
 
 nigh, 
 An hour of woe, thus told in prophecy 4 : 
 "When all the blood of all your people spilt, 
 Shall not atone one stain of damning guilt ; 
 When strange avengers from beyond the deep 
 In wrath along your lovely land shall sweep, 
 Till winds once odorous with the Magnol's 
 
 breath, 
 Shall reek with the revolting taint of death, 
 
ETACTEAL. 15 
 
 Raised from the ghastly heaps of mingled slain, 
 Encumb'ring, tombless, every blasted plain ; 
 When o'er the seats of your once swarming 
 
 nation, 
 Shall reign such general silent desolation, 
 That in broad day, unscared, the ravening beast 
 May boldly feed, till gorged with human feast; 
 And in your desert dwelling place be heard 
 The doleful screech of night's ill-omened bird. 
 But still a small, and melancholy band, 
 Aliens and exiles in their native land, 
 Crushed and debased, around their fathers' 
 
 graves 
 Shall linger long, scorned and degraded slaves. 
 Spared by a cruel mercy but to see 
 The fullness of their nation's misery, 
 Spared but to feel upon their souls the force, 
 In all its direful weight, of Wachil's curse; 
 Condemned through life a double grief to bear, 
 Their country's ruin, and their own despair; 
 
16 ETACTEAL. 
 
 Doomed to accept from their unpitying foe, 
 A sad existence, charged with every woe, 
 Or, yield it up whene'er his wild caprice, 
 Or wrath demands its ignoble sacrifice. 
 As when o'er earth autumnal draughts prevail 
 Some fiery demon mounts the rising gale ; 
 Before him in promiscuous route drive on 
 The furious cougar, and the affrighted fawn, 
 ' Till circled round by the pursuing fire, 
 Involved inflames, the smothered heajDS expire : 
 Yet some survive along its blackened way, 
 Blinded and scorched, an ignominious prey." 
 
 And long did those heart-bowed survivors 
 
 mourn 
 Their glory gone — gone never to return, 
 And oft at evening gathered on the steep, 
 To sing their woes, their country's fate to 
 
 weep, 
 
ETACTEAL. 17 
 
 In melancholy notes would they retell 
 The tale of Nona, and Etacteal ; 
 And how their nation's destiny was wove 
 Mysteriously with their illfated love. 
 
 LAMENT. 
 
 Thou wast lovely as the maids 
 Of the distant spirit land, 
 Who beneath the spicy shades 
 Waiting for their warriors stand, 
 When their toilings all done, 
 And their happy homes they seek 
 Far beyond the setting sun. 
 
 As a tall and rugged clift 
 Defying Eno's bolty power, 
 In some unsuspected rift 
 Cherishes one lonely flower : 
 
18 ETACTEAL. 
 
 So thy Sire's stony breast, 
 Proud and cold to all beside, 
 Love to thee alone confessed. 
 
 And could alas, such beauty be 
 Cause of all this desolation ! 
 Instrument of that decree 
 So direful to our land and nation ! 
 Yes, through thee did great Wachil 
 (Fairest daughter of his line), 
 All that dreadful curse fulfill. 
 
 But the crime was not with thee ! 
 Thou wast innocent of all ! 
 'Twas the deed of treachery, 
 By which we were doomed to fall. 
 Thou wast too lovely in thy gladness, 
 Men looked on thee, and their veins 
 Boiled with jealousy, and madness. 
 
ETACTBAL. 19 
 
 Thou wert in truth our evening star 
 The gem of our departing light, 
 Presaging all too well ( but ah ! 
 We knew it not ), the closing night. 
 And oh ! how dark since thou departed, 
 Suns 7 , priests, and braves are slaughtered 
 
 now, 
 And we, the remnant broken-hearted. 
 
 Here on the steep, where we have wept 
 Each evening to the sobbing flood, 
 Their holly fires the priests once kept, 
 And glorious Wachil's temple stood : 
 But, gone from earth are all of these, 
 And soon the moaning winds will bear 
 The death-song of the last Natchez. 
 
 VI. 
 
 An hundred years had passed away 
 An hundred years of joy and sorrow ; 
 
20 ETACTEAL. 
 
 Since round their last sad council flame 
 
 The doomed but fearless chieftains came 
 
 To ponder on that dread to-morrow, 
 
 When traitor-led the foe should come, 
 
 To seal the inevitable doom. 
 
 An hundred years had passed, I say, 
 
 When youthful Victor with his bride, 
 
 The young and lovely Rosalie, 
 
 Was roving forth at even-tide, 
 
 Along the lordly river's side, 
 
 Whose waters murmured dreamingly, 
 
 As suits the sunset of a southern day — 
 
 When last was heard that sad, and mournful 
 
 lay. 
 And there beneath a blasted tree, 
 Fit emblem of her cheerless state, 
 With chin upon her updrawn knee, 
 And eye that stared on vacancy, 
 An aged woman sat : 
 With none to comfort ; all alone 
 
ETACTEAL. 21 
 
 And moveless as the chiseled stone , 
 Fit model for an artist's eye, 
 Of age infirm, and desolate. 
 
 VII. 
 
 "Why mother, thus so sad and lone,"; 
 
 Said gentle Rosalie, 
 
 "Do'st linger here when day is gone? 
 
 Doth not thy people wait for thee"? 
 
 "Yea! daughter well do'st thou inquire, 
 
 They are awaiting me, 
 
 But, not beside the wigwam fire 
 
 Or ' neath the blossomed orange tree. 
 
 But there, when sinks yon setting sun 
 
 Beyond the farthest western hill, 
 
 They are waiting for the last sad one 
 
 Of all her tribe, who here alone 
 
 Is lingering weary still ; 
 
 And when she goes, from earth will die, 
 
 A mighty people's memory : 
 
22 ETACTEAL. 
 
 Unless my children ye will bear 
 With me a while the damp night air, 
 And listen while I may recall 
 The story of our sin, and fall." 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Then while the moon rolled high above, 
 
 They listed to a sad wild story, 
 
 Of hate, and jealousy and love, 
 
 That closed the Natchez' page of glory. 
 
 And still the fragments of that tale 
 
 Are floating on the southern gale, 
 
 In many a legendary song ; 
 
 But faint, and fainter still. 
 
 And now an humble minstrel fain 
 
 The dying notes would still prolong, 
 
 And weave them all in one again, 
 
 Though with no master's skill : 
 
 But well content if from his page 
 
 The genius of some future age 
 
ETACTEAL. 23 
 
 Shall catch the theme and make it known 
 In numbers worthier than his own. 
 
 IX. 
 
 Thus ran the tale : 
 
 A mournful fate was thine, 
 Nona, last offspring of our royal line ! 
 From proudest blood of all thy tribe descended, 
 Wealth, beauty, glory, power, in thee were 
 
 blended : 
 The great sun of the Natchez was thy sire 8 , 
 Whose voice an host of warriors could require, 
 With spear and bow, in all their plumed pride, 
 To raise the song of battle by his side ; 
 And swear upon the shrine of quenchless fire, 
 And imprecate their gods' devouring ire, 
 If in the combats fury they should quail, 
 Or at the bidding of their chieftain fail 
 The sacred ensign of their tribe to bear 
 1 Gainst new invader, from the realms afar; 
 
24 ETACTEAL. 
 
 Or o'er the country of their ancient foes, 
 From Ozark's pines to Appalachian snows. 
 But vain were all, wealth, valor, power, state, 
 To shield thee, Nona, from remorseless fate. 
 
 x. 
 
 Yet on the morning of thy day arose 
 No cloud presagent of impending woes : 
 Undimmed by sorrow, sped thy youthful prime 
 Bright as the skies of thine e'er vernal clime ; 
 Or if, like them, 'twas darkened for an hour, 
 Glowed but more freshly for the passing shower ; 
 And save that tender sympathetic thrill, 
 Responsive ever to another's ill, 
 That made the anguish of each heart thine own, 
 Grief, sorrow, suffering, all had been unknown. 
 But vain were all ; as all must ever be, 
 To shield the innocent from fate's decree ; 
 For where no vice to do its bidding is 
 Even virtue's self must bear its messages ; 
 
ETACTEAL. 25 
 
 And pity's hand was destined to fulfill 
 
 On thee, sweet one, the God's unchanging will. 
 
 XI. 
 
 Her gentle spirit once thus deeply bled, 
 When she beheld a pinioned captive led 
 Toward Wachil's shrine, to yield his youth- 
 ful life 
 Ignobly there beneath the priestly knife 9 . 
 Jfo doubt, ' twas but her wonted sympathy 
 That drew the big drops from her swimming eye ; 
 Wo fellow creature ever in distress 
 From pitying Nona had demanded less. 
 But other feelings quickly lent their aid, 
 To rouse the drooping spirit of the maid 
 From weeping pity's soft, but useless mood, 
 And give it energy, and hardihood, 
 To rescue, if such novel thing might be, 
 A victim marked for God ; nor reckoned she 
 Such misplaced mercy, were impiety ; 
 
 3 
 
26 ETACTEAL. 
 
 For that young captive bore a nobler mien 
 Than ere in dance or ball-play she had seen, 
 Where youthful warriors contending prove 
 Their grace and prowess to the eyes they love. 
 And that proud stamp of soul shone from his eye 
 Which all death's terror calmly can defy, 
 Come they swift speeding on the whistling 
 
 dart, 
 Or, in disease's pangs creep slowly round the 
 
 heart ; 
 Or, mid the fiery tortures of the stake, 
 That melt the marrow, and scorched sinews 
 
 break. 
 
 XII. 
 
 But now an awfuller ordeal awaits 
 Etacteal, within yon temple gates, 
 Which never ope their gloomy portals, save 
 To close again remorseless as the grave ; 
 And he who once across its threshold pass'd 
 Might cast around one lingering look, his last, 
 
ETACTEAL. 27 
 
 For earth nor sunbeam more would cheer his 
 
 eye, 
 Save when the God next clomb the eastern sky, 
 And through one solitary loophole shone 
 With level beams, athwart the altar stone, 
 Whose hollowed surface as it caught the gleam, 
 Received the splashing of his life blood's 
 
 stream, 
 As by the eternal fire's dim ghastly light, 
 The hideous priest performed the dreadful rite. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 That priest ! whose near approach would al- 
 ways bring- 
 That chilling sense of loathing shuddering, 
 With which men's souls instinctively retreat 
 From what at once they hate, and fear to meet. 
 And well might fear him, on whose haggard 
 
 face 
 No softer lineaments the eye might trace, 
 
28 ETACTEAL. 
 
 Where cold and stern, each muscle rigid drawn, 
 Proclaimed all pity and compassion gone ; 
 Not whelmed at once by furious passion high, 
 That pales the cheek and flashes from the eye, 
 Prompting the ready blow, but that delayed, 
 Blames not the hand its hasty fury stayed. 
 Such were a mood too noble far, to be 
 Compared to his cold cautious cruelty, 
 That asked nor wrong nor insult to excite — 
 In others anguish finding still delight, 
 And with its fiendish appetite uncloyed 
 Demanded still, and keenly still enjoyed. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 And well yon temple such demand supplies, 
 With frequent victims for the sacrifice ; 
 Amid whose gloom his life was passed alone 
 In silent vigils o'er its altar stone, 
 Which well he loved : not for its holiness 
 But, for its scenes of terror and distress ; 
 
ETACTEAL. 29 
 
 And guarded that dark shrine with jealous 
 
 care — 
 Not to defend it from irreverent stare, 
 That its mysterious sanctity might be 
 More awe-inspiring from its mystery ; 
 But that in its dark solitude remote, 
 O'er scenes of anguish he alone might gloat, 
 And mark the various changes horror brings 
 Across the aspect ; the strong shudderings, 
 Convulsive breath, and wildly rolling eye, 
 That speak the soul's keen strife with agony — 
 The rigid muscles, and the vacant stare 
 Fixed in the trance of effortless despair. 
 All these he hoarded, and re-counted o'er, 
 With miser avarice and wished them more, 
 Cursing the silence of his deafened ear, 
 That could not, too, the sufferer's groaning hear, 
 Which to his eye, the parted lips expressed, 
 Was bursting with each shudder from the 
 breast ; 
 
30 ETACTEAL. 
 
 And still reluctant lingered the deed 
 When morn intrusive bade the victim bleed. 
 
 xv. 
 
 Such was the awful prelude, such the fate ! 
 That in yon temple for Etacteal wait. 
 Perchance if all their terrors he had known, 
 A moment's weakness o'er his face had shone ; 
 For though in battle he could lead the van, 
 Where, in the deadly close, man grapples 
 
 man, 
 Where honor calls, and vengeance fires the 
 
 strife, 
 And glory waits upon departing life ; 
 Or, harder still, could passively await 
 Midst torturing foes, the slow advance of 
 
 fate, 
 Seated unmoved upon the blazing pile, 
 Could dare their torments and contemptuous 
 
 smile; 
 
ETACTEAL. 31 
 
 Recount their slaughtered friends, boast of the 
 
 debt, 
 And taunt their impotence to cancel it. 
 But here, in silence, with just light enow, 
 To show the knife, and to direct the blow ! 
 No friend to glory in the dauntless death ! 
 No foe to insult with the passing breath ! 
 With pride disarmed, in unseen solitude, 
 And hope in fearful certainty subdued : 
 Compelled to wear the anxious night away, 
 Yet curse the dawning of unwelcome day — 
 Oh ! from such rack of maddening sus- 
 pense, 
 The stake were a relief, its torture less intense ! 
 
 XVI. 
 
 But this unknown, Etacteal wounded, bound, 
 Passed slowly by; but bent now on the ground 
 An eye abashed, awed by the insults loud, 
 So thickly poured by the pursuing crowd. 
 
ETACTEAL. 
 
 To taunt and menace deigning no reply, 
 Than the curled lip, and proudly flashing eye, 
 Whose glance defied the utmost of their art, 
 To bow his soul or to appall his heart. 
 Tho' on all faces hate and triumph lower, 
 He can expire, not bend beneath their power. 
 But every eye did not regard with hate ; 
 One's streamed with pity for his hapless fate. 
 While other hands grasped tomahawk or stone, 
 One's wrung in anguish keener than his own : 
 And mid that cursing crowd one friendly breast 
 In stifled sobs its sympathy expressed. 
 'Tis Nona's breast those bursts of anguish 
 
 rend, 
 Those pitying drops, from Nona's eyes descend ; 
 But not unmarked, her silent sobs have been 
 Nor fell her tears of sympathy unseen : 
 For closely hath yon dark-browed chieftain 
 
 viewed 
 With jealous glance, each changing attitude, 
 
ETACTEAL. 33 
 
 And marked the varied sentiments that chase 
 Like fleeting shadows, o'er her guileless face, 
 As pity now — now admiration gains 
 The maiden's bosom, and a moment reigns, 
 Till flushing cheek and sparkling eye declare 
 The triumph of the tyrant passion there. 
 
