Y.

r
WILLIAM L. CLEMENTS
LIBRARY OF
AMERICAN HISTORY
UNIVERSITYOF MICHIGAN
7/85



THE
AMERICAN INDIAN
A PLAY
IN THREE ACTS.
PRICE TWO SHILLINGS. 1

ALEXANDEA
ІІ ТА
ТАТА
1883
GARDYNE


JAMES BACON.
Drawn from the Life, and Engraved by Rothwell.
Pablished by Harrison 20.08 1.1795.

THE
AMERICAN INDIAN;
OR,
VIRTUES OF NATURE,
A PLAY
IN THREE ACTS,
WITH
NOTES.
FOUNDED ON AN INDIAN TALE,
BY JAMES BACON,
FIERCE WARS, AND FAITHFUL LOVES, SHALL MORALIZE MY SONG,
SPENSER'S FAIRY QUEEN.
LONDON:
PRINTED FOR THE AUTHOR, BY MESSRS. HARRISON AND CO.
NO, 18, PATERNOSTER ROW.
MDCCXCV.

ALIANIMAL
UUTISET
CE
VO
OTSE

PREFACE.
Find tot
S2 775
os
THE
HE Poem on which the following Play is
founded, is entitled, Ouâbi; or, The Virtues of Na-
ture. An Indian Tale. In Four Cantos. By
PHILENIA*. The fable of which appears, from
the Introduction, to have been taken from a profe
ſtory in Mr. Carey's entertaining and inſtructing
Muſeum; and which, in the Monthly Review for
September 1793, is thus given-
« The characters of this poem in praiſe of the
Virtues of Nature, are Ouâbi, an Illinois chief;
Azâkia, his wife; Celario, an European wanderert;
and Ziſma, a female friend of Azâkia. The ſtory
is as follows:-Celario, rambling in hopeleſs exile
on the borders of the Miſfilippi, is alarmed by a
piercing ſhriek; and eſpies a beauteous captive on
her knees, imploring life of a tall Huron, whoſe arm
is uplifted to deſtroy her. He immediately fires at
and kills the Huron, thus delivering the captive
* Mrs. Morton, a Lady of Boſton, in New England.
* Who, having flain a young man in a quarrel, was forced
to quit his native land.
b
Azâkia.

PREFACE.
Azâkia. She having never, till now, feen an Eu-
ropean, nor heard the report of a piſtol, addreſſes
her deliverer as a god: he, in return for her delive-
rance, aſks the reward of love is refuſed; but al-
lows Azâkia to conduct him to her home, where he
is introduced to her huſband Ouâbi, who promiſes
to cheriſh and defend him as a brother. Celario
follows Quâbi to the war; and, on being wounded
in battle, is carried back to the hoſpitable reſidence
of the chief, and ſubmitted to the care of the beau-
tiful Azâkia.
Biang ini
“ A mutual paſſion is enkindled. Celario at-
tempts to perſuade Azâkia to be faithlefs to her
TISTAS
huſband; but ſhe, without diſguiſing her love for the
European, nobly rejects his baſe propoſal. Abaſhed,
and overwhelmed by the purity of favage virtue,
Celario forms a reſolution of quitting his aſylum;
but, Ouabi returning, employs himſelf, at the foli-
citation of his faithful Azâkia, to ſoothe the anguiſh
of his mind, and to divert him from his intention.
CO
Having ſecured to his wife the ſociety of Celario,
Ouâbi again goes out to battle, and is wounded and
taken priſoner by the Hurons. Tidings being
brought of this diſaſtrous event by a bleeding fugia
tive, Celario haſtens to revenge the fuppoſed death
of the chief. Accompanied by a band of valiant
Illinois, he attacks and defeats the enemy; and dif-
covers

PREFACE.
xi
covers Ouâbi ſurrounded by the Hurons, who were
employed in torturing him; while he, defying his
tormentors, was ſinging the Death Song. Celario
delivers his duſky friend, dreſſes his wounds, and
conducts him to his dwelling, and to his Azâkia.
Ouâbi, overwhelmed with admiration at the valour
of Celario, and penetrated with gratitude for the de-
liverance wh ch both his wife and himſelf had expe-
rienced at his hands, gratifies the paſſion which he
knew Celario had conceived for Azâkia by reſigning
her to him; while he himſelf weds the youthful
Ziſma. Scarcely, however, were the nuptial rites
folemnized, than the generous and noble Ouâbi ex-
pires; anticipating the enjoyment of realms in which
godlike valour will be rewarded, and appointing
Celario to ſuſtain his place among the Illinois."
Such are the incidents which compoſe this intereſt-
ing tale. The only alteration I have made in the ſtory,
is that of leaving Ouâbi in the arms of his youthful
bride, rather than conſign him to the cold embraces
of the ghaſtly tyrant; which, as it offers no violence
to the moral tendency of the work, will not, I truſt,
be deemed a deviation of much materiality.
The nature of my avocation affording me many
leiſure hours, I adopted the hint thrown out by the
profeſſed judges of literature, that the tale might
afford a ſubject for the ſtage; and, from the deſcrip-
b2
tior

xii
PREFACE.
it was,
tion recorded by them—for I ſought in vain for the
publication--had nearly compleated the ſecond act,
when the politeneſs of the Editor of the Monthly
Review, to whom I had applied for information
where I might meet with the poem, furniſhed me
with a ſight of the only copy which, it is believed,
ever made it's way into England.
After having compleated my piece, I preſented ic
to the acting manager of Drury Lane Theatre, who
had engaged to lay it before the proprietors of that
houſe. The opinion formed by them upon
6 that it could not be produced with advantage to
the theatre;" and, left it ſhould be thought my rea-
ſon for publiſhing it is to combat that opinion, I
declare that I am not actuated by any ſuch motive.
The idea that the deſcription of the manners and
cuſtoms of a people ſo far remote from this country,
and ſo little known to the world in general, as thoſe
repreſented in the preſent drama, would be accept-
able to many lovers of polite literature, is the prin-
cipal reaſon of my printing what I candidly acknow-
ledge I once thought might have formed an inte-
reſting dramatick performance: let me add, with
equal candour, that I do not myſelf now think it
written with ſufficient knowledge of the jeu de theatre,
to have ſucceeded on the ſtage without conſiderable
alterations,
Impreſſed

PREFACE.
Impreſſed with an idea, that the virtues aſcribed
to a people living in a rude uncultivated ſtate of
nature, may poſſibly be treated by many as chime-
rical, I am induced to make the following extract
from Mrs. MORTON's Introduction to her elegant
Poem; which, I truſt, will remove from the candid
mind every ſuch unfavourable ſuſpicion-
" It may, perhaps,” ſays the fair author, " be
objected that I have given my favourite Quâbi a
degree of inſenſibility, with reſpect to the love of
Celario, incompatible with the greatneſs and ſupe-
riority of his character. To this I reply, that the
mind, unpracticed in deception, can never be ca-
pable of ſuſpicion; and that, not having known the
European vices, he could have no idea of their
exiſtence.
“ It may alſo be imagined that, conſidering the
exalted virtue and reſolution of Azâkia, which could
lead her even to deach for the man to whom ſhe was
contracted; her ready compliance with the propofi-
tion of Ouâbi, and the joy ſhe evinces on that occa-
Sion, form an unpardonable contradiction: but it
muſt be remembered, that from the cuſtoms and
laws of every country it's manners and morals are
derived. Azâkia, bound to her huſband by every
tie, would not deceive him: but, when he expreſſed
2 with to reſign her, ſhe could have no idea of his
inſincerity;