 XVII. 
 
 But silent now the rushing crowds attend, 
 And on each side their lengthening lines 
 
 extend, 
 Up to the temple gate, 'twixt which array, 
 A bowshot's length, is left a narrow way. 
 With various instruments their hands they 
 
 arm, 
 Fit to torment, but give no mortal harm, 
 Even woman too, unsexed, is there to smite : 
 So deep the general hatred that could blight 
 The deepest instinct providence imprest, 
 Pity and gentleness in woman's breast. 
 
34 ETACTEAL. 
 
 Twere needless to offend the heart and eye 
 With that revolting scene of cruelty , 
 Suffice to say, the temple gate is won, 
 The doors revolve, — Etacteal is gone, 
 And dies at rising of tomorrow's sun. 
 
 PART SECOND 
 
 i. 
 
 The sun is gone ; how gloriously day dies ! 
 Like some proud queen along the western skies, 
 Gathering her glories round her to expire 
 As haughtily she yields her wide empire, 
 To her successor night ; whose milder reign 
 Comes dark'ning on, o'er forest, stream and 
 
 plain. 
 Oh ! what a galling tyranny were day's 
 If night came not ; a wearisome always 
 
ETACTEAL. 35 
 
 Of thoughts, and passions, fevers, that impell 
 To good — perchance — but oftener far to ill. 
 Day shows but manners, which is all it can, 
 But night and solitude reveal the man ; 
 And often on the lip in light hath sate 
 A smile, by darkness changed to form of hate ; 
 Which very change, as fades the twilight now, 
 Seems passing darkly o'er yon wanderer's 
 brow. 
 
 ii. 
 And who is he thus straying 
 Hither at set of sun, 
 To watch the last beams playing 
 Along the waters dun ? 
 Perhaps some forest poet 
 Or lover wandering by — 
 Would love or thought bestow it? 
 That scowl ? ah no ! his eye 
 Flashes not now with poesy, 
 Nor love's sweet thrilling agony ! 
 
 
36 ETACTEAL. 
 
 That burning glance, no madness soft inspires ! 
 But hate, intensest hate hath lit its fires, 
 And called to life no furious passions there, 
 With sudden bound, like panthers from the lair; 
 But like a snake, whose strong, swift, noiseless 
 
 coil 
 No power can break, no artifice can foil, 
 Revenge hath wakened, and both heart and 
 
 brain 
 Labor and throb beneath its deadly reign. 
 For in the soul that bears it, scheme on scheme 
 Darkly revolved are, until they seem 
 Like augmentations of its wrongs, and fall 
 Back on the heart, like drops of blistering gall, 
 Burning and rankling ; till it schemes again ; 
 Thus feeding its own rage on its own pain, 
 Till all its powers to one fell passion given, 
 Each nobler impulse from the soul is driven ; 
 And withered in the demons fiery lair 
 Lies all that once was great or good or fair. 
 
E T A C T E A L . 37 
 
 III. 
 
 But who is he, the dark browed one ? 
 
 Who thus at midnight hour alone, 
 
 Paces beneath the wan moonshine, 
 
 So close along the foamy line 
 
 That marks where waves and sands divide, 
 
 That his black shadow floats upon the tide. 
 
 What seeks the chieftain here ? To whom 
 
 are spoken 
 The words that fall so short and low and broken, 
 Scarce heard above the waveless mimic roar, 
 That laves his footprint from the sandy shore ? 
 No common brave methinks ; for now he gazes 
 Full on the moon, and in her clear light blazes, 
 Half hid beneath his feathery mantle's fold, 
 On his dark breast, a glittering orb of gold, 
 A glorious ensign, that, assumed by none 
 Who trace not their high lineage to the sun, 
 Twere deepest guilt in others thus to wear 
 The likeness of the flame God imaged there. 
 
38 Jti T A C T E A L . 
 
 And now the breezes lift the sable plume 
 That shadowed darkly o'er his brow of gloom, 
 And give his haughty lineaments to light, 
 Which well I ween, thou'st met with e'er to- 
 night. 
 It is Metilmico, the same stern chief 
 Who gazed so scowlingly on Nona's grief, 
 When late the sight of young Etacteal's woe, 
 Touched pity's fount and bade its streams o'er- 
 flow. 
 
 IV. 
 
 But see, he starts — what sound? a dashing 
 
 oar, 
 From the mid-stream a boat glides to the shore, 
 Rapid and strong the sweeping strokes are 
 
 given, 
 By which along the flashing tide ' tis driven ; 
 So swift ' twas a mere speck — ■' tis swelling — 
 
 and 
 Its thin prow now shoots out upon the sand. 
 
ETACTEAL. 39 
 
 The single occupant a moment stops, 
 To brush away in haste the beaded drops 
 That roll from his hot brow and lab'ring breast, 
 " Child of the sun, to see thee's to be blessed. 
 At early dawn, to-day, a runner said, 
 Your boat was wanted here ; I have obeyed." 
 "And well for thee — no rest — we must away 
 Nay ! (he may serve me, and dares not betray) 
 The council meets at sunrise — be thou there 
 jn my own place, and say thou met'st me 
 
 here, 
 With tidings from our people at the north ; 
 That from their hills have suddenly broke forth 2 
 Those mountain wolves, the Cherokees, who 
 
 deem 
 That they may safely strike us, while we dream 
 Of naught but feasting and gay revelry, 
 In honor of our Grod ; and say that I 
 Did thitherward straight hasten, leaving thee 
 To bid them peace, nor fear the Cherokee." 
 
40 E T A C T E A L . 
 
 " Child of the sun, but" 
 
 "Prate not thou, but hear — 
 Thy choice is now obedience or this spear. 
 I am secure, whichever thou may'st choose ; 
 Decide thee quick ; there's little time to lose ; 
 Obey, a rich rew T ard may yet be thine ; 
 Refuse — thou see'st this trusty weapon shine, 
 And know'st my strength of arm. But I 
 
 would spare, 
 Thou never injured' st me ; nor would'st thou 
 
 dare 
 To breath one word ; who'd list to tale of thine 
 Against a prince of Wachil's sacred line ? 
 " Chieftain, thy words are darkly spoken — still 
 I must, thou know'st, perforce, obey thy will 
 I know 7 not what thou purposes!," 
 
 " No more — 
 I understand full well — thy strongest oar — 
 Push off the boat, nor wonder that I row, 
 iVot up the stream but down , 'tis easier so, 
 
ETACTEAL. 41 
 
 Than toiling 'gainst the current, and the prize 
 Perchance may be as rich." 
 
 The light boat flies 
 Swift as an eagle's shadow, when he springs 
 From his tall eyrie, and on balanced wings, 
 Athwart the sun shoots on his distant prey; 
 So swift and noiseless glode the boat away. 
 
 v. 
 
 With mantle dropt, upright the Chieftain 
 
 stood, 
 His matchless figure swaying as the flood, 
 From wave to wave, bore on his light canoe ; 
 From side to side, the dipping paddle flew, 
 With rapid flashes, till the shallop feeling 
 The central current's force, and graceful wheel- 
 ing, 
 Turns down her curved prow, and needs no 
 
 more 
 To help her speed, the assistance of the oar. 
 
1J ETAO TEAL. 
 
 Then as she bounded merrily along, 
 The chieftain heard the voice of distant song, 
 Borne on the still air, from the festive town ; 
 And darker still the fierce revengeful frown 
 Grew o'er his face; blent with that scornful 
 
 smile, 
 The mocking triumph of remorseless guile, 
 Which speaks a bosom from which all is driven, 
 That marked its distant fellowship with heaven : 
 Oh ! far, by far less demon like-appears, 
 The ceaseless scowl yon gloomy pontif wears ; 
 And all the rage that fired yon multitude, 
 So loudly clamoring for its victim's blood, 
 Was human still, though in its wildest mood. 
 For simple frowns on human features show 
 That human passions only, boil below ; 
 Yet these alone with trembling awe we trace ; 
 But when a smile writhes o'er an angry face, 
 ' Tis fearful and revolting then, to see 
 A fiend in undisguised ferocity 
 
ETACTEAL. 43 
 
 Usurp the countenance where love should dwell, 
 With the dark portraiture of its own hell ; 
 Where dances mirth, deriding virtue's blame, 
 And smiles on guilt, no longer wed to shame. 
 
 VI. 
 
 And this was the song that was wafted clear, 
 O'er the moon-lit waves to the fugitives ear : 
 
 As thick as wild birds on the wing, 
 Forth from the west the foe came speed- 
 ing— 
 Now thick along the red war-path, 
 As autumn leaves their braves lie bleed- 
 ing. 
 
 Few were our people when the sun 
 Broke on the Arkansas plain, 
 And now the closing darkness sees 
 Scarce half alive remain, 
 
44 ETACTEAL. 
 
 Who few and faint, but resolute, 
 Around the standard stand, 
 While at its foot, their chieftain good 
 Lay panting on the sand. 
 
 Then spoke the noble stranger youth 
 Unto our wounded chief, 
 " Child of the sun, let me depart, 
 And bring to thee relief." 
 
 And by the dawn, to-morrow morn, 
 Above the battle yell, 
 Thou' It hear the keen blast of my horn, 
 For I will speed me well. 
 
 Around on the wide and level plain, 
 The encircling foe-men lay ; 
 And with a thousand jealous eyes 
 Kept watch upon their prey, 
 
ETACTEAL. 45 
 
 Until the first grey dawn appeared ; 
 Then starting from the ground, 
 A thousand yelling forms arose, 
 And hemmed our warriors round. 
 
 But soon a thrilling blast arose 
 Above the clamorous fight ; 
 Which when our fainting chieftain heard, 
 His glazing eye grew bright ; 
 
 And soon the foes the signal knew, 
 And westward fled amain ; 
 But of their swarming host, how few 
 Beheld their western homes again. 
 
 Now that young hero to our eyes 
 Is pleasant, as the morning star 
 Unto the lonely hunter's sight, 
 Who lost and wildered roams afar. 
 
46 ETACTEAL. 
 
 By him are Wachil's people free ; 
 Rescued are Wachil's sons from slaughter ; 
 And as a meet reward shall he 
 Be mate to Wachil's lovely daughter. 
 
 VII. 
 
 The closing words, though by the chief scarce 
 
 caught 
 Upon his face, that fearful mixture wrought 
 Of smile and frown. For he had loved the maid 
 With no inconstant passion, that can fade 
 And be forgot, and leave the bosom clear, 
 For other loves as fragile to appear. 
 Nor yet with that wild phrensy of a day, 
 Which dies in cold indifference away, 
 Or, sunk in plaining melancholy's mood, 
 Consumes the heart in hopeless solitude. 
 But with a deep, and ever 'during flame, 
 Inwraught and blended with the spirit's frame; 
 Unskilled to woo with flattering caress, 
 
ETACTEAL. 47 
 
 Too deep, too strong for gentle playfulness ; 
 Which wakened once within the soul, must 
 
 dwell 
 Forever there unquenched, unquenchable, 
 And changeless too ; until its idol turn. 
 In coldness its fond worshiper to spurn : 
 When changed to sudden bitterness — as sweep 
 The broken billows to their native deep, 
 When granite shores repell the advancing tide, 
 Its slighted ardor shrinks, with wounded pride, 
 Back to the withered heart to 'gender there, 
 Anger, hate, jealousy, revenge, despair. 
 Like some strong vine, with clinging tendrils 
 
 spread, 
 That fain would lift, its purple-clustered head, 
 To court the dews and fostering beams of clay, 
 But meets a clift impending o'er its way; 
 Back from the insensate touch its boughs recoil, 
 To pierce, reverted, their maternal soil, 
 And spread in rank luxuriance around, 
 
48 ETACTEAL. 
 
 In mazy webbs inextricably wound ; 
 
 Where every venomed thing its dwelling holds, 
 
 Scorpions, and snakes inwrithed loathsome folds: 
 
 So when Metilmico's devouring love 
 
 To mutual passion failed the maid to move, 
 
 Awhile within his agitated breast 
 
 Like trembling scales by equal burdens prest. 
 
 Contending feelings swayed his wavering mind, 
 
 To those or these alternately inclined. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 But when he saw for that young captive fall 
 More tears than pity asked ; and heard her call 
 Upon her sire with wild impassioned cry, 
 To rescue, or behold his daughter die ; 
 Saw that the fierce, and stern old chieftain 
 
 smiled 
 Relentingly, on his imploring child: 
 Heard the grim priest reluctantly receive, 
 The word that bade his rescued victim live : 
 
ETACTEAL. 49 
 
 Heard day by day the circling whisper tell 
 Of Nona's love for young Etacteal : 
 And how the youth's unsettled mien ex- 
 pressed 
 The mutual ardor of a generous breast : 
 As sinks at once the doubtful twilight, driven 
 By sudden tempests from the evening heaven, 
 The lingering tenderness of blighted love, 
 Its waning influence ceased at once to prove. 
 But still unquenched, within the chieftain's 
 
 heart, 
 (Though now in jealousy's ungentle part) 
 It long survived, and with malignant joy, 
 A thousand plans of grievance or annoy 
 Unceasing tried, like" baffled huntsman fain 
 To wound the victim, that he may not gain. 
 Yet secret hope, with her delusive wile, 
 Delayed the hour of utter hate the while : 
 Until that day — when from yon distant plain, 
 The exulting victors led their captive train — 
 
50 ETACTEAL. 
 
 He heard at once a thousand tongues proclaim, 
 Mid songs of triumph, his young rival's name ; 
 Beheld with scorn, the changeful multitude, 
 So lately clamoring for their victims blood, 
 Throng round that victim with admiring gaze, 
 And hail his coming with a nation's praise ; 
 While each gray sire recounted to his son, 
 A tale of deeds in desperate battle done, 
 And like Etacteal bade him ever be, 
 In peace as mild, in combat, bold and free. 
 Even chieftains, too, whose settled aspect 
 
 showed 
 The calm of thought, by age and power be- 
 stowed, 
 Relaxed their stern tranquillity awhile, 
 To greet the champion with approving smile. 
 And last of all, before the council fire, 
 Amid the applauding tribe, had Nona's sire 
 Proclaimed the lovely daughter of the sun — 
 A willing prize — by their young hero won, 
 
ETACTEAL. 51 
 
 And answering shouts had ratified the word ; 
 Which when the fierce Metilmico had heard, 
 Bent to one purpose all his powers arose. 
 A daughter, sire and people were his foes ; 
 Spurned from his soul each tie of duty fell, 
 Each milder influence bade his heart farewell ; 
 And envy, treachery and wounded pride, 
 The scheming empire of his breast divide. 
 But, prudence cold with cautious council sage, 
 Restrained the fire of inconsiderate rage, 
 And taught to assume dissimulation's mask, 
 To speed more surely its unhallowed task ; 
 That compassed in its toils, its victims all 
 Might find destruction in one general fall. 
 