SIV
PREFACE.
inſincerity; ſo much is truth the characteriſtick of
a ſtate of nature! It then became a duty, a virtue,
to purſue the firſt wiſh of her heart.
“ I am aware it may be conſidered improbable,
that an amiable and poliſhed European ſhould at-
tach himſelf to the perſons and manners of an un-
civilized people; but there is now a living inſtance
of the like propenſity. A gentleman of fortune,
born in America, and educated in all the refine-
ments and luxuries of Great Britain, has lately at-
tached himſelf to a female ſavage, in whom he finds
every charm I have given my Azâkia; and, in
conſequence of his inclination, has relinquiſhed his
own country and connections, incorporated himſelf
into the ſociety, and adopted the manners of the
virtuous, though uncultivated, Indian.
« Should any be induced to think that I have
given too many perfections to a rude uncultivated
favage, let them read the following Apoſtrophe of
M. MERCIER, a celebrated French author" I
glanced my eye rapidly over the ſcene; and in a
vaſt country, hitherto to us unknown, I ſaw a naked
Indian, having nothing but God and nature above
him, enjoying the benefits which' offer, without
analyſing them. His body was ſupple and robuſt;
his eye lively and piercing; his ear attentive; in his
deportment a certain air of haughtineſs, of which we
have

PREFACE.
XV
have no kind of idea in our degenerate clime. He
ſeems even more graceful and majeſtick when beſide
his female companion; his eye is milder, his coun-
tenance more ſerene."
* But the authority,” continues the fair author,
« by which I have been influenced, and from which
I feel myſelf juſtified, is WILLIAM PENN, founder
of Pennſylvania, whoſe manners and principles could
not admit of exaggeration, or extravagancy of ex-
preſion. In his Letters to his Friends in England,
he deſcribes the North American Indians in the fol-
lowing terms—“For their perſons, they are gene-
rally tall, ſtraight, well built, and of fingular pro-
portion; they tread ſtrong and clever, and moſtly
walk with a lofty chin: the thick lip and flat noſe,
ſo frequent with the Eaſt Indians and blacks, are not
common with them; for I have ſeen as comely Eu-
ropean-like faces among them, of both ſexes, as on
your
ſide the ſea. And, truly, an Italian complexion
hath not much more of the white; and the noſes of
ſeveral have as much of the Roman. They are
great concealers of their own reſentment, but in libe-
rality they excel; nothing is too good for their
friend. Their government is by kings; every king has
his council, and that conſiſts of all the old and wife
men of his nation: nothing of moment is undertaken
without adviſing with them; and, what is more, with
the

xvi
PREFACE.
old grave,
92
the young men too. It is admirable to conſider
how power ful their kings are; and yet how they move
by breath of the people. I have had occaſion to
be in council with them: while any one ſpoke, not
a man of them was obſerved to whiſper or ſinile; the
the young reverent, in their deportment.
They ſpeak little, but fervently, and with elegance:
I have never ſeen more natural fagacity, conſidering
them without the help I was going to ſay the
fpoilmof tradition.
5707
If I miſtake not, pieces of this kind are more ge-
nerally announced, than analyſed, by the judges of
literary productions; notwithſtanding which, I can-
not diveſt myſelf of thoſe apprehenſions to which the
dread of their cenſure has given birth. But, with
theſe, whatever may be my fate, their animadver
fions, rather than be ſhrunk from as a puniſhment,
will be embraced as a reward; ſince they may tend
to the improvement of a mind open to conviction,
and willing to receive inſtruction from thoſe who,
from nature and education, are moſt qualified to
give it. For, with Belcour, the Weſt Indian, I can
truly ſay-.“ If I knew that man on earth who
thought more humbly of me than I do of myſelf, I
would take up his opinion, and forego my own.
ammoottorino
o

DEDICATION.
TO THE MOST NOBLE
2
ANNE,
MARCHIONESS TOWNSHEND.
SACA
MADAM,
THE
HE ſatisfaction which I feel in being pera
mitted to lay this juvenile effort at your feet, can
only be equalled by the pleaſure I derive from
your
approbation of the work,
If the virtues of a people, living in a rude, un-
cultivated ſtate of nature, merit the protection of
thoſe of moſt poliſh, I am perfuaded that they can
no where find a more amiable patron than your
Ladyſhip;

DEDICATION.
Ladyſhip; and that, whatever difference of opinion
may ariſe in the minds of thoſe who ſhall peruſe the
following ſheets, as to the merits of the Author,
there can be none in reſpect to his choice of
patronage.
ИТА
I have the honour to be
DRAM
MADAM,
Your Ladyſhip’s moſt obedient
And much obliged
Humble Servants
ci volo Lorient
LINCOLN'S INN,
October 12, 1795.
1. JAMES BACON,
erunit
masa 3 bilo
Biog nord Torr
id not to be story on

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IN the conſtruction of the following Drama, I have
endeavoured to preſerve, as much as I was able, the ele-
gant fimplicity by which the Poem en which it is founded
is ſo eminently diſtinguiſhed; and have invariably adopted
the ſentiments of the fair Author. The Death Song,
which has been juftly admired for the excellency of it's
compoſition, is the production of Mrs. Morton, and
Įiterally copied from the Virtues of NATURE,

DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.
Ouâbi
an Illinois Chief.
an European Wanderer.
Celario
Azâkia -
Wife to Ouâbi,
Ziſma,
Friends of Azâkia,
Izênia,
Illinois Chiefs, Warriors, Female Attendants, &c
AND
Huron Chiefs, Warriors, &c.
Scenes-America, chiefly in the Country of the Illinois;
but the Third Scene of the laſt Aft ſhifts to that of
the Huron.

THE
AMERICAN INDIAN.
-
O
stos
ACT I.
PT
Bob
Ngon
OS
SCENE I.
Scene a pictureſque view on the borders of the Miſſiſippi (A.)
A party of the Illinois are driven acroſs the ſtage by the
Hurons ; after which Azâkia enters, purſued by a Huron,
who ſeizes her arm, and raiſes his hatchet to deſtray her.
AH !
Azâkia. H! ſpare me! ſpare me! and, though my
countrymen may have done thee wrong, revenge not thyſelf
on a woman.
Huron. Is not the great Quâbi, whoſe fierce relentleſs
arm ſo oft has dealt deſtruction on the Huron race, thy cruel
huſband; and canſt thou ſue for mercy? Know, that I
have ſworn eternal hatred to all who bear the name of
Illinois !
Azâkia. And wouldſt thou diſgrace a warrior's arm, by
bafely ſhedding the blood of weak, defenceleſs woman?
Go! ſeek the hoſtile field, where illinois's fons impatiently
wait the charge of battle: there fingle out ſome chief worthy
thy ſword; at him point all thy rage; with him contend for
glory; nor ſtain the name of ſoldier by a woman's death.
Huron. In vain you ſeek to elude my juſt revenge ! Not
your beauty, fighs, or tears, ſhall divert the purpoſe of my
A
foul.

2
THE AMERICAN INDIAN.
foul. Words cannot ſpeak my hate: this dagger can alone
expreſs it!
[Offers to ſtab her: ſhe catches hold of his arm,
and prevents the blow.
Azâkia. Yet ſtay, inhuman monſter! hold thy murder-
ing hand! Think, unfeeling Huron, if thou haſt a wife,
what
pangs
would rend thy breaſt, ſhouldſt thou, when re-
turning night gave reſpite to the battle's furious rage, and
bade thee ſeek thy peaceful cot, behold a mangled corpſe the
partner of thy life! Trace, with Conception's glowing eye,
a ſcene like this, then think on Ouâbi's forrows, and ſpare
his guiltleſs wife! [While Azàkia is ſpeaking, Celario
TO
enters from a wood.
Huron. Thy artful tongue, and ſtill more perſuaſive looks,
beauteous fyren, if I delay the meditated ſtroke, may melt
my favage nature into pity; urge me to betray my country's
cauſe; and make me, indeed, a monſter! Thy death alone
can ſatisfy the hate I bear thy race.
Celario. Say'ſt thou ſo, inhuman favage! Then, Juſtice,
nerve my arm, and ſeal her ſafety in thy fall. [Celario
fires a piſtol at the Huron, who falls. Azâkia ſtands
transfixed with aſtoniſhment. After a long pauſe, ſhe
addreſſes her deliverer.
Azâkia. Can this be real, or is it the mockery of fancy
that thus abuſes my ſenſes, and gives to my aſtoniſhed view
the ſhadowy form of truth? Say, what art thou--of more
than human form, of more than human beauty-that charms
my wondering fight? Art thou not ſome god! for what leſs
than Omnipotence could dart the vivid lightning's blaze !
what leſs the dreadful thunderbolt could hurl, (B.) and
ſnatch the trembling captive from impending ruin? Thus
let me kneel, and adoration pay
Gelario. Rife, beauteous maid; from you I merit not this
homage: he who has betrayed you to this humble poſture,
is like yourſelf, and but of mortal race.
Azâkia. Mortal! Art thou not more than human? Thy
looks beſpeak divinity, and my wondering mind depicted
thee ſome god! From whence, ſay, gentle ftranger, didft
thou come? Why thus wondrous fair! Why that god-like
preſence! Why wert thou formed with ſuch tranfcendant
brightneſs,

THE AMERICAN INDIAN.
3
brightneſs, fo far ſuperior to our fable race? O! ſay, what
happy country gave thee birth?
Gelario. England, dear maid, is the place of my nativity.
From thence expelled by adverſe fortune, I rove a hope-
leſs wanderer, and court my ſafety in a foreign clime.
Azâkia. And haft thou taſted of the bitter cup of wretch-
edneſs? Oh! tell me all thy ſorrows. Azâkia's grateful
buſom ſhall compaſſionate thy ſufferings, and all her care
ſhall be to foothe thy griefs. To thee I owe my life: thy
generous aid faved me from the Huron's rage, and at my
feet a lifeleſs corpſe the cruel ſavage ſtruck. Oh! I will
treaſure in my mind the noble deed; and each ſucceeding
day, each riſing hour, pour out the grateful tranſports of my
heart.
Celario. Enchanting ſweetneſs ! If meek-eyed pity in thy
boſom dwell--if thou canſt feel compaſſion for another's
woe--in thy ſociety my ſorrows yet may find the wiſhed re-
lief: a ſofter paſfion will ſupplant my griefs, and all my care
reſt but in love of thee. Know, lovely creature, that in mortal
combat I flew my foe; for which offence my country's laws
inflict the puniſhment of death. From their effect I fled;
and, quitting England's happy ſhores, reluctantly bent my
courſe to ſeek ſome refuge in an unknown land, and mourn
the deed my raſh, impetuous temper, urged me to commit.
Azâkia. Thy ſafety, then, be Azâkia's care. Gladly I
will lead thee to a lone retreat, and watch thy ſafety. Thy
every want I will ſupply, and tend thee with a parent's
care.
Celario. And wilt thou, lovely maid, to compleat my
bliſs, grant me thy love? Poſſeſſed of that, I might defy the
utmoſt malice of my fate, and laugh to ſcorn each threaten-
ing danger.
Azákia. Deem me not cruel, or ungrateful, if I deny
your fond requeſt. The boon you crave, I have no power
to grant. My heart, my hand, are wedded ; and friendſhip
is the whole I can beſtow. My faith I have plighted to the
great Ouâbi, chief of the Illinois: his heroick deeds first
won my heart; his matchleſs worth, his tenderneſs, and
love, ftill hold me in affection's bonds. Even now imagi-
A 2
nation

4
THE AMERICAN INDIAN.
nation gives the noble warrior to my view, and hides thee
from my ſight. (c.) Come, let us ſeek the Sachem's hoſpi-
table abode: I long to preſent to my lord his Azâkia's brave
deliverer.
Celario. Lead on: I will attend thee. Oh! Azâkia,
thou haſt fixed a dagger in my heart! But, while I lament
my fate, I admire thy virtue, that might ſhame the poliſhed
European, and teach him the attributes of Juſtice. [Exeunt.
SCENE II.
An Indian town, with a view of the ſurrounding country.--
Ouâbi enters, attended by ſeveral Chiefs, as returning from
battle : their bows flung acroſs their moulders. Illinois
women, and attendants.
Ouâbi. ONCE more, brave friends, the ſmile of victory
rewards our toil. The proud, inſulting foe, flies from the
embattled plain; and, in the gloomy coverts of his woods,
ſeeks refuge from our conquering arms.
Chief. Let us not truſt too much in the advantage gained;
we have but repulſed, not conquered, the daring foe: for,
as I am informed, they mean once more to give us battle;
and will, before the ſun's upriſing, ſeek us in the hoſtile
field.
Ouâbi. Nor ſhall they ſeek in vain. We will, ere the firſt
bluſh of day illumes the morn, leave the ſoft ruſhy couch,
and peaceful cot, to meet in arms theſe Huron bands.
So
fhall our alertneſs anticipate their favage with But
where, ye nymphs, is Azâkia? Why comes not ſhe to greet
her lord's return, and hail him welcome from the toils of
war? She was wont, with ſmiles of cordial love, eager to
claſp me in her loved embrace, and praiſe the gods that had
preſerved her huſband's life; while in either eye affection
beamed a tear, and ſpoke the honeſt tranſports of her ſoul.
Enter

THE AMERICAN INDIAN.
$
Enter a Warrior haſtily.
Warrior. Oh, woel-Oh, grief unutterable! - Azâkia,
wandering on the banks of yon ſwift ftream, was ſeen by a
band of ſavage Hurons, and made their priſoner. Attended
by a party of Illinois, I haſtened to her fuccour; but, alas!
the foe ſo far out-numbered us, that we could afford her no
relief.
Ouâbi. No relief! --Ah, coward! didſt thou bafely fly
the monſters, then, and tamely to their favage fury yield my
defenceleſs wife?
Warrior. The gods forbid ! Superior as they were in
force, we gave them battle. Long and obftinately we fought;
till, overpowered by numbers, hopeleſs of ſucceſs, and dread-
ing the fury of the foe, many of our party fought ſafety in a
coward Aight.
Ouâbi. Degenerate monſters!
Warrior. Supported by a few brave warriors, who diſ-
dained to fly, ſtill did I maintain the unequal conflict; when
our royal miſtreſs, eſcaping from her guards, withdrew the
ſavage hoft, who eagerly purſued the flying captive. While
yet within my view, I followed with my eye her rapid Aight:
her ſwiftneſs far outſtripped the purſuing foe; one only
ſeemed equal to her in pace, and he was ſtill behind. Nor
more of this ſad tale can I relate. Yet would I hope
Ouâbi. Hope! Alas, alas ! my boſom feels it not.-But
go, brave fellow, and ſtaunch thy bleeding wounds: I will
reward thy valour. [Exit IVarrior.] Oh, Azâkia! too
adventurous love! why didſt thou leave our peaceful groves,
where ſafety waited on thy ſteps? where, guarded by thy
faithful ſervants, no inſulting foe dared venture to intrude?
But why, in idle ſpeech, and fruitleſs tears, waſte I the pafling
moments? Let us purſue the foe; and, though to reſcue
Azâkia be a bleſſing fate denies, we may revenge her loſs.
[As Ouâbi is going off, Azâkia enters, followed by Celario.
Azâkia. Stay, my lord my huſband !-love! Thy fond
Azâkia, though ſnatched from danger's brink, ftill thinks
her ſafety inſecure, till in a huſband's arms ſhe feels herſelf
enfolded.
[Flies to his arms.
Ouabi,