 IX. 
 
 And now he goes to expedite the hour 
 Of full revenge, nor wants, alas, the power, 
 For thrice three white men has he seen expire, 
 In thrice three moons, by tomahawk or fire, 
 
52 ETACTEAL. 
 
 And knows full well, how long their kindred 
 
 bands, 
 Have viewed the Natchez' broad and blooming 
 
 lands 
 With greedy eye ; awaiting but the day 
 To wrest the prize with iron hand away ; 
 And now for vengeance, their rapacity 
 He goes at once to arouse and justify, 
 Though power, glory, state and honor plead 
 Against the worse than parricidal deed. 
 
 PART THIRD 
 
 i. 
 Lo, from the East in brightening robes of gray, 
 See twilight comes, brief herald of the day ; 
 Star after star expires, immerged in light, 
 As rapidly the shadowy vested night. 
 
ETACTEAL. 53 
 
 Mild in her closing, as her opening reign, 
 Resigns the world to light and toil again. 
 Brief holds the dawn her dim, uncertain sway, 
 On yon dull cloud th' upglancing sunbeams play, 
 And o'er its breast a thousand tints supply, 
 Whose fleeting splendors mock the wondering 
 
 eye, 
 Till bathed each fold in full effulgence bright, 
 It floats in heaven, one dazzling mass of white ; 
 Like Andes when serial artists throw 
 Divinest tints o'er his long piles of snow ; 
 Or like heaven's sparkling alabaster port, 
 Limned o'er by infant cherubim in sport. 
 
 ii. 
 
 Now on yon oaks, that fling their boughs sublime 
 O'er the dark fane, twin combatants of time, 
 Top, boughs and trunk catch the descending- 
 rays, 
 Till broad and bright the level'd radiance plays, 
 
54 ETACTEAL. 
 
 Full on the portal, from whose chambers dim, 
 As o'er the horizon peeps yon red rim, 
 Peals the deep roll of hollow sounding drums, 
 And solemn warning calls, "lo, Wachil comes!" 
 
 in. 
 And louder swell the far reverbring peals, 
 While slowly up in fiery grandeur wheels 
 The broad round orb ; Then, as the echo dies 
 On every house-top the dusk forms arise, 
 And blending in one song of grateful praise 
 A thousand tongues, the solemn anthem raise 
 Unto their idol god. — And can it be 
 'Tis error all, and blind idolatry ? 
 Yes ! but go search the long historic page, 
 Of erring man in every clime and age ; 
 Where subtil Grecian intellects have sought 
 To explore with powers of unassisted thought, 
 The mazy course of minds^ and nature's laws 
 Back to their author, the great primal cause, 
 
ETACTEAL. 55 
 
 And wildered in the unfathomable plan 
 Raise men to gods, and debased gods to 
 
 man, 
 Or turn to Mona's shadowy groves of oak 
 Where Druid priests with barbarous rites in- 
 voke, 
 Now Odin's awful presence, and anon 
 The thundering terrors of his warrior son, 
 Or where the Hindoo hath unmurmuring 
 
 borne 
 Unnumbered years of slavery and scorn, 
 Content 'till Bramah shall descend again 
 To raise the slave, and rend the oppressor's 
 
 chain ; 
 His broken shrines and altars to restore, 
 And raise his people, glorious as of yore. 
 Then, when at last thy long survey is clone 
 Turn if thou can'st thine eyes upon the sun, 
 And own the idolatry that bows to him 
 Of all idolatries the most sublime. 
 
56 ETACTEAL. 
 
 IV. 
 
 The morning prayer is done, the anthems end ! 
 From every roof the worshipers descend, 
 The humble, free in their obscure estate 
 From burdens that oppress the anxious great, 
 To pass the hours while smiling morn yet flings 
 The gelid breezes from her dew-sprent wings, 
 At once to prove their various plans begin, 
 As pleasure or necessity incline. 
 Some with the net the neighboring streams 
 
 explore, 
 And drag their struggling tenants to the shore ; 
 While some, more active, to the field repair, 
 With dextrous shaft to pierce the bounding 
 
 hare ; 
 And others still pursue the flying ball, 
 Or panting seek the racer's distant goal, 
 Where woman's smile and childhood's noisy 
 
 glee 
 Return each shout of bloodless victory. 
 
 
ETACTEAL. 57 
 
 V. 
 
 But they the great, upon whose thoughtful 
 
 brows 
 Unceasing care no sportive gleam allows ; 
 Each closely folded in his broidered vest, 
 As though to hide the secrets of his breast, 
 Too grave, too dangerous, for the vulgar view ; 
 With noiseless steps, the hundred paths pursue, 
 Which run converging from the outmost bound 
 To one great central point, the council mound, 
 That swelling gently from the plain appears, 
 A dubious work of unremembered years ; 
 By some old race as tomb or altar meant, 
 But now alas, their only monument. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Each chieftain silently ascends its slope 
 To the small plain that crowns its grassy top ; 
 Seeks his accustomed place upon the sod, 
 Assumes his pipe, extends it towards the God, 
 
 6 
 
58 ETACTEAL. 
 
 Then to its soothing influence yields away, 
 Rapt in deep thought or sullen apathy. 
 Nor deigns by look or gesture to enquire 
 What sudden danger lights this council fire ; 
 But sit as mute, and motionless as stone, 
 Till the great Sun shall make his pleasure 
 
 known. 
 He who had gazed on that still circle then, 
 Might have supposed them well no living- 
 men, 
 But for the curling wreaths of fragrant 
 
 smoke, 
 That from each lip in frequent eddies broke, 
 And the keen glitter of the restless eyes, 
 Which only dim when their possessor dies. 
 
 VII. 
 
 Now as the kindling flames grows high, and 
 
 warm, 
 The Great Sun rears his venerable form, 
 
ETACTEAL. 59 
 
 Which, tho' long years its vigorous mold have 
 
 wrecked, 
 Is manly yet, and gracefully erect, 
 As if the soul, untamed and fiery still, 
 Had scorned a drooping tenement to fill, 
 And to his mien a mingled aspect lent 
 Of life's extremes, so singularly blent, 
 That there the eye might wondering view, 
 
 combined, 
 An age of body, and a youth of mind : 
 Hoary his hair, with many a winter's snows, 
 His roving eye with summer lightning 
 
 glows, 
 Feebly that arm obey's the impatient will, 
 His tongue's vehement and persuasive still, 
 No trembling threat, no feebly mastered 
 
 rage, 
 Betrays the angry impotence of age, 
 But every word thrills musical and clear 
 As trumpet tones upon the attentive ear. 
 
60 BTACTEAL. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Princes and braves — the aged chief begun — 
 Lords of the Natchez, children of the sun i 
 A spirit voice in dreams of danger near, 
 Hath lit the council fire and called you here. 
 Then listen ye ! of Wachil's sacred line, 
 And hear me patiently ; these eyes of mine 
 Have not found slumber, nor these limbs repose, 
 Since that dread vision on my sight arose, 
 And gave my soul prophetic power to trace 
 The woes impending o'er the red-man's race. 
 
 IX. 
 
 Three nights ago, when on the welcome bed, 
 
 I laid in weariness this aged head, 
 
 Calm peaceful thoughts alone, possessed my 
 
 soul, 
 Till slumber bound it in her sweet control, 
 When suddenly I seemed alone to stand 
 On a high mountain in the spirit land, 
 
ETACTEAL. 61 
 
 Whence a vast landscape, spread beneath my 
 
 eye, 
 Lay vailed at first in dim obscurity. 
 Confused and formless, till my sight grown 
 
 keen, 
 Traced clear the utmost boundaries of a scene, 
 Such as the mind of mortal never wrought 
 In all its wild extravagance of thought. 
 Where winding vales in vernal beauty smiled, 
 'Twixt rocks, on rocks in barren grandeur 
 
 piled, 
 And flowery prairies undulated wide, 
 And forests towered in venerable pride ; 
 And mountains girt by gloomy pines below, 
 Tossed high in heaven their glittering crests 
 
 of snow 
 Ridge after ridge appearing to the eye, 
 Till fade their summits in the eastern sky. 
 Near in calm loveliness reposed the scene, 
 The earth all quietness, the heaven serene, 
 
62 ETACTEAL. 
 
 While far away, above careering storms, 
 Tall peaks alone heaved up their island 
 
 forms, 
 Round whose bleak shores the vapory ocean 
 
 rolled 
 In waves of mixed marmoreal and gold. 
 
 x. 
 
 Part of the scene, thus spread beneath my 
 
 view, 
 Seemed stranger land, but part methought I 
 
 knew. 
 Where yon broad river o'er the southern 
 
 plain 
 Rolls his dun volumes on the staggering main, 
 And sees, below him, by his bounty fed, 
 A subject realm in rank luxuriance spread, 
 Where golden fruits hang mid the fresh bloom 
 
 flowers, 
 And bursting buds ; that glorious land is ours. 2 
 
ETACTEAL. 63 
 
 Whence to the east, fringed with a thousand 
 
 isles, 
 The winding shore, the enraptured eye beguiles 
 To where the flowery promontory ends, 
 Where wave meets wave, and sea with ocean 
 
 blends, 
 Whose sounding billows with perpetual roar 
 Assail, recoil, and re-assail the shore, 
 Which thence retreating northward winds 
 
 away 
 With headland isle, and many a wide spread 
 
 bay, 
 Till colder skies and bleaker realms appear, 
 And winter rules o'er half the barren year. 
 Then westward drawn, an hundred lakes are 
 
 seen 
 Linked in one shining chain, whose blue 
 
 serene 
 In calm profound intensity outvies 
 The deepest hue of their cold northern skies, 
 
64 ETACTEAL. 
 
 XI. 
 
 These with the mighty floods, that rolled 
 
 between, 
 Marked the bold lines of that tremendous scene, 
 The red man's home, and heritage alone, 
 Rich in the wealth of every varied zone. 
 There fur-clad tribes o'er northern plains pur- 
 sue 
 The panting moose, hard lab'ring through the 
 
 snow, 
 Or fearless climbing, drive the affrighted bear, 
 With blazing faggot from his wintry lair. 
 'Neath milder skies the half clad hunter here, 
 Through the long day, pursues the bounding 
 
 deer, 
 Or cautious creeps, with stealthy step and 
 
 slow, 
 To approach unseen the wary buffalo ; 
 Or threading silently the lonely wood, 
 Dares the fierce panther in his wildest mood, 
 
ETACTEAL. 65 
 
 And with his tawny spoils returns to claim, 
 A promised bridal, or a warrior's name. 
 And nearer still, where endless summers reign 
 In torrid radiance o'er the southern plain, 
 Where gloomy cypress weaves funereal shades, 
 And hot winds fan the rustling everglades, 
 The bellowing monarch of the reedy fen 
 Prolongs unscathed the doubtful war with 
 
 men, 
 With glistening teeth in horrible array, 
 And brandished tail, stands sullenly at bay, 
 While rattling shafts from his tough armor 
 
 glide, 
 And blunted spears spring shivering from his 
 
 side 
 Till some unguarded point at length displayed, 
 Gives instant entrance to the dexterous blade ; 
 When his huge carcass owns the deadly wound, 
 And beats convulsed w T ith useless rage, the 
 
 ground ; 
 
66 ETACTEAL. 
 
 Or sudden plunging, bears the expected priz e 
 From baffled foes, and half avenged dies. 
 
 XII. 
 
 As thus all seeing from that mountain head, 
 My roving eye the wondrous scene surveyed, 
 "Tis all our own, half consciously I cried, 
 And instant to the words a voice replied : 
 I gazed around — but, all was empty air 
 Above, beneath, — no mortal form was there, 
 But thrice repeated clear, distinct, and low, 
 Came that mysterious voice responding — no ! 
 Then speechless all, with terror and amaze, 
 I turned beneath me an enquiring gaze, 
 And low a change ! The red man now no more 
 Held the dominion of the eastern shore ; 
 For tasseled fields were waving wide and gay, 
 O'er prostrate forests mould'ring in decay, 
 And silent now the desert wigwams stand, 
 While prouder dwellings rise o'er all the land. 
 
ETACTEAL. 67 
 
 Even as I gazed, full many a winged canoe, 
 Bearing whole tribes, across the ocean flew, 
 And striving still (as they had vainly striven) 
 Far to the west I saw my people driven, 
 For armed with thunder, and the lightning's 
 
 flame, 
 Those pale invaders on the red men came ; 
 Yet smiled I oft to mark the midnight skies 
 Glow with the death fires of their enemies. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 Their cities too, by northern lakes ascend, 
 (Tho' there the murderer calls his victim 
 
 friend,) 
 All his rude wealth with eager hand receives, 
 And for its price a poisoned chalice gives ; 
 Which, tasted once, the phrenzied wretch must 
 
 drain, 
 Though with each draught, fresh madness 
 
 fires the brain, 
 
68 ETACTEAL. 
 
 And turns the murderous tomahawk or knife, 
 Alike on brothers, and on foeman's life. 
 But one is there, to nobler mission given, 
 ( To guide the red man to the paleface heaven) 
 Who launching far, each unknown sea ex- 
 plores, 
 And wakes the echo of unpeopled shores : 
 Or dares with aspect, resolute as mild, 
 The howling terrors of the savage wild, 
 Or tracks o'er boundless plains his dubious 
 
 way, 
 The stars his nightly guides, the sun by 
 
 day; 
 Till stretched at last — all toil and suffering 
 
 o'er — 
 His weary limbs upon a distant shore, 
 And finds in its lone solitude a grave, 
 His only dirge, the ever murmuring wave. 3 
 Where without mound or monumental stone, 
 He sleeps, his humble sepulcher unknown. 
 
ETACTEAL. 69 
 
 XIV. 
 
 The Aztec, too, beholds the hostile bands 
 Seek his dread shore, and brave his burning- 
 lands, 
 For gold alone; and from the dreary mines — 
 From ruined sepulchers — and from the shrines, 
 With impious hands they snatch the glittering 
 
 store — 
 Here turning from them to behold no more, 
 I heard again that voice, distinct and low, 
 In angry tones pronounce — Metilmico! 
 And then my soul the bands of slumber 
 
 broke, 
 And troubled, feverish, unrefreshed, I woke, 
 But to recall, and deeply ponder still, 
 On that dread presage of impending ill; 
 And read it plainly ; for too well it taught 
 A tale of ruin, and by treachery wrought! 
 Fulfillment of that last and dire decree, 
 Against our tribe, foretold in prophecy; 
 
70 ETACTEAL. 
 
 And who the traitor, but the absent one — 
 Metilmico — descendant of the sun? 
 
 xv. 
 
 Thus spoke the chief; and pausing for 
 
 reply, 
 Swept that grim circle with an angry eye, 
 Where every face — its cold indifference gone — 
 JNfow with the fire of keen excitement shone; 
 And with a thousand varied signs expres't, 
 How strong the emotion of each listener's 
 
 breast, 
 For scorn and doubt, anxiety and fear 
 Were pictured, all in vivid contrast there, 
 But bold the man who doubting word had 
 
 dared, 
 Against what that old stern cacique de- 
 clared ; 
 Yet bolder still, he who believed and sneered, 
 And boldest he who dared confess, he — feared. 
 
ETACTEAL. 71 
 
 So while his thoughts each chieftain pondered 
 
 well, 
 Unbroken silence o'er the council fell, 
 Till from the thronging multitude, that now 
 Gathered with anxious countenances below, 
 With humble mien advanced an unknown 
 
 brave, 
 And said, with trembling accents, "Chiefs, I 
 
 crave 
 Your ears a moment, while I briefly show, 
 Why from the council stays Metilmico. 
 Last night I brought him tidings from the 
 
 North, 
 That from their hills have suddenly broke 
 
 forth, 
 Those ancient foes, the Cherokees ; and he 
 Did thitherward straight hasten, leaving me 
 To bid you still in quietude repose, 
 And trust his arm to curb our vaunting 
 
 foes." 
 
72 ETACTEAL. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 Then as he ceased, from all the council rose 
 A short, deep murmur of suppressed applause ; 
 But the Great Sun, with rising anger cried, 
 "Ah! think you, chiefs, the warning spirit 
 
 lied! 
 If there's no treachery, nor peril near, 
 Why was there whispered in my slumbering 
 
 ear, 
 Mid dreams of slaughter, blight and over- 
 throw 
 That hitherto fair name, Metilmico? 
 Listen, ye princes ! have ye not all seen, 
 The sullen scowl that on his face has been 
 Since the brave youth, Etacteal, hath won, 
 By noblest deeds, the daughter of the Sun, 
 Who long and hopefully, ye all well know, 
 Was sought in marriage by Metilmico. 
 And was not this sufficient to inspire, 
 Such haughty spirit with relentless ire ? 
 
ETACTEAL. 73 
 
 And will he pause to single from the throng, 
 The authors only of his fancied wrong ? 
 As soon the puma's dying rage shall tear 
 The hunter, only, who has launched the spear, 
 And leave all others quietly to be 
 Spectators of his mortal agony. 
 Then hear me, princes, braves, and Natchez 
 
 all, and know, 
 ' Tis he alone, aims this destroying blow ! 
 Three days are his, but when the third shall 
 
 rise, 
 If he appear not here — unheard he dies! 
 
 PART FOURTH 
 
 i. 
 
 Three days are gone. Again the flame God 
 comes, 
 
 Hailed by the roll of hollow-sounding drums ; 
 
 7 
 
14 ETACTEAL. 
 
 Again bowed thousands swell the adoring 
 
 strain, 
 Not from the house-tops, but along the plain, 
 Parents and children kneeling on the sod 
 In one vast marshalled column praise their 
 
 God. 
 The holy standard flashes in the van, 
 Where knees are bent that never bowed to 
 
 man; 
 For there the princes of the royal blood 
 Adore at once a father and a God; 
 Next comes a priestly train, enrobed in 
 
 white, 
 And veteran braves, scarred o'er in many a 
 
 fight; 
 Then younger warriors, a manly throng, 
 In louder notes the choral hymn prolong; 
 And maidens, too, are kneeling graceful there, 
 With orange blooms twined in their flowing- 
 hair, 
 
ETACTEAL. 75 
 
 Whose liquid tones, melodious and clear, 
 Blending with harsher voices, charm the ear. 
 
 Hail Wachil, hail ! while rising slowly, 
 Through thy eastern portal now ; 
 
 Behold thy people bending lowly, 
 To thee they bow. 
 
 Oh hear their prayer, 
 
 Ruler of ocean, earth and air ! 
 
 To thee alone, our prayers ascend, 
 
 Thou art their God alone, oh be also our 
 friend. 
 
 Look, Lord of light, look on the earth! 
 
 She waits thy influences alone, 
 To give a thousand beauties birth, 
 
 But wanting it yields none. 
 Oh sovereign dread, 
 That influence shed, 
 For thee all things below obey! 
 
76 ETACTEAL. 
 
 The heaven itself is but thy throne, 
 Ocean and air are thine alone, 
 And man and all he has, thine own. 
 
 But chiefly now, oh Lord of light, 
 Attend with influences benign, 
 
 And sanctify the holy rite, 
 
 That joins a daughter of thy line, 
 
 With him, who in the battle-field 
 
 Has stood thy people's prop and shield. 
 
 Come mighty Lord, 
 
 Thy smiles accord, 
 
 That still thy glorious lineage, 
 
 Unbroken on from age to age, 
 
 May still descend, till days shall be 
 
 JNTo longer meted out by thee. 
 
 ii. 
 As sinks the closing cadence of the strain, 
 The kneeling hosts rise slowly from the plain, 
 
ETAOTEAL. 77 
 
 And towards the van where yon broad stan- 
 dard waves, 
 Matrons and maidens, priests and youthful 
 
 braves, 
 To rolling drums and trumpet's liveliest tone, 
 In circling ranks move regularly on, 
 And closing, deeply compass on each side 
 The royal band, whose glittering ranks divide, 
 And on the sod, still kneeling humbly there, 
 Etacteal and his lovely bride appear. 
 
 in. 
 His manly form as if for battle nigh, 
 In all a princes' warlike panoply 
 Of feathered vest and broidered belt arrayed, 
 Whose opening folds upon his breast displayed 
 The golden orb, that ne'er before was won, 
 Save by the sacred offspring of the sun. 
 And piled before him on the earth appear 
 His shield and quiver, tomahawk and spear; 
 
78 ETACTEAL. 
 
 Emblems that in life's weary conflict, he 
 The strong support and combatant must be ; 
 Forever ready with protecting arm 
 To shield his partner from impending harm, 
 And in each peril, guide and guardian stand, 
 To the dim borders of the spirit land. 
 And she, the maiden, kneeling meekly by 
 In snowy robes of spotless purity, 
 In flowers and fruits, a fragrant pyramid, 
 The lesson of her humbler duties read. 
 For hers 'twill be with loves untiring art, 
 To inspire and soothe the care o'er burdened 
 
 heart ; 
 To light with smiles the darkly lowering 
 
 day, 
 To strew with sweets the weary desert way ; 
 And when the hard won victory is his, 
 To woo to scenes of calm connubial bliss, 
 And chase with quiet joy's serener ray 
 The austere gloom of stern resolve away. 
 
ETACTEAL. 79 
 
 IV. 
 
 Tims knelt they there, in silence, side by side, 
 The youthful warrior and his lovely bride, 
 While murmuring low, the expectant multitude 
 The scene with fond anticipation viewed ; 
 Until at length with solemn dignity 
 A venerable white haired priest drew nigh 
 Whose hoary beard, pure as his snowy vest, 
 In silver waves swept down his aged breast, 
 Thro' which, half hidden, with a golden sheen, 
 His royal badge, the mimic orb was seen. 
 Tama his name ; of Wachil's sons the best, 
 At once judge, prophet, lawgiver and priest : 
 Whose presence gives the graceful group com- 
 plete 
 Of strength and beauty, bowed at wisdom's feet. 
 
 v. 
 
 One withered hand on either head he laid ; 
 A moment paused as if his spirit prayed ; 
 
80 ETACTEAL. 
 
 Then to the youth, with trembling accent said, 
 "Take thine arms, and rise my son ! 
 For life's battle is begun ; 
 A stubborn battle without end ! 
 Though the weary sun descend, 
 Lay not down the shield and spear, 
 For thy foemen still are near ! 
 Around, below thee, and above, 
 To peril thee, or this thy love ; 
 Life is toil, but toil is glory, 
 Rise, my son, that life's before thee. 
 
 Daughter rise and twine thy flowers 
 For thy warrior's victor hours ; 
 And pluck thy sweetest fruits to yield 
 Refreshment in the doubtful field ! 
 When from the tumultuous press ! 
 For a moment's quietness 
 He turns with weary heart and limb : 
 Then 'tis thine to comfort him ! 
 
ETACTEAL. 81 
 
 Be this through life thy only glory ; 
 Daughter rise, that life's before thee. 
 
 Youth and maiden, swear ye true, 
 By the rising God ye view, 
 By the altar of that God, 
 Before this listening multitude ; 
 That your holy union never 
 Man nor time nor place shall serve, 
 Till Wachil's own command divide, 
 And call his daughter to his side ; 
 Or bid thee join the shadowy band, 
 Warrior, in the silent land 
 
 VI. 
 
 Each bowed, and swore ; but the responsive 
 
 word, 
 Drowned in a rising tumult, was unheard. 
 For scarce the priest the closing word had 
 
 spoke, 
 
 8 
 
82 ETACTEAL. 
 
 When from the assembled multitude there 
 
 broke, 
 No clamorous gladness of a nations joys, 
 But terror, shrieking in amazement's voice. 
 For when that rite unholy was begun, 
 Thick gathering mists obscured the rising- 
 sun ; 
 And when the irrevocable vow. was spoke, 
 From all the horizon dark clouds of smoke, 
 Rapid in dense vast volumes upward rolled, 
 Round the red orb, and from each sulphry 
 
 fold, 
 Long lurid flashes thick and fast were flung, 
 And through the startled air the crashing 
 
 thunder rung : 
 While murmurs from beneath gave the reply 
 Of earth, responsive to the wrathful sky ; 
 And Mississippi backward rolled again, 
 Poured his brown deluge o'er the trembling- 
 plain. 
 
ETACTEAL. 83 
 
 VII. 
 
 A moment then when burst that first loud cry, 
 Gazing bewildered on the black' ning sky, 
 With upturned face, all the multitude 
 In blank amaze and speechless horror stood ; 
 As startled herd, before it bound away, 
 Pauses awhile, new dangers to survey, 
 Then bursts the stupid trance, and scours 
 
 amain, 
 In panic terror scattered o'er the plain ; 
 A moment thus, while heaven yet darker grew, 
 And deeper peals came rumbling from below, 
 Till solid earth 'gan vibrate to the sound, 
 Like ocean troubled in his depths profound ; 
 That stricken throng, in vacant wonder stood, 
 Speechless and moveless, gazing toward the 
 
 God: 
 Then sudden, as when southern storms pre- 
 vail, 
 Some frozen river rends its wintry mail, 
 
84 ETACTEAL. 
 
 With loud and fast reiterated roars 
 
 Glanced from the centre to the sounding 
 
 shores, 
 A nation's wail of terror and despair 
 Burst forth at once upon the gloomy air. 
 For o^er each mind, those final woes foretold 
 Against their tribe by prophecy of old 
 Came, like remembrance of forgotten dread, 
 Or nightly vision of some danger fled ; 
 As if at once, a voice in every ear 
 Had poured the tale of desolation near, 
 And every heart to strong emotions wraught, 
 Of fear, despair, or stern, or tender thought. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Some prostrate, with their faces on the sod, 
 With shriek and groans, would deprecate the 
 
 Ood; 
 Some to the town with trembling feet repair, 
 Mid household scenes to wait destruction there ; 
 
ETACTEAL. 85 
 
 While others (and most numerous far were 
 
 they) 
 Towards the near temple bend their anxious 
 
 way: 
 Princes and priests in that disordered throng 
 Unheeded, rush tumultuously along, 
 And man's exclaim and woman's wail arose, 
 Blended with childhood's imitative woes ; 
 For weakness, strength, and poverty, and 
 
 power, 
 Found all one level, in that awful hour. 
 All sought the fane, with sacrifice and prayer, 
 T ' avert their doom, or meet it only there. 
 
 IX. 
 
 But when the first the eastern portal won, 
 Wide, from within, the lofty doors were flung, 
 And sudden, that grim priest before them 
 
 stood, 
 His vesture rent, and dyed with recent blood ; 
 
86 ETACTEAL. 
 
 His meager arms tossed frantically on high, 
 Foam on his lip, and phrensy in his eye, 
 Nor greeting gave, nor pause, the scene to 
 
 scan, 
 But wildly thus a malison began, 
 
 x. 
 
 Woe! woe, degenerate children of the sun, 
 At last the deed, the accursed deed is 
 
 done ! 
 I've seen it in an omen dire, 
 Read it in tracery of fire ! 
 And o'er the dead unbroken reign 
 Of silence, that has bound my brain, 
 In stunning thunder I have heard 
 The prophet's woe-denouncing word. 
 Woe to the heaven ! It thus was written, 
 Woe to the earth ! It thus was spoken, 
 Woe to the Natchez, for the line 
 That bound them to their Grod is broken ; 
 
E T A C T E A L . 87 
 
 For now, at last, the fatal deed is done— 
 
 A slave hath wed a daughter of the sun. * 
 
 Then thick before my dazzled eyes 
 
 A cloud of mist appeared to rise, 
 
 Till midnight darkness filled the fane ; 
 
 And when it rolled away again 
 
 A pale-man o'er the altar stood, 
 
 And at his feet, defiled with blood, 
 
 A vanquished red man lay, 
 
 Who seemed to raise his eyes to pray : 
 
 But lightnings fired the gloomy air, 
 
 And thunder drowned the voice of prayer ; 
 
 As if the angry power on high 
 
 Did spurn the wretch's suppliant cry. 
 
 The red man turned his face upon the sod, 
 
 And o'er his neck the pale-faced victor trod, 
 
 And such the fate, ye Natchez, such the doom, 
 
 That soon on all your kindred tribes shall come; 
 
 ° See note 8 to Part I. 
 
88 ETACTEAL. 
 
 For you, alas! the destined hour is near, 
 With all its woes ; behold its messenger. 
 
 XI. 
 
 From that bold steep on which the temple 
 
 stood, 
 The raptured eye might sweep the mighty flood, 
 Above, below, with one far-reaching glance, 
 And mark each object on its dim expanse. 
 And now afar below, one lone canoe, 
 Small as a sea-gull to the straining view, 
 Appeared upon the stream, now seen — now 
 
 gone, 
 Yet dashing steadily and swiftly on, 
 Across the waves impelled with rapid oar, 
 As if some tidings of dismay it bore. 
 Awhile, as near and near it gathered nigh, 
 Each watched its course with eager anxious eye, 
 Till bearing shoreward it appeared to glide, 
 When by each pathway to the water side 
 
ETACTEAL. 89 
 
 The throng, impatient for the news it bore, 
 Poured down at once, and spread along the 
 
 shore ; 
 But ere the hindmost found their station there, 
 Light from the bark already gliding near, 
 Before its prow had grated on the sand, 
 The youthful occupant sprung to the land ; 
 And though the action spurned his skiff away, 
 Turned not to mark where on the tide it lay ; 
 But pressing straight through the dividing 
 
 crowd, 
 Sought the Great Sun, with humble reverence 
 
 bowed, 
 And thus his tidings told at once aloud : 
 "Child of the Sun, and princes, I appear, 
 Of blood and woe the unwelcome messenger. 
 On yester even quietly I strayed 
 To hunt the partridge through the everglade, 
 Till sunset poured its leveled beams along, 
 And from each wigwam rose the evening song ; 
 
( J0 ETACTEAL. 
 