6
THE AMERICAN INDIAN.
Ouâbi. Merciful Heaven! I thank thee. Thy voice, ty
love, revives my drooping ſoul, and brings back joy, which
grief for thy uncertain fate had baniſhed from my boſom.
What miracle reſtores thee to my arms?
Azâkia. Behold the ſaviour of Azâkia's life! [Pointing
"to Celario.] This god-like youth ſnatched me from the
Huron's rage. Swift from his arm the pointed lightning
flew, while the near thunder broke the trembling gale, and
hurled the rude barbarian to the ground !-Oh! take him
to your arms, and ſoothe his ſorrows; for he has long, too
long, alas ! been wretched.
Ouâbi. With a brother's fondneſs I hail him welcome;
and will, with all a brother's fondneſs, guard him from
every danger, ſoothe his forrow, and give his anxious mind
relief.--Say, gentle ftranger, whence the grief that hangs
on thy ſad brow? Haſt thou been driven from thy native
land, by ſome loved nymph, who heard unmoved thy tender
vows? Or, has ſome powerful and rapacious chief ſeized
on thy fortune, and from thy peaceful home driven thee
forth a wretched child of want?
Celario. Though not inſenſible to beauty's charms, I am
not the vaſſal of their power: nor do I to'a cruel deſpot owe
my forrows. The land that gave me birth, feels not the
miſery of tyrannick ſway. Our king governs with mildneſs
and humanity: the father of his people is he ; and he deems
his ſubjects love his greateſt bleſſing. Superior virtue marks
his ſteps : a lovely confort ſhares in all his joys; while a
numerous offspring, emblems of the race from whence they
ſprung, compleat his ſum of earthly bliſs. Long did I par-
ticipate my country's bleffings; till, in evil hour, dared by
my foe to ſingle combat, he fell beneath my ſword! For
this offence I am for ever baniſhed; and now I mourn, too
late, the dread effects of paſſion unreſtrained.
Ouäbi. Let us, Azâkia--and you, my friends---ſtrive to
divert this noble ftranger's ſorrows. Time, and our beſt at-
tention, may baply wipe from his memory the remembrance
of this fatal error; while inward penitence, appealing the
angry gods, thall recall baniſhed peace to his perturbed bo-
fom. Come, give me your hand; my reſidence is yours;
our proffered love accept, and freely ſhare our fortunes.
Celario.

THE AMERICAN INDIAN.
Celario. If aught has power to free from grief my for-
rowing mind, it is ſurely given to virtues ſuch as thine. Be
ic my ſtudy to deſerve your friendſhip.[Exeunt.
TOIT
SCENE III.
U 200 tondi
I wood.--Mufick plays a ſoft fymphony.--- After which,
Ziſma enters.
Good darbs AIR.) o bobom
os by
E THE happy ſpot, how ſhall I and,
Where white-rob’d Peace delights to dwell!
ovo
po Where ſportive Mirth, with chearful mind,
Still tunes to Joy her vocal fhell ?
Oh! guide me on the bliſsful way,
And ſoothe the ſorrows of my breaft;
The throbbing pulſe of mis'ry ſtay,
And give the wretched Zilma reſt! .
en las
and Togo Enter a Female Attendant.
Attendant. Why, Zifma, do you ſeek the gloomy ſcenes
of ſolitude? Why veil your beauties from admiring lovers,
who court your ſmiles, and figh the willing captives of your
charms?
Ziſma. Alas! I have no ſmiles to give: for I, too, mourn
the pangs of unrequited love!
Attendant. Oft have I urged you to diſcloſe what gives
this forrow birth : ftill are you deaf to my entreaties, and fly
the painful explanation,
Ziſma. Well may you reproach the wretched Ziſma; her
uncourteous manners deſerve rebuke: for friendſhip, ſuch as
thine, claims every confidence. But how ſhall I expoſe my
boſom's weakneſs, when even you muſt fcorn the unhallowed
wretch who dares to cheriſh fuch a guilty paſſion ?
Attendant,

8
THE AMERICAN INDIAN.
Attendant. Guilty paſſion ! Surely, you wrong yourſelf!
Guilt never could find a paſſage to that heart where every
virtue blooms with excelling luſtre.
Zifma. Far, very far, your partial fondneſs over-rates the
merits of your friend, and ſpreads oblivion's veil on all my
faults; elſe, in my every action, might you trace too much
of error.
Attendant. Diſhonour not your virtue with the unfriendly
charge; nor longer bide your forrows from your friend.
Ziſma. Alas! too plainly muſt appear the cauſe from
whence my griefs ariſe! What denote the faded luſtre of
my clouded eye--my looſe, diſhevelled treffes--the involun-
tary tear--and the deep figh, that ſwells almoſt to burſting
my anxious boſom? Of what are theſe deſcriptive, but of
love? Yes, of hopeleſs love! for ſuch is the peculiar malice
of my fate, that he on whom my heart is fixed-never can
be mine!
Attendant. Alas! unhappy maid !
Zima. No more of this ſad fecret feek to know: nor,
when you ſee me yielding to melancholy, wander--as per-
chance I may-amid the cloſe embowering ſhades of this
tall wood, by any look, word, or action, denote that you
know the reaſon of my abſence. Above all, be deaf to
Azâkia's enquiries: fufpicion already has alarmed her fears;
and the friendſhip which ſhe bears me will be pained at my
distreſs.
Enter a ſecond Attendant.
2d. Attendant. My miſtreſs, the beauteous Azâkia, greets
with her love the gentle Ziſma, and deſires ſhe will haften
to her arms. She has a tale of wonder to relate, and impa-
tiently waits to ſee her friend.
Ziſma. I will attend her. [Exit fecond Attendant.] Now,
my friend, obſerve the inſtructions I have given you.
Attendant. Fear not that I ſhall betray you. Your peace
I treaſure dearly as my own; and gladly would I ſhare in all
your forrows.
[Exeunt.
SCENE

THE AMERICAN INDIAN.
9
SCENE IV.
A grove. In the back ground Ouâbi's dwelling, and the town,
are ſeen through a viſta of trees,
Enter Celario,
BLUSH!-bluſh, ye fons of refinement!-ye boaſters of
reaſon, bluſh! and view fuperior virtue in untutored na-
ture!-Heavens! with what endearing fondneſs did ſhe
hang apon his breaſt; and, as the fear-embelliſhed tale ſhe
oft recounted oe'r, the enamoured huſband gazed with
tranſport on her charms, and kiſſed from her cheek the
falling tear, while all his ſoul ſeemed rapt in extacy and
love! Why was I reſerved for a fate ſo wretched? To
witneſs fuch exalted virtue, ſuch engaging ſweetneſs, ſuch
luxuriancy of charms, yet be denied the happineſs to call
them mine? If I ſtay, my reſolution to be juſt may yield
to impaflioned deſire. Still, to tear myſelf from all my ſoul
holds dear, is a taſk ny fortitude can ill ſupport. Ah!
periſh every vile, ungrateful thought! A nobler paffion ſhall
inſpire my ſoul, and drive this amorous fondneſs from my
breaſt. To-morrow, Ouâbi leads his fable hoſt to battle:
I will attend him; and, in purſuit of glory, forget the
power of beauty.
Enter Azâkia.
Azâkia. Wherefore, Celario, do you fly the converſe of
your friends, who mourn your abſence, and languiſh for
your return? Why, in filent forrow, do you bend your eyes
on earth, heedlefs of the objects that ſurround you? [Celario
turns to Azâkia, and looks tenderly at her. ] Are you noc
well? [She takes hold of his hand.] Tell me, where lies your
pain? Azâkia's bofom can admit no ſenſe of joy, while
miſery dwells in thine.
Celario. [ Afide.] What tuneful accents dwell upon her
tongue! There is magick in her voice; and, while her
beauties charm my wondering fight, her tenderneſs ſteals
into
my
ſoul.
Azâkia. Come, corne, Celario, forget your cares awhile,
and give your thoughats to joy. This night Ouabi holds 2
B
feaſt,