 When home returning, pensively and slow, 
 I gained the summit of a mound — and lo ! 
 Across the river, spread from shore to shore, 
 A thousand barks the white men's warriors 
 
 bore, 
 While on the land, arrayed with helm and 
 
 lance, 
 I saw at once his bannered power advance. 
 Some o'er the plain, on foaming steeds careered, 
 Some on the shore, in ordered ranks appeared; 
 And in the van, their counsellor and guide, 
 Strode on the traitor chieftain in his pride. 
 I knew him well, both by his princely vest 
 And by the orb still glittering on his breast. 
 Unseen I watched them, and unseen withdrew, 
 With cautious steps, and launching a canoe, 
 Soon covered by the favoring shades of night, 
 I hitherward began my rapid flight ; 
 But often turned to list the distant cry, 
 Or mark the red glare on the southern sky, 
 
ETACTEAL. 91 
 
 Where mingled shouts of terror and of wrath 
 Attended the destroying foemen's path. 
 Here ends our song. 
 
 And none may say 
 How passed the Natchez' last sad day. 
 To Victor and his bride of old, 
 No more the aged matron jtold ; 
 If true traditions tell, 
 That when thus far was brought the tale 
 Her trembling voice began to fail, 
 And when she farther would disclose 
 The story of her people's woes. 
 And how at last they fell. 
 Th' emotions of her spirit came 
 To strong for her exhausted frame, 
 Which, bowed beneath the weight of years, 
 And worn by lonely griefs and cares, 
 The strife might not endure ; 
 Tho' muttered indistinctly still 
 Some broken words unmeaning fell ; 
 
92 ETACTEAL. 
 
 But soon the light her eyes forsook, 
 
 Vacant and staring grew her look, 
 
 And all her being sunk again 
 
 In age's listless apathy. 
 
 And tho' no more compelled to roam 
 
 Without a friend, without a home, 
 
 An outcast and a mockery, 
 
 Where once her sires held regal sway ; 
 
 Yet never more would she recall 
 
 The mournful story of their fall. 
 
ETACTEAL, 93 
 
 CONCLUSION 
 
 But oft some veteran, brisk and gay, 
 Who in his youthful prime had stood 
 In many a fierce-fought field of blood, 
 When France and Iberville held sway 
 O'er all the sunny southern land — 
 Seated amid a youthful band, 
 Assembled round his cabin door, 
 To hear the wondrous tales of yore, 
 Recalled the dangers he had known, 
 While yet the red man held his own, 
 And still in combat dared to face 
 The pale destroyers of his race ; 
 The lonely camp, the watchful night 
 The ambush, and the desperate fight 
 For life or victory. 
 
94 ETACTEAL. 
 
 But chiefly loved with pride to tell 
 
 How, last of all, the Natchez fell ; 
 
 And what brave deeds that day were done, 
 
 Before the doubtful field was won. 
 
 How, when first-broke the dappled dawn 
 
 The Christian's small array was drawn 
 
 Along the plain, while on the hill 
 
 The Indian host, like thunder cloud, 
 
 Before it breaks in tempest loud, 
 
 Hung, threatening, dark and still, 
 
 Till brightly rose the unclouded sun, 
 
 Then with a deafening yell begun, 
 
 To pour their feathered shafts, like rain 
 
 Upon the opposing ranks ; in vain ; 
 
 Just tinkling on the polished mail, 
 
 As from the glass the wintry hail, 
 
 They bounded harmlessly : 
 
 While swift and sure, with vollied roars 
 
 Its murd'rous showers unceasing pours 
 
 The answering musketry. 
 
ETACTEAL, 95 
 
 And thick the hissing messengers 
 
 Upon their viewless errand flew, 
 
 And strewed the hill with carnage red 
 
 With wounded, dying, and with dead ; 
 
 And still that host unflinching bears, 
 
 The galling shower, until 
 
 A thousand of their best have died, 
 
 With many a sun, and chief, of pride, 
 
 And not a foe hath fallen yet. 
 
 Then gathering for a fierce onset, 
 
 In one deep column all combine, 
 
 And sweeping down the hill, 
 
 Come pouring on the Christian line, 
 
 And hand to hand, the battle join. 
 
 As when some torrent swelled by mountain 
 
 snows 
 Finds in its way some recent dam oppose ; 
 Awhile the well-wrought structure meets its 
 
 force, 
 And curbs its surges in their headlong course : 
 
96 ETACTEA 
 
 But yielding soon to the collecting tide, 
 
 The timbers bend, the straining planks yawn 
 
 wide, 
 Till with a crash, from solid braces torn, 
 Its fragments on the victor surge are borne. 
 Thus for awhile the Christian band withstood 
 That crushing charge, and still their ground 
 
 made good ; 
 But wearied soon with unrelieved toil, 
 Back from the shock, the wavering lines re- 
 coil, 
 Biven rank from rank and file from file away ; 
 Till broken, routed, gone their firm array, 
 Each separate band maintains the conflict as 
 
 it may ; 
 While here and there a solitary plume 
 Rising and falling, like a cap of foam 
 Upon a storm-torn sea, tells where the might 
 Of steel-clad horseman plunging through the 
 fight, 
 
ETACTEAL. 97 
 
 For long the battle like a surging sea, 
 Swayed o'er .that bloody plain tumultuously : 
 Till bursting bravely though the wild melee, 
 The christian leader stood a moment free ; 
 And while he swept the scene of carnage wide, 
 To mark his routed bands, with joy descried 
 Where, o'er the billows of chaotic war, 
 The sacred ensign tossed and blazed afar; 
 And to the followers nearest to his side, 
 With voice that rung o'er all the field, he 
 
 cried, 
 " Mark comrades where yon blazoned banner 
 
 flies — 
 Be that, to each, his valor's glorious prize, 
 For 'tis the sacred standard of the sun — 
 With it and it alone the battle's won." 
 Four horsemen, bravest of the Christian host, 
 Saw where the ensign o'er the tumult tossed, 
 Who gathering to their chieftain at the word, 
 The five at once their panting chargers spured 
 
 9 
 
98 ETACTEAL. 
 
 Straight through the Natchez' crowd' ed mass 
 
 compressed ; 
 And down before the horses mailed breast, 
 Some crushed beneath the iron hoofs were trod, 
 Like wounded reptiles writhing on the sod, 
 While from the visage, crushed from nature's 
 
 shape, 
 The bubbling death-groan hardly finds escape ; 
 And some a speedier destruction knew 
 By low couched lances with one thrust gored 
 
 through. 
 
 As around the foaming bear, the unbroken 
 
 pack 
 Closing at once, rush blindly to the attack, 
 So desperate still, and resolutely close 
 The maddened Natchez, round their mightier 
 
 foes, 
 Content to waste an hundred lives, and smile 
 If one pale corpse but grace the slaughtered pile. 
 
ETACTEAL. 99 
 
 But vain their feebler arms and generous zeal 
 Against the white man's discipline and steel, 
 Who still through all their bloody pathway- 
 fought, 
 
 Till scarce a spear's length from the prize 
 
 they sought, 
 They paused an instant, for before them there, 
 Joined for one final conflict of despair, 
 The royal race stood ready to expire 
 Round their great ensign and their wounded 
 
 sire. 
 Etacteal, who'd borne that banner high 
 Through all that dreadful fray right gallantly, 
 Had marked those horsemen as they onward 
 
 came, 
 And knew full well his sacred charge, their aim ; 
 Now, round his head his heavy war-club swung 
 With faultless aim and energy he flung, 
 Loud on the glittering casque the missive 
 
 rung, 
 
100 ETACTEAL. 
 
 And the white plume straight backward bend- 
 ing low, 
 Confessed the vigor of the chieftain's blow. 
 But e'er the yell arose on either side 
 From foes, of rage, from friends, of joy and 
 
 pride, 
 Keen from the string a whistling arrow sang, 
 And pierced his breast with paralyzing pang : 
 And a loud laugh of hatred and scorn, 
 Was the last sound that to his ear was borne, 
 For life scarce fluttered in his pulses warm, 
 Till iron hoofs rushed trampling o'er his form. 
 As sprang the christian on again 
 And, rent and soiled, amid the sham, 
 Trod that proud banner on the plain 
 To rise no more. 
 
 For when 
 She paused ; until the dew 
 Began to fall, and stars on high 
 To deep from out the dark'ning sky ; 
 
ETACTEAL. 101 
 
 Then silently withdrew, 
 
 Unharmed, unquestioned passed away, 
 
 And who that mourner none might say ! 
 
 The white men only knew 
 
 That they had seen a Natchez maid 
 
 Chaunting the death-song o'er her dead, 
 
 But who the dead she mourned so well, 
 
 And who the mourner, none could tell. 
 
 Perhaps, that maid was JSTona true, 
 
 That youth Etacteal. 
 
THE SPECTER AND THE HUNTER. 
 
TO 
 EDD. WEBB, ESQ., 
 
 THE FOLLOWING VERSIFICATION OF A 
 
 WSitU %,nobsn Inbxan fcaU, 
 
 IS MOST RESPECTFULLY INSCRIBED, 
 BY HIS OLD FRIEND 
 
 THE AUTHOB. 
 
THE SPECTEE AND THE HUNTER. 
 
 AN INDIAN LEGEND OF THE OLDEN TIME. 
 
 The stag had left his grassy bed, 
 
 Before the sunbeam kissed the dew 
 
 From the tall maple's hoary head, 
 
 And fast before the hunter fled, 
 
 Till from the sky the day withdrew ; 
 
 And o'er the western hill just seen afar, 
 
 Shone the pale crescent and the evening star. 
 
 Then as night's somber shades came down, 
 
 The hunter left the toilsome chase, 
 
 And where a spring welled from the ground 
 
 And briars and ferns grew thick around, 
 
 He pitched his lonely resting place ; 
 
 A blanket, and the earth his bed, 
 
 With drooping beech all vine-clad curtained. 
 10 
 
106 THE SPECTER AND HUNTER. 
 
 'Twas far in the lone forest shades 
 
 Where noon seemed dim as twilight's hour, 
 
 And where at eve a gloom prevades 
 
 As dens.e as when the Yttabolaydes 1 
 
 With charm and spell of magic power, 
 
 Convoked the shilloops 2 that obey their will, 
 
 To council dire in some vast caverned hill. 
 
 But when the kindling camp-fire gleamed, 
 
 The wood another semblance bore ; 
 
 Far up and round, the red light streamed, 
 
 Till every towering tree-trunk seemed 
 
 A lofty column bathed in gore ; 
 
 Through whose wild roof fantastical and high 
 
 The fiery stars glared from an inky sky. 
 
 Gloomy Komooha's brow appeared, 
 As by the blaze alone he lay, 
 Like one who neither loved nor feared, 
 But from his kind by fate severed, 
 Had turned in utter selfishness away ; 
 
THE SPECTER AND HUNTER. 
 
 107 
 
 No wife to him e'er made his wigwam clear, 
 
 Nor children claimed his fond paternal care, 
 
 A lonely wanderer of the wood, 
 
 His clog and gun his only care, 
 
 Among his kindred tribe he stood, 
 
 Wrapt in his proud disdainful mood 
 
 A man not made to love, but fear ; 
 
 On whom they gazed as on th' storm-cloud's fire, 
 
 To dread and shun, as often as admire. 
 
 Oft from their village would he glide, 
 
 And moon succeeding moon be gone, 
 
 Roaming Kentucky far and wide, 
 
 In sullen solitary pride, 
 
 He and his faithful dog alone ; 
 
 Not more to seek the wolf and panther's den, 
 
 Than to avoid the hated walks of men. 
 
 'Twas only when the war-whoop rung 
 
 The call to blood and massacre, 
 
 That he, their painted bands among, 
 
108 THE SPECTER AND HUNTER. 
 
 In wildest notes the war song sung, 
 And like a vengeful guiding star, 
 Led them along with fierce delight, 
 To meet their foes in tiger fight. 
 Then silently through brake and dell, 
 They followed his dark gliding plume ; 
 And oft at midnight in his yell, 
 The pale-face heard his funeral knell, 
 And started but to meet his doom, 
 For with Komooha always came 
 Pale fear, red death, and roaring flame. 
 But when was won the victory, 
 And feast and dance and revelry began, 
 He from the scene turned sullenly away 
 To muse in silence on the havoc done ; 
 And in his thought to rage again 
 A demon, mid the mangled slain, 
 And smile to think how in the strife 
 Without a touch of pity mild, 
 His hand, warm with a mother's life, 
 
THE SPECTER AND HUNTER. 109 
 
 Had sent the reeking scalping knife 
 To the heart of her screaming child, 
 And felt its last expiring quiver 
 Without even one remorseful shiver. 
 
 He feared not the Great Spirit's wrath, 
 Nor ghosts, which the prophets tell 
 Oft dogged the lonely hunter's path; 
 Nor JNantishoola 3 that sometimes hath, 
 When night on the forest fell, 
 Seized the lost wanderer, and bore 
 To their caverns to return no more. 
 
 But that morning as in sleep he lay 
 
 By Miami's rippling stream afar, 
 
 E'er the first bird woke on the elms tall spray 
 
 Or the first grey light told of the coming day 
 
 An aged man seemed standing there. 
 
 And 'twas his sire — tho' years had gone 
 
 Since Erie heard his drowning moan — 
 
110 THE SPECTER AND HUNTER. 
 
 Who gazed on him with anxious eye, 
 Then bending o'er him whispered low, 
 "Oh! shun, my son, the dangers nigh; 
 Arise, to thy home and kindred fly ! 
 This once the distant chase forego, 
 Or beware, a dark and fearful sight, 
 For Nantishoola walks to night." 
 
 And still that dream would to him cling 
 With strange and ominous dread ; 
 Which when he strove from his soul to fling, 
 The wind seemed in his ears to ring, 
 "Remember the warning of the dead;" 
 But pride still bade him onward keep, 
 Nor yield to the wild phantasies of sleep. 
 
 But now as he lay by his dying flame 
 While midnight drew apace 
 The memory of that vision came, 
 Mid the stillness of that forest place ; 
 
THE SPECTER AND HUNTER. Ill 
 
 And a cold chill o'er his body ran, 
 
 As rose on the silent air, 
 
 Such a wail as never came from man, 
 
 More loud and clear and piercing than 
 
 The panther's scream, tho' distant far ; 
 
 Such sound ne'er fell upon a mortal ear, 
 
 Nor wakened there a startled sense of fear. 
 
 And when again that awful death scream 
 
 broke, 
 Nearer, more thrilling and more clear, 
 Waved the tall beech and creaked th' giant oak, 
 As from their boughs the wood sprites leaped 
 
 in fear ; 
 From her dark cavity sprung forth the owl, 
 And sped away in haste on noiseless wing ; 
 From distant ponds clanged up the water 
 
 fowl, 
 The frighted wolf fled by with whining growl, 
 And far and near each animated thing 
 
112 THE SPECTER AND HUNTER. 
 
 Seemed all with an instinctive dread to fly 
 From some unknown but awful clanger nigh. 
 
 Slowly Komooha rose, his staring eye 
 Fixed on the gloom, whence came that fearful 
 
 wail, 
 Where the crackling leaves and the dry, 
 Told his midnight visitant was nigh; 
 And he felt his sickening spirit quail 
 When into the range of the red fire light 
 Came stalking a being too horrid for sight ; 
 'Twas not a lost hunter, for here and there, 
 From the gaunt breast shone the" ghastly 
 
 white bone ; 
 And the forehead and brow of their flesh were 
 
 half bare, 
 'Neath which rolled the eye, with a tawney 
 
 glare; 
 It seemed with corruption's work half done, 
 Some hideous thing from a charnal house burst, 
 
THE SPECTER AND HUNTER. 113 
 
 To haunt the spot of a deed accurst. 
 
 One mildewed hand held a heavy gun, 
 
 The barrel corroded and blackened with 
 
 dirt 
 And the sodden stock with mosses o'ergrown; 
 While from the skin to its middle girt, 
 At every stride the black blood dripped, 
 For it seemed but just from the gray wolf 
 
 stript. 
 
 The hunter turned and would have fled — 
 "Lost man move not," the specter said, 
 As it sought the fire with hasty tread, 
 And its clammy hands o'er the embers spread. 
 Komooha sunk unnerved with dread, 
 Close by his dog — along whose frame 
 A shiver like death's each moment came. 
 And he grew horror-sick, when he saw the 
 
 flame 
 Shoot up 'neath its breath in wavering tongues, 
 
114 THE SPECTER AND HUNTER. 
 
 As pale as th' wandering night-light that waves 
 O'er the dismal swamps, or the dead-men's 
 
 graves ; 
 Sure never there came from mortal lungs 
 Such cold, and damp, and sickening breath, 
 So like a blast from a vault of death. 
 No mortal eye e'er wore so wild a glare, 
 So fiery red, and yet so coldly bright, 
 So like that strange and steady phosphic blaze, 
 That lights the fallen oak when it decays, 
 At which the timid traveler starts at night; 
 And turn which way he will to shun its glare, 
 Bent still upon him seems to follow there. 
 
 And thus the hunter lay entranced with dread, 
 Till from the tangled thicket growing nigh, 
 A mass of briars the phantom plucked and 
 
 spread 
 Before the blaze; upon which thorny bed 
 Stretched out its limbs with a low muttered cry ; 
 
THE SPECTER AND HUNTER. 115 
 
 And though with pain each nerve and muscle 
 
 crept, 
 In a short time the hideous monster slept. 
 The hunter gazing with strange fascination 
 Upon the being he so oft had scorned, 
 Too late repented that infatuation, 
 Which, when by all the old men of his nation, 
 And e'en the ghost of his dead father, warned, 
 Had made him proudly brave the fearful thing 
 That now before his eyes lay slumbering. 
 And cold despair came creeping o'er his mind, 
 His home, his kindred, he may never reach — 
 No trace of him his tribe will ever find — 
 When lo ! his dog looked in his face and whined, 
 And whining took the imperfect form of speech ; 
 And bade him fly while yet the monster slept, 
 While he alone his watch beside it kept. 
 
 No warning more the astonished hunter, 
 A faint returning glimpse of hope he sees ; 
 
116 THE SPECTER AND HUNTER. 
 
 No gun nor pouch his stealthy flight impedes, 
 All unencumbered from the fire he speeds, 
 Nor pauses once, till through the distant trees 
 He sees it flash and twinkle like a star, 
 That hardly sends its struggling rays so far. 
 And then springs forward like the coursed elk, 
 
 dashing 
 Through the thick forest and its double night; 
 Now madly through the opposing thickets 
 
 crashing, 
 And now, through pools and miry marshes 
 
 splashing, 
 Till far away he checked his rapid flight, 
 Upon the brow of a steep sloping hight, 
 Where sparser trees admit a doubtful light. 
 
 All trembling with fatigue, he pauses here 
 And stands a moment anxiously to listen ; 
 No warning of pursuit strikes on his ear, 
 The wood is grave-like, silent far and near: 
 
THE SPECTER HUNTER. 117 
 
 So reassured he seats himself at last, 
 
 And soon his pulses throb more quietly, 
 Tho' still his quick ear searches every blast, 
 They bear no sounds ; the danger all is past ! 
 Even now the east is paling into gray ; 
 And when it glows with the full blushing 
 
 morn 
 In safety to his home he may return. 
 His blood flows calm, he breathes more freely 
 
 now, 
 And feels his soul once more exulting rise ; 
 Hope uncontracts his horror- wrinkled brow, 
 Pride burns to think that it could tamely 
 
 bow 
 Even to But hist! those faint and distant 
 
 cries ! 
 It is! He knows too well his watch dog's 
 
 bray, 
 The Specter's in pursuit, again he must 
 
 away. 
 
118 THE SPECTER HUNTER. 
 
 And with the antlered stag's activity, 
 He nerves his lithe limbs for another flight, 
 And swift as the descending hawk can fly, 
 Shoots headlong down the steep declivity, 
 Tho' the first glimmer of the coming light 
 Dimly a thousand perils now revealed, 
 That night's deep darkness had before con- 
 cealed : 
 The horrent thorn across the pathway bent, 
 The tangled brushwood, and the sheer de- 
 scent. 
 
 But still the dread pursuit is closing fast, 
 And soon must find a fearful end he knew, 
 For nearer, louder still on every blast, 
 The baying of his watch clog is borne past ; 
 And tho' still swifter, as on wings he flew, 
 He heard at last (and shuddered at the sound) 
 The dry leaves crushing 'neath the specter's 
 bound. 
 
THE SPECTER HUNTER. 119 
 
 Yet onward still, through briar and brush, 
 
 He struggles till a sullen roar, 
 
 As of some high swollen torrent's rush, 
 
 Breaking the deep, sepulchral hush, 
 
 Tell that his way is barred before. 
 
 A moment more, appalled upon the verge, 
 
 He pauses o'er its black and boiling surge : 
 
 But still he hears that step pursue, 
 
 Still hears his watch dog's cry — 
 
 No backward glance he threw, 
 
 For all too well he knew, 
 
 His specter foe was nigh. 
 
 He plunged — the waters closed him o'er, 
 And as he strove again to rise, 
 An eddying current caught and bore 
 Him whirling far off from the shore ; 
 A spectacle then met his suffused eyes, 
 That chilled at once the fever of his blood, 
 His arm unnerved to buffet with the flood. 
 
120 THE SPECTER AND HUNTER. 
 
 With form dilate with hellish ire, 
 High on the brink the phantom stood ; 
 Its eyeballs glowed w r ith living fire — 
 Its gaunt breast torn by brush and briar, 
 Was seamed with streaks of oozing blood; 
 It laughed — such laughs are heard in hell, 
 Or from the gibbering madman's cell— 
 The puma with unearthly yell, 
 Crouched deeper in its tangled dell, 
 As that wild sound upon its quick ear fell ; 
 The demon laughed, for it was sure, 
 Its fainting victim was at last secure. 
 
 Already for the spring its figure bends, 
 
 And for a sure unfailing grasp, 
 
 Already its long arm extends ; 
 
 Komooha's long life struggle ends ; 
 
 His laboring lungs emit a gurgling gasp, 
 
 Forward his arms convulsively he flings, 
 
 Finds th' far shore and with a death-grip clings; 
 
THE SPECTER AND HUNTER. 121 
 
 His deafened ear scarce hears the appalling 
 
 sound 
 Of mingled yells and shrieks that tore the 
 
 night, 
 When with a flying spring his panting hound 
 Throttled and dragged the hideous monster 
 
 down ; 
 Which closed at once in fierce and deadly 
 
 fight, 
 While from afar the expansive forest rings, 
 Redoubled back its constant bellowings. 
 And still it gnawed the dog's side furiously, 
 But 'tis not this the frequent outcry wrings ; 
 For nobly did the hound the battle wage, 
 And rend his foe with blind and reckless 
 
 rage; 
 
 But every flesh flake torn by him away, 
 
 Forced a deep howl of bitter agony, 
 
 For never acid from the alembic fell, 
 
 More burning than that flesh and blood of hell, 
 l] 
 
122 THE SPECTER AND HUNTER. 
 
 A band of hunters who were camping near 
 And heard the sound of that unearthly fight, 
 As down the stream they tracked the early 
 
 deer, 
 Found to the reeds a stit? form clinging there, 
 Tho' senseless floating, still retaining life ; 
 And long it exercised their simple skill, 
 Ere from his veins they drove the deadly chill. 
 And when at length to consciousness restored, 
 He sat in stupid staring idiocy ; 
 And to their questions gave no answering word, 
 But pointed o'er the stream, and shook and 
 
 stared, 
 Moaning and muttering piteously ; 
 And there upon the torn and bloody green, 
 The carcass of a dog rent limb from limb was 
 
 seen. 
 
123 
 
 THE IRISH GIRLS 
 
 A KEMINISCENCE. 
 
 I wandered forth one sunny morn, 
 Along the hill so bright and gay, 
 
 To breathe the fragrance freshly borne 
 Upon the gentle breath of May. 
 
 The dew drop sparkled on the grass 
 With ever brightly changing ray, 
 
 Like the bright dreams of youth, alas ! 
 Too soon like them to fade away. 
 
 The sod was 'broidered o'er with flowers 
 Of varied colors and perfumes, 
 
 The violet peeped from grassy bowers, 
 And thistles shook aloft their plumes. 
 
124 
 
 With leaves locked in a close embrace, 
 And mingled blooms of white and blue 
 
 Low bending o'er a mossy place, 
 A blue-bell and clatonia grew. 
 
 Oh! lovely looked those flowrets fair 
 
 That there in such close friendship grew ; 
 
 When one shook in the morning air, 
 The other trembled too. 
 
 And gazing on their fragile forms, 
 I could not rudely snap their stem ; 
 
 For that same gentle love that warms, 
 Two sister hearts, seemed binding them. 
 
 aU_ j*» ^- J4» *&. *U. J& jl& 
 
 7f* yf: Tf: ^r vfc 7fc ^? tt» 
 
 But when the sun had left the sky, 
 I sought again my favorite flowers ; 
 
 How sad the change that met my eye, 
 The havoc of a few short hours. 
 
125 
 
 With wilted bud, and flower and leaf, 
 Upon the moss lay blue-bell dead ; 
 
 And o'er her friend, as if in grief, 
 Clatonia drooped her mournful head. 
 
 And lower still methought she fell, 
 As evening to its close was drawing : 
 
 Which silent drooping told too well, 
 
 That at her root the selfsame worm was gnaw- 
 ing. 
 
 And when that calm and placid day was over, 
 Her last faint fragrance on the breeze was 
 borne ; 
 
 And my sweet blue-bell and Clatonia never 
 Again did open to the glad spring morn, 
 
 And as I wandered o'er the pastures green, 
 Awending home my slow and pensive way, 
 
 I thought of two, I in my youth had seen, 
 Two lovely sisters, innocent and o-av. 
 
126 
 
 Those orphan sisters came from Erin's isle, 
 We hoped, to live beneath our Western sky ; 
 
 They came a few short months to sing and smile, 
 And then we found they only came to die. 
 
 The elder, pale as one of those tall flowers, 
 That bending o'er the rippling streamlet 
 blows : 
 
 The younger like the fairest of all flowers, 
 So we called them the Lilly and the Rose. 
 
 These came unto our home in early spring, 
 When trees and birds with their first life 
 were gay, 
 And o'er our hills and fields would glide and sing, 
 Till nothing seemed so happy there as they. 
 
 And all the summer long, at morn and eve, 
 When the tall grass was mown so smooth and 
 short, 
 
127 
 
 We gamboled on the sod, so loth to leave, 
 That oft the moon was smiling on our sport. 
 
 But when the cold damp winds of fall were 
 
 come, 
 I marked on Rose's cheek a deeper red ; 
 And drooping soon she sought her darkened 
 
 room, 
 And laid her down upon her dying bed. 
 
 And oft I crept to gaze upon her there, 
 
 And child-like praised her bright and burning 
 
 eye, 
 But never dreamed that aught so heavenly fair, 
 Could grow so very lovely but to die. 
 
 At last one Sabbath morning I awoke, 
 And ran to her as I was wont, to greet ; 
 She smiled not to my smile, nor even spoke — 
 It was not so that we were used to meet. 
 
128 
 
 Alas ! and never did she speak again ; 
 For on that same sad evening I was led 
 Along with a small weeping train, 
 And saw the earth piled o'er my Rose's head. 
 
 And when the funeral train was past and gone, 
 And we were left alone beside the grave, 
 I wept like rain, to hear each sob and moan 
 Our poor, poor broken-hearted Lilly gave. 
 
 And never more along the field or hill 
 Heard we her laugh, or saw her white scarf 
 
 wave, 
 But oft at evening would we wander, till 
 We stood in silence by her Rose's grave. 
 
 But day by day, her step grew weak and slow, 
 Till one bright even', 'twas the last bright one, 
 I sought her for our walk ; she could not go, 
 So I was forced to take my walk alone. 
 
129 
 
 At last — 'twas when the winds began to 
 
 wail ; 
 And strip the forest of their latest green — 
 I found my Lilly, oh! so cold and pale ! 
 Dressed all in white, as Rose before had been. 
 
 And oh ! how bitterly for her I grieved ; 
 The long dark winter had passed o'er my head, 
 And spring had come, before I quite believed 
 That my sweet Rose and Lilly both were dead. 
 
 ON THE DEATH OF A FRIEND. 
 
 JN T ow free from this world, its care and vexation 
 No more will disturb thy calm rest ; 
 Faith, stronger than death, in thy blood bought 
 salvation 
 
 Thy tired spirit bore, to Saviour's loved breast. 
 Sleep gently, my friend, the struggle is done, 
 
 Oh ! rest thee in triumph, the victory is won. 
 12 
 
130 
 
 Tho' o'er thy cold ashes torn friendships emo- 
 tion 
 Will still heave the heart with a sigh ; 
 
 Tho' memory still linger with fondest devotion 
 O'er years of bright friendship gone by ; 
 I would not, if the power were given, 
 Call thy pure spirit back from heaven. 
 