10
THE AMERICAN INDIAN.
feaſt, to celebrate the marriage of a youthful pair he ranks
among his friends, and aſks your preſence.
Celario. Thinks Azâkia that the mind, tortured with
hopeleſs paffion, can in another's happineſs ever find relief?
Idly to witneſs joy I cannot taſte, will but increaſe the pangs
I feel. Would Azâkia give my ardent paſſion one approv-
ing ſmile, no more of forrow fould this boſom know; no
more in fad dejection ſhould I roam; nor mourn, as fatal,
the period which firſt gave you to my view.
Azâkia. Why will you nouriſh a paſſion that muſt de-
ftroy your peace? Think, what would be Azâkia's fate,
ſhould once your guilty paffion reach Ouâbi's ears! Mild
and gentle as is his temper, tranquil as the earlieft hour of
morn, when every rude blaft in filence ſleeps; yet, when
baſe Ingratitude, aſſuming Friendſhip’s luring form, medi-
tates aught againſt his peace and honour, his manly boſom
ſwells with honeſt indignation, and his unforgiving foul
burns with a juſt revenge. Be then adviſed, fond youth;
nor make a foe where you have found a friend.
Celario. Dreadful is the picture thy tender fears have
drawn !..But, oh! Azâkia, fondneſs fuch as mine diſdains
to hear the warning voice of Reaſon! Heedleſs of danger,
it wanders over the craggy precipice of peril; nor checks
it's vagrant ſteps, till it gains the ſummit of bliſs, or finks
into the profound abyſs of ruin.
Azâkia. If, deaf to Reaſon, you are determined thus to
enforce your lawleſs fuit, it were beſt we ſhould avoid each
other. Henceforth I abjure your ſociety; nor will I ever,
but in the preſence of ſome faithful friend, hold with
you
more diſcourſe.
Celario. Oh, Azakia! look not thus unkindly! The
frowns of fortune I could bear without complaining, let me
eſcape your fcorn--that quite unmans me. Do not, then,
by looks of cold diſdain, increaſe the miſery that torments
iny ſoul. Though rigid Virtue forbids thee to approve my
fondneſs, ſhe will not, furely, teach thee to refuſe the figh
which pity gives to ſoothe the breaſt of hopeleſs love!
Azâkia. Alas! Celario, how can Azâkia relieve thy
no
tortured
si
Ora

THE AMERICAN INDIAN.
II
tortured mind, herſelf a prey to fad anxiety? Had I, fond
youth, thy virtues known, ere I had wed Ouâbi, my choice
bad fallen on thee. But fay, Celario, had it been thus,
wouldīt thou have tamely borne Ouâbi's fuit? Wouldſt
thou have heard, unmoved, or unrevenged, thoſe guilty vows
which now thou breatheft in Azâkia's ear?
Celario. A fight like this, I do confeſs, would drive my
foul to madneſs. Oh! thou haft held a mirror to my eyes,
in which thy heavenly virtue meets my view; and where I
trace, in glowing colours, all my own unworthineſs. For-
give the paſt! Henceforth, I promiſe to ſuppreſs my paſ-
fion; and learn, from your example, to be juſt.
Ziſma. [Speaking without.]
Where is Azâkia? where my lovely friend? [Enters.]
Oh! let me claſp her to my boſom, and ſpeak the joy her
ſafety gives me! [Embraces Azâkia.] Ouâbi told me all the
wondrous tale, and I have haſtened to congratulate you on
your eſcape.
Celario. [ Aſide.) To what has my guilt reduced me!
Theſe rude, unpoliſhed favages, exhibit ſtronger marks of
virtue, than minds ſchooled in philoſophy could ever boaſt !
Azâkia. [Preſenting Ziſma.] Celario, I would recom-
mend to your favour this lovely girl.
Celario. Thoſe whom Azâkia honours with her regard
muſt to Celario's heart be ever welcome..Sweet maid, re-
ceive me in the happy number of your friends,
Ziſma. Thanks, gentle Sir; and what my feeble ſervice
can effect to make your refidence among us happy, ſhall
not be wanting
Azâkia. [ Aſide to Celario.] Could you, Celario, but
transfer the affection you profeſs to bear me on the youth-
ful Ziſma, how would you increaſe the debt I owe you?
Celario. So firmly is your image rooted in my heart, that
nought but death can ever efface it.
Excuſe me to your
friend, while I retire to compoſe my ſcattered ſpirits, left they
betray the diſorder of my mind. [Bows to Ziſma, and Exit.
Zifma.
B.2

12
THE AMERICAN INDIAN.
Ziſma. Why will he not ſtay? He looks, methinks, une
happy!
Azâkia. You are not deceived. Celario's peace, I fear,
has received a mortal wound.
Ziſma. Your generous friendſhip will foften his diſtreſs,
and ſweetly ſoothe the ſorrows of his mind.
Azâkia. Could Ziſma's charms impreſs his gentle mind,
there were, indeed, fome hope he might forget his cares.
Ziſma. Alas, Azâkia! you but flatter me. This Eu-
ropean, accuſtomed to behold ſuperior charms to thoſe which
we can boaſt, will never yield to us his freedom: or if he
could with favour view your friend; even could her feeble
charms inſpire his boſom with a fond regard; I ſhould, I
fear, prove ungrateful to his love.
Azâkia. Have you, then, Ziſma, already loſt your heart?
Ziſma. Not ſo, perhaps ; but, beauteous as he is, I think
I could not love him.
Azâkia. Not love him! His form is ſuch that might
inſpire even Apathy herſelf, and warm her frozen heart to
love!
Zifma. I hope Azâkia's heart is proof againſt his won-
drous charms!
Azâkia. I hope fo too. But tell me, Ziſma, what latent
grief preys on your mind? Of late, I have obſerved you
given to melancholy, impatient of ſociety, and fond of foli-
tude! This reverſe of temper, in one whoſe ſprightly ſtep
was wont to tread the flowery paths of pleaſure, beſpeaks
ſome ftrange event.
Ziſma. I confeſs, I have of late, but why I cannot tell,
been wondrous melancholy: my ſpirits have been over
charged with grief; tears have involuntarily flowed; and
fighs, almoſt too big for utterance, forced their paſſage from
my heart.
Azâkia. And all without a cauſe?
Ziſma.

THE AMERICAN INDIAN.
13
Ziſma. Do not, my friend, urge this unpleaſant theme:
the mention of it but augments my
melancholy.
Azâkia. If I cannot eaſe, I will not increaſe, the pangs
you feel : but, ſurely, Ziſma, you wrong yourſelf, to with-
hold
your
forrows from
your
friends!
Ziſma. Let us difmiſs this painful ſubject, and join the
gladſome train, buſily employed in preparations for the nup-
tials of Ianthe. Ceaſe to enquire the cauſe of my diſtreſs,
which would but pain thy gentle breaſt to know.
Time's healing balm fhall give my cares relief,
And ſweet oblivion veil the cauſe of grief.
[Exeunt.
SCENE V.
MARRIAGE-CEREMONY OF THE ILLINOIS.
Scene, a pbain, fringed with firs and ſhrubs: wreathes of
flowers hung on the branches ---A proceſſion of Illinois
men and women enter, with inſtruments of muſick, and
range themſelves on each ſide of the ſtage. Ouâbi enters,
leading in a Chief; Azâkia conducts a young Female :
Celario, Ziſma, Izênia, female Attendants, with ſeveral
Chiefs, follow; who place themſelves on ſeats prepared for.
them.--Here a dance of youths and virgins: the meaſure
done, Ouâbi, with the reſt, come forward.—The Bride and
Bridegroom have each a branch of cedar in their hands.
Ouâbi. NOW, friends, attend to witneſs the union of this
youthful pair; and by your prayers invoke, from the great
Ruler of yon vaulted ſky, a bleſſing on their loves.
Bridegroom. [Breaking his branch into ſmall pieces; in
which ceremony he is followed by the Bride.] (D.) Thus the
ſacred tokens of my love I to Ianthe yield, and gladly here
my
wife.
Bride. And theſe, the witneſſes of my truth, I to thy
hands commit, and own thee for
my
huſband.
Ouâbi.
accept her for

THE AMERICAN INDIAN.
Ouabi. And thus, the common friend of both, there
pledges of your faith I here receive. In ſome ſafe place I
will beſtow them, that, when mutual inclination prompts
you to diffolve this ſacred tie, they may be given to the hal-
lowed flames. (E.)
Azâkia. And thus, from thy virgin brow, the maiden
veil (F.) I draw; and, in the matron's circle, of luftral
beads compoſed, thy Aowing treſles bind.
EPITHALAMIUM.
Indian Youth,
Ye happy ſwains, who joy theſe woods to rove;
And you, ye nymphs, companions of their bliſs;
Who, ſoftly bluthing, hear the tales of love,
And, half-refiſting, yield th' enraptur'd kiſs:
Hither, ye fwains, your footſteps bend;
Hither, ye nymphs, the dance conveys
With well-ftrung lute and ſong attend,
To hail Ianthe's wedding-day.
CHORUS.
Hither, ye fwains, &c.
Indian Nymph.
View the bleſs'd pair, in native charms array'd ;
See, roſe-lipp'd Joy expels each anxious fear;
In ev'ry face Contentment's ſmile diſplay'd,
In ev'ry eye Affection's gliſt’ning tear.
CHORUS.
Hither, ye ſwains, &c.
Second Youth.
Long may ye live to ſhare each other's love,
Unvex'd by cares which happineſs annoy;
May each revolving year the ſcene improve,
With glowing tints, touch'd by the hand of Joy.
CHORUS
Hither, ye fwains, &c.
Second

THE AMERICAN INDIAN.
15
Second Nymph.
And may the offspring of the faith you plight,
In Virtue's precepts all their thoughts engage:
Form’d by your care, their actions ſhall delight
The morn of youth, and chear the eve of age.
CHORUS
Hither, ye ſwains, &c.
[Curtain drops
ACT II.
SCENE I.
Outſide of Ouâbi's dwelling.
Enter Ziſma, and Attendant.
Zima. WHITHER is Azâkia Strayed ? Her wan-
derings will, I fear, again expoſe her to the lurking foe!
Attendani. Within a grove of fragrant pines, that weſt-
ward of yon blue mountain rears it's towering head, a filver
ſtream in penſive murmurs winds it's lonely way; on whoſe
ſedgy banks, by pliant reeds and drooping willows fringed,
Azâkia, in her Sachem's abſence, beguiles the tedious hours:
there, in the cooling arbour's grateful ſhade, invokes the
foothing balm of ſleep, or in the lucid ſtream laves her lan-
guid limbs. Thither the now directs her mournful ſteps,
to indulge the penſive melancholy which the abſence of
thoſe ſhe loves impoſes on her mind.
Ziſma. The Britiſh youth Celario, too, you ſay, is with
Ouabi
gone out to battle?
Attendant.

16
THE AMERICAN INDIAN.
Attendant. His daring fpirit, impatient of reſtraint, and
diſdainful of a dull, inactive life, craved permiſſion to join
Ouâbi's warrior bands. Pleaſed with his courage, the noble
chief granted the youth's requeſt; and now theſe friends,
prompted by love of martial glory, together dare the rage
of war, ſeeking in the face of peril thoſe laurels which
adorn the brow of valour.
Ziſma. May thoſe celeſtial ſpirits, who guard the breaſt
where virtue dwells, ſhield them from every danger, crown
with ſucceſs the cauſe for which they fight, and ſend them
back in ſafety!-Azâkia's mind pants for retirement; mine,
too, inclines to folitude. Let her, then, undiſturbed, enjoy
her thoughts; while I, by wayward fancy led, purſue my
filent meditations.
AIR.
Ziſma.
" What cruel anguiſh feels the breaſt,
To hopeleſs love a prey!
Night brings the tearful eye no reſt,
And torture rules the day.
6 A vifion that's for ever flown,
Seems ev'ry tranſport paft;
And life affords one bliſs alone
The fenfe it cannot laſt."
SCENE II.
A grove; an arbour decorated with flowers and ſhrubs; and a
ſtream of water, near which Azakia is ſeen ſleeping on a
bank, Izênia feated near her.-Mufick plays a penſive ſtrain;
after which, Azákia wakes in fearful trepidation.
Azâkia. WHO is there ? -Izênia! give me your hand. .
Izênia. Heavens, how you tremble! What has diſturbed
you thus !
Azâkia.

THE AMERICAN INDIAN.
17
Azâkia. Oh! I have had ſuch dreams, ſuch horrid phan-
taſies diſturbed my flumbers, that only to reflect on them
ſtartles
my
foul with horror!
Izênia. Compoſe yourſelf, my friend; nor let the bab-
bling of an idle dream diſorder thus your fpirits.
Azâkia. Has no intelligence been received from Ouâbi?
Izenia. None, I believe. But why that queſtion?
Azâkia. Oh, Izênia! methought I ſaw Ouâbi fall be-
neath a Huron's dreadful hatchet. Celario haftened to re-
venge the fatal blow, and ſhared his friend's diſaſtrous fate!
I ſaw them bleeding on the ground; and the rude bar-
barian prepared the dreadful knife to ſtrip the plumy ho-
nours (G.) of their heads: then, ſtretching out my arm to
ſtay the ſavage hands, I awaked!
Izênia. And, happily, find it but a dream. This is the
work of mimick Fancy; who, when the weary ſenſes ſeek
the ſoft embrace of ſleep, uſurps the place of Reaſon, and
with her wayward pencil pourtrays theſe viſionary ſcenes ;
ſuiting the objects which ſhe draws to the hopes or fears
that poffeſs the waking mind. Sometimes her airy tablets
unfold foft ſcenes of bliſs, that in Elyfium wrap the credu-
lous ſoul; and ſometimes, from the legends of deſpair, ſhe
trammels up ſuch hideous forms as aftright the woe-fraught
mind, and with rude emotion break the bonds of ſleep. Think
it but this, and no more,
Azâkia. No more!
-Hark! what noiſe was that? Did
you hear nothing?
Izênia. No other ſounds, than thoſe our voices uttered,
reached my ears.
Enter a Female Attendant haſtily.
Azâkia. See! who comes here! -Say, virgin, what in-
telligence haft thou brought? If, as they ſay, the face ex-
prefs what paſſes in the mind, then may we argue from thy
care-worn features thou bringeſt fatal tidings; for deſpair
is pictured in thy looks, and in thine eye trembles the tear
of forrow,
с
Attendant,

18
THE AMERICAN INDIAN
Attendant. Celario
Azâkia. What of Celario! he is not dead?
Attendant. Not dead, but wounded by an arrow. Somo
twenty flaves, (H.) guarded by a band of Illinois, have, at
Ouabi's command, brought him with orders to receive your
care.
Azâkia. Alas !--Izênia, thou to!deft me my fears were
born of ſportive fancy: fuperior powers, thou ſeeſt, gave
them birth! But come, lead me to the bleeding youth:
danger once known, removes the dread of apprehenſion, and
prepares the mind to ſuffer future woe.
[Exeunt,
SCENE III.
Celario diſcovered lying on a couch: feveral Female Attendants
near him.
Firſt Attendant. HE ſleeps. Let us retire, and leave him
to needful repoſe.
Second Attendant. Fatigue and toil have more oppreſſed his
ſpirits, than the pain his wound occaſions. Sleep will re-
freſh his weary limbs; and, when he wakes, he will almoſt
forget that he is hurt,
Firſt Attendant. It is ſomewhat unfortunate that our mil-
treſs, and her friends, ſhould at ſuch a time be abſent.
Second Attendant. Our careful warriors having applied the
healing balſam to his wound, their abſence is lefs to be re-
gretted.But, ſee! the weeping Azâkia comes.
Enter Azâkia.
Azâkia. Where, ye nymphs, fhall I find Celario?
Firſt Aitendant. Lo! here he lies, a willing priſoner to the
power of ſleep.
Azâkia. Aſleep! and his wounds undreſſed!
First