 And when my own spirit unfettered shall 
 
 spring 
 From its gasping and suffering clay, 
 How sweet is the thought, that thy hovering 
 
 wing 
 May be waiting to guide it away ; 
 
 To peaceful scenes where parting ends, 
 And friends eternally are friends. 
 
131 
 
 SONG. 
 
 I've strolled my last time through the old, fad- 
 ing woods, 
 
 Amid which I sported my childhood away ; 
 When no grief was present, 
 And the future seemed pleasant — 
 
 My bliss was as long as the long summer day. 
 
 'Twas my morning of life ; tho' its sun shone 
 
 so bright, 
 I foolishly longed for its noon's glowing light; 
 
 Never dreaming its power 
 
 Would wilt every flower, 
 That yielded to me such exquisite delight. 
 
 But now that pure, innocent season is past ; 
 Of its pleasures the meni'ry is withering fast; 
 
132 
 
 For slowly they perished, 
 When no longer cherished, 
 And soon barren life was bereft of the last. 
 
 Now oft 'mid my toilings, those pleasures I 
 
 mourn, 
 And hope when with years and with labor out- 
 worn, 
 In my evening's calm hours, 
 May spring up those flowers, 
 That blossom'd so sweetly on life's merry morn. 
 
 THE DYING WANDERER'S REQUEST. 
 Oh ! carry me back to the land of my birth, 
 And bury me close to the old cottage door ; 
 Methinks I could slumber more quietly there, 
 Than here on your sunny, but stranger shore. 
 For twenty long years, that cot I've not seen, 
 But far o'er the wide world a wanderer been. 
 
133 
 
 I know that the kindred I left are not there ; 
 
 Departed are sister and father and mother ; 
 
 Their graves in the old orchard shadow are 
 made, 
 
 And the far ocean wave, holds my brother. 
 Together we parted from infancy's home, 
 Afar and unfriended to labor and roam. 
 
 Oh ! well I remember that sorrowful morn — 
 
 The pale tearful look our dear sister wore, 
 
 While father called down on his boys heaven's 
 
 blessing, 
 
 And mother stood wringing her hands at the 
 
 door : 
 Her last admonition, " wherever you roam, 
 
 My children, remember your God and your 
 
 home." 
 
 Nowtho' they are gone, and a stranger possesses 
 The cot of my father, he will not deny me, 
 
134 
 
 A place 'neath the sod where my infancy 
 
 sported, 
 To sleep with the friends of my infancy by me. 
 u 0h! then take me back to the land of my 
 
 birth, 
 And lay me to rest, in my own native earth." 
 
 His pale lip was silent ; we bent o'er his face, 
 
 To watch the last ebbing of life ; 
 The_cold drops of death on his white brow 
 
 collected, 
 And one painful pang told the close of the 
 strife ; 
 Then a smile lit his features — "my mother 
 
 he cried," 
 With that name on his lip the poor wan- 
 derer died. 
 
135 
 
 THE CITIES OF THE DEAD. 
 
 The cities of the dead — how silent! 
 JNo sound disturbs the stillness of their vaults, 
 Their people know no restless change, each, 
 Since he laid him in his narrow house, 
 Has moved not, nor heard, nor seen. 
 
 None go from hence , but day by day, the 
 
 thickening throng, 
 Worn by lifes woes, come silent on, 
 To swell their bands. But as they come, 
 Wo welcome waits them here : Brother 
 Lies down by brother, without a greeting ; 
 Friend sleeps close to friend and knows it not. 
 The slayer and the slain are here; the lord- 
 ling and his slave: 
 
136 
 
 No haughty frown contracts one's brow, nor 
 
 does 
 The other crouch and tremble at the harsh 
 
 command. 
 Anger and fear and jealousy are felt not ; 
 Revenge no more pours through the veins his 
 
 scorching fire; 
 Envy no more repines ; the tenant of the lowly 
 
 grave 
 Heeds not the marble tomb that tells 
 Where earth's great ones decay ; all silent, 
 Pale and motionless they sleep on, nor heed 
 The rapid whirl of time. 
 
 No rising sun 
 Awakes them to begin the slavish task, 
 By avarice or want imposed. No night 
 Recalls them to the short and broken sleep ; 
 Or to lie down and pour the unavailing tear 
 O'er galling wrongs, o'er blighted hopes, or o'er 
 
 the bitter cup 
 
137 
 
 Which adverse fate still presses to the unwill- 
 ing lip ; 
 
 But one unbroken, dreamless sleep reigns 
 here. 
 
 No change of seasons breaks its power. 
 
 When Spring 
 
 Throws her green mantel over earth, 
 
 Dances along the flashing stream, and woos 
 
 The flowers to leave their wintry tombs, and 
 live 
 
 Again their life of fleeting gorgeousness, 
 
 Her genial influence reaches not the dead. 
 
 When mounts the glowing sun amid the north- 
 ern 
 
 Signs, they sleep. 
 
 When Autumn casts her fruits, 
 
 And sighing winds breathe through the fading- 
 woods 
 
 Their mournful requiem of the aged year ; 
 warning 
 
138 
 
 The trees for hard encounter to prepare 
 With northern gales, they sleep. 
 
 When Winter 
 From the north pursues the sun, retiring to 
 
 the south, 
 And with his frozen breath drives the white 
 
 snow 
 From gloomy clouds, to spread a shroud o'er 
 
 nature dead; 
 Binding the earth like iron o'er them, still, 
 Still they sleep. 
 
 And long will be 
 Their slumber; The stars that keep their 
 
 nightly watch 
 In the blue depths of heaven, may look 
 For ages down upon their graves, then pass 
 
 away. 
 The ocean may invade the land and dash 
 Its briny billows o'er them. Bloody war 
 May march its shouting myriads o'er the plain; 
 
139 
 
 But not the quivering drum, nor trumpet's 
 
 note, 
 Nor even the crashing cannon, though it 
 
 cleave 
 The very stones that mark their graves, awake 
 
 them. 
 
 And is this all — 
 Can man look on this scene and say — 
 Behold the end! Is it for this we labor? 
 Can all the changing stages of this life — 
 Its storms and calms — its aspirations and its 
 
 hopes — 
 Be only meant to end in this? — a gasp, 
 A last convulsive struggle, and a shroud — 
 A grave soon filled and then — eternal nothing- 
 ness ? 
 ********* 
 
 Lo ! in the shadows of the western wild, 
 The lonely hunter leaves the panting deer 
 
140 
 
 To crop the dewy grass along the mountain 
 
 stream, 
 When slowly sinking to his western bourne, 
 Descends the king of day ; when his last beams 
 Subdued from mid-day fervor, gild the woody 
 
 ridge, 
 And glance in softer hues of living light 
 From granite peaks. There gazing on the 
 
 red'ning orb 
 E'er quite it rolls from sight, with spirit aw T ed 
 But glad, the simple Indian pours his voice- 
 less hymn 
 Of grateful praise, to the Great Spirit of the 
 
 world, 
 That spreads the plain and wood around him. 
 His spirit blind, but conscious of its immortal- 
 ity, 
 From all the colors round by nature spread, 
 Catching the brightest paints, a simple para- 
 dise 
 
141 
 
 Behind the farthest mountains of the west, 
 Beyond the setting sun. And points him there 
 To boundless woods, to green expanding plains 
 And sparkling streams, where ever bounds 
 
 the deer 
 O'er endless tracks — a hunter's paradise; 
 Where after death, his spirit free shall roam 
 Forever in unchanging youth ; his active limbs 
 No more shall pause in the long chase, 
 Constrained by mortal weariness ; but where 
 
 each power 
 Of body and of soul shall rise, inspired for aye, 
 By an imortal vigor. — 
 
 OUR UNION. 
 
 All hail, all hail ! Thou noble land 
 
 Of the fearless and the free ! 
 Whose soil contains our father's dust, 
 Whose air 's the breath of liberty. 
 
142 
 
 Thy name is heard on every breeze, 
 Neath the pole, and the tropic sky, 
 
 Thy tars have told o'er all the seas 
 Of Union and sweet liberty. 
 
 May peace through all thy members reign, 
 
 Nor inward strife disturb thy rest, 
 Nor 'mid the rage of factious strife, 
 
 Our Union bow its glorious crest. 
 Strong be the bands that bind thee round, 
 
 No mutual wounds deplore, 
 And still thy constellation shine, 
 
 Unbroken, as of yore. 
 
 Peace be the motto on thy flag, 
 
 Peace and good-will to all ; 
 May not thy olive now so green, 
 
 Soon blasted, droop and fall. 
 May not the trumpet's maddening bray 
 
 Grow louder than the reaper's strain, 
 
143 
 
 Nor bloody glory's laurel gay 
 Blush crimson with a gory rain. 
 
 May the Great Ruler from above 
 
 In mercy guard our land ; 
 Guard it from famine, plague and strife, 
 
 Safe in the hollow of his hand. 
 Great God ! to thy protecting power 
 
 Our country we resign, 
 When o'er it threatening tempests lour 
 
 And when propitious summers shine. 
 
 ON BEADING THE "ART OF LOVE." 
 
 What's Love ? 
 
 I really can not tell, 
 Have no acquaintance with him. 
 But Grecians said he was a lad 
 Stone blind — and I suspect, stark mad — 
 Who bore about a silver bow, 
 
144 
 
 And every time he sent a shaft, 
 
 Kicked up his little heels and laughed. 
 
 Fine fun to see poor mortals smart, 
 
 Pierced through by his mischievous dart. 
 
 But you would laugh also I ween, 
 
 If you could, just like him, have seen, 
 
 How some bewildered mortals do, 
 
 When cupid's shaft flies strong and true. 
 
 Some take to metaphors and tropes ; 
 
 And some to bowie-knives and ropes ; 
 
 These say, "I'll do a thing that's lawful, 
 
 Gro to the parson and get tied ;" 
 
 And those, "I'll do a thing that's awful, 
 
 Go to the devil and get fried ;" 
 
 Some sing, "Come love, let's go and marry," 
 
 Some, "Cruel one I will not tarry, 
 
 Down to the dismal shades I'm driven, 
 
 When you could take me right to heaven." 
 
 These at the summer night's high noon 
 
 Stroll forth and sonnetize the moon. 
 
145 
 
 Those haunt, the glens, and dizzy crags, 
 
 Apostrophize old ruined snags : 
 
 " The thunder-bolt on you hath darted, 
 
 And I, like you, am broken-hearted ! 
 
 Bright was the flash that blasted thee, 
 
 And oh ! how brilliant was the she 
 
 That did the same for wretched me ; 
 
 Alas, thou'rt only fit for fuel, 
 
 As I'm consumed with flames most cruel. ' : 
 
 'Tis strange to see in different nations, 
 
 How love has different habitations. 
 
 The Moor will tell you it is found 
 
 In waists not less than three feet round 
 
 And stoutly argue with you that 
 
 Its very essence is in — fat. 
 
 The Frank will tell you that's not true ; 
 
 For nearer waists are cut in two 
 
 The more's the admiration ; 
 
 And every tug at lacing strings, 
 
 13 
 
146 
 
 Still nearer to perfection brings, 
 His sweetheart's fascination. 
 And when at last shall come the day, 
 (As come full soon he hopes it may) 
 When a girl her figure pinches, 
 Till it measures just five inches ; 
 She'll be an angel, nothing less. 
 I think so, too, I must confess ; 
 No thinking person can deny it, 
 (If they are good enough who try it.) 
 
 CROSSING THE DELAWARE. 
 As bleakly howls the wintry wind 
 
 Along the raging Delaware, 
 Unto its margin, hurrying fast 
 Braving December's ruthless blast, 
 
 See, freedom's forlorn hope appear! 
 
 With no bright ranks, nor "sea of plumes" 
 
 Nor martial shout or drum ; 
 But in the midnight's gathering glooms, 
 
147 
 
 All silently they come. 
 For boreal winter mid their bands, 
 
 His seal on every lip hath set ; 
 And every brow like marble shows, 
 White as the pure December snows, 
 
 Cold as the icy bayonet. 
 No clarion note rings on the air, 
 
 And, save their heavy tread, 
 It might have seemed a vision there, 
 
 An army of the dead. 
 
 The boats forsake the stormy land, 
 
 And through the loud ice-laden flood 
 Hard laboring, seek the distant shore ; 
 
 While with a louder fiercer roar, 
 The cold wind sweeps the groaning wood. 
 
 But wild as grew the wintry night, 
 
 A blacker midnight still, 
 Shrouded the sun that rose so bright 
 
 On glorious Bunker Hill. 
 
148 
 
 And this brave few alone remain, 
 
 Of all that hailed its rising scene ; 
 Some on disastrous fields have bled, 
 And captive some, and some are fled, 
 And some, oh shame! have treacherous been. 
 But tho' the darkest hour is come — 
 And hope's own star grows wan, 
 Yet still is heard amid the gloom 
 The voice of Washington. 
 
 And while that voice can cheer them on, 
 And while that arm can point the way ; 
 Let rayless nights, and wintry snows, 
 And raging floods and marshaled foes, 
 League all their terrors to dismay ; 
 One star will guide, one flame will burn — 
 
 Honor, and patriot fire ; 
 And who but floods and foes would scorn, 
 While these his soul inspire ! 
 
149 
 
 OH! BURY ME BY MY KINDRED. 
 
 Oh! bury me by my kindred, 
 
 I would not lay me here, 
 Where strangers cold will pass me by 
 
 Without a single tear; 
 And the city's hurrying throng will come — 
 
 Oh ! do not make my resting place 
 So far away from home! 
 
 How, how, I wish my mother's hand 
 
 To feel upon my brow ; 
 And hear my sister's gentle voice — 
 
 They say I can not now ; 
 For I am far from home and them, 
 
 And strangers answer when I call 
 In fevered dreams, their name ; 
 Oh! it is hard to die away 
 
 From all who loved us here ; 
 
150 
 
 To pass from earth, and not a lip 
 
 To whisper comfort near — 
 So friends go bid my kindred come 
 
 To 'tend my dying bed, and bear 
 Me back to childhood's home. 
 
 For I would like to rest beneath 
 
 The weeping willow tree; 
 Whose feathered boughs in early spring 
 
 May softly wave o'er me — 
 Or dig my grave, in woodland shade — 
 
 For in the unquiet city here, 
 I would not have it made. 
 
 TURKISH WAR SONG. 
 
 The sound of the trumpet comes shrill on the 
 
 air, 
 From the banks of the Danube, for foemen are 
 
 there, 
 
151 
 
 Where the Ottoman once in the pride of his 
 
 power, 
 Rode down on the fear-stricken ranks of the 
 
 giaour ; 
 
 When the priest fled the altar, the monarch 
 
 the throne, 
 As borne on the whirlwind the crescent came 
 
 on ; 
 And the arm of the Christian waxed feeble 
 
 with fear, 
 At the terrible war-cry of " Allah Acbar." 
 