THE AMERICAN INDIAN.
19
Firſt Attendant. Not fo; his wound, which is but flight,
has received the neceſſary aid.
Azâkia. Then leave him, friends; myſelf will watch his
Numbers, and prepare his food. Meanwhile, engage yon
mourning warriors to ſearch the mazy wood, and weedy
defart, for thoſe choice healing plants, (1.) that check the
progreſs of diſeaſe, and re-animate the waſting fires of
health.
[Exeunt Attendants.
Azâkia approaches Celario, ſeats herſelf by him, and gazes at
him with the mixed emotions of grief and joy. She takes
his hand, and preſſes it to her lips and bofom: after a
long pauſe, She ſpeaks.
Azâkia. How pale he looks! Fled is the bloom of health
that late fuffuſed his cheeks, and pallid Sickneſs has o'er all
his features ſpread her deadly hue. Ill-fated youth! By ad-
verſe fortune driven from thy native land, a ſtranger in a
foreign clime, who ſhall now perform the laſt fad offices of
friendſhip? No parent here beholds thy melancholy fate; no
faithful friend attends to cloſe thy dying eyes; and no fond
maid haft thou, loved object of thy tender vows, to kiſs away
amiction's tears, and ſoothe the pangs of expiring nature!
If the poor Azâkia's tender care can aught ſupply the place
of theſe, or to thy anxious boſom bring one folitarv ray of
joy, ſhe will deem herſelf beyond expreſſion blefled! [ Kneel-
ing:] Ye heavenly powers, receive an humble ſuppliant's
prayers! Look down with pity on the ſorrows of this noble
youth! Snatch him from the cold embraces of the ghaſtly
tyrant! Preſerve, ye gods, his valued life, and once more re-
ſtore him to his weeping friends !--But, ſee! he wakes.--
How fares it, Celario?
Celario. [Riſing:] Better, much better, I thank
This friendly ſleep has much revived me; and, methinks, I
am almoſt well again.
Azâkia. Where have
Celario. An envious arrow from a Huron's bow has
pierced my
Gide. The wound is flight; but loſs of blood
rendered me too faint to purſue the foe, and with reluctance
I left the field,
C 2
Azâkia.
you.
you received
your hurt?

THE AMERICAN INDIAN.
Azâkia. Why, Celario, did you fly theſe tranquil ſhades,
to brave the rage of war?
Celario, What, but Azâkia's ſcorn, could force me hence!
What, but Azâkia's hate, hurry me into the bofom of tu-
multuous war! Had I from you met aught of kindneſs, never
had I wandered from theſe bleſſed abodes.
Azâkia. Ungrateful youth! What would Azâkia e'er re-
fuſe to make Celario happy, that he with juſtice might de-
mand, and ſhe with honour grant?
Celario. The ſcene of fad diſtreſs in which I firſt beheld
thee, all bathed in tears, and kneeling at the inexorable
Huron's feet imploring life, raiſed in my breaſt the ſoft emo-
tions of ſacred pity : but, when I nearer viewed thy charms,
and heard the tuneful accents of thy voice, my mind was
filled with admiration; and, at that inftant, love, baffling
the efforts of reaſon, ſtole into my heart, and ſealed me
thine for ever! Det
Azâkia. And is Celario alone unhappy? Alas! fond
youth, my griefs are in uniſon with thine; and, while the
pangs of hopeleſs love rend thy breaſt, they wound my bo-
ſom too!
Celario. Does then, Azâkia, with the partial eyes of af-
feaion, view the loſt Celario? Does his image dwell in
that lovely boſom? Oh, happy hour! bleſſed moment of de-
light, that dawns on my wretchedneſs, and wakes to joy my
fickening foul! No more at Fortune will I rail, nor longer
chide her harſh decrees. Azâkia loves me, and I am bleſſed
beyond the reach of fate! Encircled in thy fond embrace,
what pain can reach Celario's heart?
Azâkia. And doft thou think, raſh youth, Azâkia would
deſtroy her virtue's fame, and wrong a huſband's love? Ah!
little knoweft thou Azâkia's foul.
Celario. [ Aſide.] Amazement! Can ſavage nature be
thus rich in virtue? How many European wives, who boaſt
of learning, and at Virtue's fhrine affect devotion, have en-
rolled their names on Recreancy's records ? [Muſing.] It
muſt be ſo. This night will I bid adieu to the faſcinating
charms which feed the flames of love, and loſe by abſence
the pallion that deprives my ſoul of peace.
Azâkia.

THE AMERICAN INDIAN.
21
1
Azâkia. Why, Celario, are you thus filent? Why turn
you from me, as if I were offenſive to your fight?
Celario. Not fo, chaſte excellence! I turn but to conceal
the glowing bluſhes of ingenuous ſhame. Forgive, Azâkia,
my rude inſult to thy virtue, which henceforth I will ſtrive
to imitate; and, ſince fate forbids our honourable union, it
were beſt we part-to meet no more.
Azâkia. Ah! why, Celario, will you add pangs to thoſe
which rend my heart? Though to Ouâbi I will ever prove
a duteous wife, yet thy preſence can alone make me bleſſed.
Celario. My reſolves are fixed: ſeek not, therefore, to
divert the honeſt purpoſe of my ſoul. To ſome remote corner
of the world will I bend my courſe, and hide me from the
ruin that here awaits me.
Azâkia. Let not Azâkia ſue in vain, whoſe fondneſs would
arreſt thy wandering ſteps, and fix them ever here. Why
would you deſert theſe happy ſhades, where ſweet Simplicity
delights to dwell; where Innocence, in ſnow-white mantle
clad, beaming ſoft radiance on all around, with ſmiling Peace,
her twin-born fifter, leads in new delight the roly hours
along? Whither, ah! whither wilt thou fly?
Celario. In ſome lone wood, where yet no human foot has
ever trod, the loft Celario ſhall from the world lie hid. In
theſe ſecluded ſhades, fearleſs of reproof, to the paſſing gales
will I tell my ſorrows: there on every tree, in characters
that ſhall defy the mouldering touch of Time, weeping will I
carve the ſtory of my woes; while pitying Echo, from the
boſom of her hollow cave, reſponfive to my griefs, ſhall re-
peat the mournful tale.---But, hark! theſe martial founds
proclaim the victor's near return. He timely comes, to
receive my laſt farewel. .
Azâkia. Unkind Celario! ungrateful youth! where, ah!
where ſhall Azâkia, who lives but in thy ſight, find happi-
neſs, when thou art gone? [Celario walks about much
diſordered.
Enter Ouâbi, attended by Warriors.
Ouâbi. In tears, Azâkia! what may this mean? Why
heaves thy boſom with unwonted fighs ? why, in thy ker-
chief,