 And the battle was won e'er the scimeter fell, 
 
 That was drawn but to slaughter the vile infi- 
 del ; 
 
 Who bowed as the caravans bowed them with 
 fear, 
 
 When the red rolling blast of the desert is 
 near. 
 
152 
 
 And like that dread siroc, whose poisonous 
 
 blast 
 Spreads terror before, and leaves death where 
 
 it's past, 
 
 Swift, swift came the Mussulmen's steeds to 
 
 the fray, 
 But the dread of their coming was swifter than 
 
 they. 
 But like the same siroc, when Allah decrees, 
 The fortune and fame of the bravest must 
 
 cease ; 
 And the Danube's broad bosom and Sarmatian 
 
 spear 
 Curbed the crescent for aye, in its westward 
 
 career. 
 
 But Moslems, awake ! To the battle again ! 
 The arm is thrice broken that baffled you then ; 
 'Tisth' Muscovite tyrant, that dares to th' war! 
 Once more, for the sabre, and "Allah Acbar!" 
 
153 
 
 FRAGMENTS. 
 
 How great majestic nature's primal fanes, 
 Beside art's, loftiest and much vaunted piles. 
 Here all in vain the confused vision strains, 
 
 To trace far stretching thro' their solemn 
 
 miles, 
 The windings of the mossy pillared aisles 
 In long perspective, that almost appalls 
 Expanding so in solitary wilds : 
 And music fit for these vast gloomy halls 
 Swell in the breeze's sigh, and roar of water- 
 falls. 
 
 Yet but her mighty vestibules are these 
 Through which the votary's way must be pur- 
 sued, 
 14 
 
154 
 
 Before the penetralia he sees, 
 Shrouded in mountain's mystic solitude ; 
 Where mortal presence seldom dares intrude 
 To speak the spirits of the awful shrine, 
 Or hear their answer in the thundering flood, 
 Or mark their anger in the lightning shine : 
 To nearly image there, the o'erwhelming 
 divine. 
 
 Often at night 
 While the earth is calmly sleeping, 
 
 As the moon rolls high. 
 Or the clouds are softly weeping, 
 
 To the breeze's sigh, 
 My childhood's early friends are sweeping 
 
 Like shadows by, 
 Whose forms, though in the grave's dark keep- 
 ing, 
 
 Glide on my sight. 
 
And as they fly, 
 They call my spirit to the past. 
 
 Sadly to review the years, 
 From infancy's light gambols to the last 
 
 Sad scene of tears ; 
 When, the fond struggle in our bosom past, 
 
 Of hopes and fears, 
 And the latest glance of love was cast 
 
 From the dying eya 
 
 DEATH OF HENRY CLAY. 
 
 Columbia mourns in dust to day, 
 Her prop and savior torn away ; 
 
 No idle pomps her woes allay, 
 
 For oh ! she mourns her Henry Clay. 
 
 Kentucky mourns her fallen pride, 
 
 Whose name with her's was sounded wide ; 
 
156 
 
 Her sun is set, night shrouds her da} r , 
 For oh ! she mourns her Henry Clay. 
 
 Another mourns, his aged wife, 
 The partner of a glorious life ; 
 
 Drive not her holy grief away, 
 
 For oh! she mourns her Henry Clay. 
 
157 
 
 NOTES. 
 
 ETACTEAL, 
 PART I. 
 
 Note 1. Sec 2. 
 
 Beneath Scleucia's glittering pagods rolled etc., 
 
 The city of Seleucia was not situated immediately on the Euphrates, 
 bat on the Tigris at a point where the two streams flow no considera- 
 ble distance apart. But for poetical purposes, there have been much 
 greater transpositions of places, which have not been looked on as 
 abuses of poetic licence. When the lines were penned, the author 
 was not aware of the mistake. 
 
 Note 2v Sec 2, 
 
 To Mithra setting knelt the Gebir there, 
 
 To Wachil rising bowed the Natchez here etc., 
 
 The Parsees or fire-worshipers of Persia, it is well known worshiped 
 the Sun as the representative of Deity. The Natchez, whose religion 
 was analogous to that of the Mexicans, and still more to the Peruvian, 
 worshiped the same luminary, but whether as their deity or his repre- 
 sentative, or merely paid respect to it as his dwellingplace, does not 
 fully appear. But it is certain that their rites were of the most 
 bloody description ; human beings it is said, forming the most usual 
 
158 
 
 sacrifice, which is probably true, since as said before, their religion 
 was very similar to that of the Mexicans, or Aztecs, if it was not 
 in reality the same, with some slight modifications. Indeed the 
 Natchez seem to have been the most eastern branch of that great 
 family of half-civilized people, who occupied the region extending from 
 the northern' shores of the Gulf of Mexico across the continent to the 
 California, of whom vague reports were circulated by Jesuits, and 
 Commercial Adventures with the usual amount of exaggeration, and 
 embellishment, some representing them as living in splendid cities, 
 some as white and possessed of the art of alphabetical writing; with 
 multitude of other details equally imaginary, though not wholly 
 without foundation, as modern explorations have shown. 
 
 If North America has — as some suppose — been like Europe during 
 the third and fourth centuries, overrun by successive irruption of 
 tribes from the northwest, by which civilization was gradually driv- 
 en toward the south ; it would seem probable that these races thus 
 placed between the more cultivated inhabitants of Mexico, and the 
 Savages of the north, were the descendants of those who followed 
 after the Tetulcan family, driving the latter before them or settling 
 in their vicinity, and gradually adopting their religious and social 
 institutions. 
 
 The Natchez, as we have said, were the most northern and eastern 
 of these partly civilized nations-, and would seem to have been in the 
 process of time, entirely surrounded by the barbarian people, whom 
 the whites found spread over all that part of the continent included 
 in the present limits of the United States and Canada. Indeed the 
 Natchez are the only tribe of any advancement, of which we have 
 any account, as having been situated within the bounds of our coun- 
 try, east of the Mississipi. 
 
 There are many considerations that would dictate the choice of 
 this people for poetical purposes. One of which is that their pecu- 
 liar situation, gives the writer the command of two very rich fields 
 at once, on the one hand he may cull that which pleases his fancy* 
 
159 
 
 from the simple religion, and primitive, social organization of the 
 northern Savages, and on the other he can without inconsistency 
 avail himself of whatever may seem striking in the more elaborate 
 mythology, and more complex civil institutions of the southern. 
 
 Note 3. Sec 3. 
 
 And when fierce Kahled to the heathen North etc., 
 
 Kahled or Calid called the " sword of God " led the Moslem armies 
 to the invasion of Persia, but I believe was not present at the battle 
 of Cadesa in which the Arabians finally triumphed. 
 
 Note 4. Sec 4. 
 
 An hour of ivoe, thus told in prophecy. 
 
 It is said that there was among the Indians, at the time of the 
 discovery of America, a "tradition that their race was to be conquered 
 and destroyed by a strange people from the east. 
 
 Note 5. Sec 5. 
 
 As some tall and rugged cliff, 
 Defying Eno's haughty power etc., 
 
 Eno, was the "Jupiter Tonans " of the northern Indians, some 
 tribes believed him to be a distinct being ; others considered him as 
 only the great Spirit, manifesting his anger, and Ihis seemed to have 
 been the idea of the Chief who gave to the governor of Virginia, the 
 account of the slaying of the Mammoth. 
 
 Note 6. Sec 5. 
 
 Thou toast too lovely in thy gladness, 
 Men looked on thee a,nd their reins 
 Boiled loith jealousy and madness. 
 
 A Kalrush Maiden was loved by four Chiefs of her tribe, whose 
 jealousy produced the most violent quarrels. At last they deter- 
 mined to end the matter by killing the object of their common love ; 
 
160 
 
 which they did. Then the whole tribe gathered round the pile on 
 
 which the body was burned, chaunting a song of which the burthen 
 
 was. " Thou wast too beautiful — Thou couldst not live — Men looked 
 
 on thee, and madness fired their breast." 
 
 Kotzebue's Voyages. 
 
 Note 7. Sec 5. 
 
 Suns, Priests and Braves, are slaughtered now etc., 
 
 Suns, were the members of the royal family which was supposed 
 to have been descended from the God Wachil or the Sun. Each of 
 the subordinate villages was governed by one of these suns, as 
 they were in turn by the head of the family who dwelt in the principal 
 town. [ Traits of Indian character.] 
 
 Note 8. Sec 9. 
 The Great Sun of the people teas thy sire. 
 
 The head of the royal family was called the Great Sun. He was 
 an absolute ruler, and was regarded with his whole family as sacred, 
 above suspicion, and above reproach. 
 
 In Mr. Howe's, Great West, we found the following brief account 
 of this singular nation, " About this time, 1718, the French colony 
 was involved in wars with the Chickasaws and Natchez. The latter 
 tribe were finally completely conquered. The remnant of them dis. 
 persed among other Indians, so that, that one powerful people as a 
 distinct race was entirely lost. Their name alone survives as that 
 of a flourishing city. Tradition related singular stories of the Natch- 
 ez. Some said that they had emigrated from Mexico, and were kin- 
 dred to the Incas of Peru. The Natchez of all the tribes, alone had 
 a consecrated Temple, where perpetual fire was maintained by ap- 
 pointed guardians. Near the Temple on an artificial mound stood 
 the dwelling of their Chief — called the Great Sun ; who Avas supposed 
 to be a descendant of that luminary, and all around were grouped the 
 dwellings of the tribe. His power was absolute, his dignity was 
 
161 
 
 transmitted exclusively through the female line ; a race of nobles so 
 distinct, that usage had molded language into the forms of rever- 
 ence." 
 
 It is on this last singularity in the laws of succession, that I have 
 made the whole interest of the plot to rest. The royal line was sa- 
 cred — it was through it that the blessings of the God, was transmitted 
 to the people, their subjects. Hence, it was necessary the blood of 
 those destined to this high office should be pure, and uncontaminated 
 by connection with meaner beings. But " whom the Gods destroy 
 they first make mad," and the Great Sun moved by the glory and 
 popularity of Etacteal, had consented to this union of Etacteal with 
 his only daughter. Etacteal had been a captive (and according to 
 Indian custom a slave,) previous to his adoption into the tribe. The 
 crime though innocently committed was fatal : the sacred line was 
 degraded, its immaculate purity was gone, it was no longer fit for its 
 high office of intermediary between the Natchez and their God ; and 
 and the power offended by the voluntary debasement of his descen- 
 dants, abandoned them and their people to their white destroyers. 
 
 Note 9. Sec 11. 
 
 When she beheld a pinioned captive led 
 
 Toward WachiVs shrine, to yield her youthful life etc., 
 
 The Natchez as well as the Mexicans were in the habit of offering 
 a certain number of captives to their God. 
 
 [ Traits of Indian character^] 
 
162 
 
 DP^ZR/T XX. 
 
 Note 1. Sec 1. 
 
 No common brave met h ink, for now he gazed 
 Full on the moon, and in her clear light blazes 
 On his dusk a glittery orb of gold etc. 
 
 The Natchez wore rude imitation of their God the Sun around their 
 neck. 
 
 [Traits of Indian character.'] 
 
 I have elsewhere read that this distinction was only permitted to 
 the royal line, and indicated to all their descent from Wachil. 
 
 Note 2. Sec 4. 
 
 T hat from their hills have suddenly broke forth 
 Those mountain wolves the Cherokees. 
 
 The Cherokees, were a powerful tribe 'that held the mountain 
 parts of Tennessee, and North Carolina. Bancroft says the Ckero- 
 . kees were the mountaineers of America ; on whose rocky homes suc- 
 cessive waves of invasion may have broken harmlessly. 
 
 :p.a.:rt xxx. 
 
 Note 1. Sec 8. 
 
 A spirit voice in dreams of danger near etc., 
 
 They (the Indians) are much addicted to faith in dreams. One of 
 of the dreamers — the day before alert, confident, and intrepid — 
 awakened next morning subdued and timid. He paints one side of 
 
1 63 
 
 his face black, and carefully abstains from any indulgence until 
 the interdict be removed — he has dreamed an unfavorable dream 
 
 [ Western Monthly Review."] 
 
 The Indian seldom attempts to divine the future by any other 
 
 means than his dreams. 
 
 [Religions of all nations.] 
 
 Note 2. Sec 10. 
 
 When golden fruits hang mid the fresh bloom flotvcrs, 
 And bursting buds etc. 
 
 "Blossoms, and fruits and flowers together rise, 
 And the whole year in gay confusion lies 
 
 [ . Iddison's letter from Italy.] 
 
 Note 3. Sec. 13. 
 
 His only dirge, the ever murmuring wave. 
 Where without mound or monumental stone, 
 He sleeps, his humble resting-place unknown. 
 
 Marquette was buried at the mouth of a small stream on the shore of 
 Lake Superior, but the exact spot is now forgotten. 
 
 THE SPECTEE AND THE HUNTER. 
 
 Note 1. 
 
 Fttabolaydes or Ittabolays, Genii of very diminutive stature, but 
 of great power, from whom Magicians and Conjurors, received all 
 their influence. They often ride by moonlight on the backs of Deer, 
 with white wands in their hands. They are invisible, intangible 
 save to their favorites. 
 
164 
 
 Note 2. 
 
 Shilloops, are ghosts or wandering spirits, able to speak, but 
 
 invisible. 
 
 Note 3. 
 
 Nantislioola, are demons or real Grecian Devils that wander about 
 the earth. 
 Choctaw Mythology in the Traits of Indian character, volll. Page 83. 
 
ERRATA. 
 
 [ The folloiving passage should precede the last parajraph on page lOO.j 
 
 No longer o'er the bloody field, 
 
 The panting warriors beheld 
 
 Its blazoned glories, shine afar 
 
 Above the crimson tide of war, 
 
 A sign of hope, a guiding star ; 
 
 One cry of wild despair arose, 
 
 And back before half vanquished foes 
 
 The victors turned in flight, 
 
 And forming swift the Christians foot 
 
 Their broken again unite 
 
 To urge the keen pursuit : 
 
 And soon alone upon the plain 
 
 The wounded and the dead remain. 
 
 Save, that amid the royal dead 
 
 — Near by a tattered standard lay — 
 
 Upholding a slain warriors head, 
 
 A maiden sat at close of day, 
 
 ( When from the bloody chase turned back 
 
 The Christian soldiers came again 
 
 To seek their nightly bivouac.) 
 
 Who as if all unconscious of 
 
 The palefaced foes collected round, 
 
 Still seated on the crimson ground 
 
 Employed each fond and soft caress 
 
 That woman in her tenderness 
 
 Can lavish on her love. 
 
 Now smoothed the clotted locks and now 
 
 Kissed the cold cheek and senseless brow, 
 
 And then arranged the bloody vest 
 
 In folds upon the wounded breast, 
 
 And all the while a song, 
 
 Wailing monotonous and low. 
 
 The music of a speechless woe.