22
THE AMERICAN INDIAN.
chief, doſt thou from my longing fight conceal thy beauteous
face? that face, where Joy was wont to ſpread her roſeate
finile, and charm each froward care !
Azákia. Tired with our humble manners, diſguſted with
our rude, unpoliſhed modes, the loved Celario flies Azâkia's
fight, nor heeds the tears that for bis abſence flow. Far, far
from Quâbi's liberal home, his ſteady friendſhip, and his
foothing care, the changeful youth in ſearch of newer friends
defires to roam.
Quâbi. Since kindly fortune gave thee for our gueſt, my
care has been to make Celario happy. The mention of his
name inſpires my foul with joy; and none can hold him dearer
to their hearts than does Ouâbi. Why, then, dear youth,
* wouldīt thou defert this friendly roof? Has any dared to
wrong thee? Shew me the wretch; and, by the facred
powers that rule on high, the traitor dies! This night our
warriors hold the folemn war-feaſt; (K.) and to-morrow's
fun lights me to the martial plain. While, then, I brave the
utmcft malice of the inſultirg foe, and danger hangs on my
every ſtep, let my loved Azâkia find in thee a friend.
Celorio. All that can make life happy in this peaceful cot-
tage have I found; yet my heart, wedded to grief, remains
infenâible to every impreflion of joy. In vain would Fancy
woo me for her gueſt! in vain Hope fpreads her facinating
chaims to beguile my ſorrows! Tomorrow I will attend
thee; and in the hostile field, amid the noiſy din of arms,
and battle's rage, drown Care's intruſive voice.
Quábi. Ill can thy wounded body ſupport the rugged toils
unfit to ſeek the ambuſhed chiefs, and follow the fly-
ing foe; or, menaced by ſuperior force, to emulate the ſwift-
neſs of the wind, and in the tangling wood obtain fafe refuge.
Here, then, the tranquil hours of peace enjoy with Azâkia,
till I in fafety from the war return.
Azâkia. Azâkia joins the kind entreaties of her lord. Do
not, Celario, leave us!
Celario. Diſpoſe of me as you will: henceforth, I yield me
to your every with.
Ouáli. Come, let us to the banquet. Hafie, faithful war-
riors,
of warg

THE AMERICAN INDIAN.
23
riors, and prepare the feaſt: fill to it's brim the generous
bowl; let all the fable beverage (L.) enjoy; while the fierce
dance, (M.) and ſongs of vengeance, fire the kindling ſoul.
[Exeunt,
SCENE IV.
A plain, with a diſtant view of the town.
Enter Ziſma, and Attendant.
Attendant. THEN has the untutored tongue of Accident
revealed the ſecret of your grief; which you ſo long, heed-
leſs of friends entreaties, have buried in the boſom of cau-
tious filence ! --Say, where, and how, was the diſcovery
made?
Ziſma. When I this morning left you, penſive I wandered
to a flowery vale, that in the hollow boſom of yon tall hills
lies concealed from view. Wrapt in thought, I heeded not
to whence I ftrayed; nor checked my ſteps, till fatigue op-
preſſed my ſpirits, and fainting nature craved from toil a re-
ſpite. There, on a moſs-clad bank, I threw my weary form,
and gazed awhile the ſcene around : here I gave my fond-
neſs utterance; and here Ouâbi, who, impatient to behold
his loved Azâkia, had left his martial bands behind, heard
the forrowing tale. His unexpected preſence overwhelmed
me with confuſion; when, to relieve the embarraſſment this
incident had occafioned, with unaffected pity the noble war-
rior took my hand; and, preſſing it to his lips, thanked me
for the eſteem I bore him : then, bowing low, purſued his
way.
Attendant. Alas! dear maid, with honeſt ſympathy my
boſom compaſſionates your forrows; and would the power
were mine to heal the wounds of hopeleſs love!
Ziſma. Methinks, ſince the ſecret has eſcaped my lips, I
am become more tranquil. Ouabi's placid eye ſpoke peace
love-lorn mind; and, though he cannot return the af
fection which I bear him, he will ſoothe with Friendſhip's
yoice the ſorrows of my breaft.
Attendant,
to my

24
THE AMERICAN INDIAN.
Attendant. Celario, with ſuperior beauty graced, nor leſs
in beauty rich than the great Ouâbi, ſeems a conqueſt wor-
thy Ziſma's charms!
Ziſma. This theme Azâkia oft has urged; but Celario,
to grief a prey, regards not Ziſma.
Attendant. He has, perhaps, left in his native plains the
object of his love, whoſe fair image ſtill lives in his mind,
and all his thoughts engages.
Ziſma. If, from the paſſion that has poſſeſſed my ſoul, I
may of others judge, Celario's thoughts dwell on the Sa..
chem's lovely bride, in whofe ſociety he ſeems alone content.
Oft have I ſeen him, in the noon-tide’s glare, when languid
nature droops beneath the ſcorching beams of yon bright
orb, and Illinois's ſons ſeek the cool Thade--yes, often have
I ſeen him then climbing, fome craggy rock's extremeft
height, to mark the path where Azâkia ſtrayed; and, hav-
ing viewed her beauteous form, ſwift as the winged arrow
he deſcends, darts along the ſultry plain, and to the loved re-
treat impatiently urges his rapid courſe.
Attendant. Ha! this is love! But ſay, how does Azâkia
receive the youth's attention?
Ziſma. With a welcome that ſpeaks him dear. She hails
him the faviour of her life, and gratefully returns his kind
regard. Yet, ſuch her purity, the faith ſhe plighted to her
bofom's lord receives na touch of injury. Ouâbi with an
eye of pleaſure beholds their friendſhip, and ſhares in all their
joy.-But, fee! Azâkia this way bends her ſteps.
[Exit Attendant.
Enter Azâkia.
Azákia. Why, Ziſina, do you thus neglect your friends,
and in tullen ſilence waſte the tedious day?
Ziſma. "A wandering inclination led me to yon diſtant
plain ; nor, till the ſun's declining beams cautioned me to
return, did I employ my buſy thoughts on home. --But
where is young Celario, and where your royal Sachem, that
you thus unattended walk?
Azâkia. This night is held the war-feaft, for which I left
the chiefs preparing
Zifma.

THE AMERICAN INDIAN.
25
Ziſma. And goes Ouâbi to the morrow's battle?
Azâkia. Yes! to-morrow decides our fate! Either the
fons of Illinois ſubdue the favage foe, or to their lordly fway
obedience yield. Tell me, Ziſma, have you conſidered what
laſt we ſpoke of? Can you on young Celario your fond af-
fection fix, and will you break with him the facred ſhivers?
Ziſma. Did Celario but view me with a lover's partial
eyes, obedient to my friend's requeſt, I would my hand yield
to the gentle youth. Yet much I doubt, the noble Briton
honours not with his thoughts the humble Ziſma!
Azâkia. Why ſhould I veil from thee the ſecrets of my
heart? On me, my Ziſma, all his thoughts are fixed. Oft
has he importuned me with his fondneſs; and I, as oft, the
flattering tale repulſed. Convinced, at length, I never can
be his, he has determined to ſuppreſs the mention of his love,
and ſtudies to forget his hopeleſs paffion. Hence a fullen
melancholy has ſeized his fpirits; which, if not removed,
will probably prove fatal. Would the beauteous Ziſma
ſtrive to win his gentle love, and by a fond attention wean
from grief his ſorrowing mind, ſhe might in his affections
find a bright reward.
Ziſma. I will attempt the arduous taſk, to oblige my
lovely friend.--But, ſee! the ſacred fires blaze on high;
and the thick ſmoke, in circling ſpires, o'ertops the lofty
clouds: the warlike youths in circling orders riſe; (N.)
and amid the venerable chiefs the royal Sachem ſtands.
Azâkia's abſence will mar the pleaſure of the feaſt.
Azâkia. I will attend them: you, too, Ziſma, muſt join
the aſſembled chiefs.
Ziſma. I will follow. [Exit Azâkia.] Then my fears
are verified ! Celario loves Azâkia; nor does ſhe leſs ad-
mire him! What if the royal chief, beholding their mutual
paſfion, ſhould to the waſting flames conſign the witnefs of
their union, and to Celario's defiring arms his lovely confort
yield !--Alas! that were a hope too flattering to indulge: a
hope, vain as my deſpairing love! Then will I take my
friend's advice, ſubdue the reſtleſs wiſhes of my heart, and
court this European's ſmile. Yer till I fear my thoughts
will wander from the gentle youth, and penfive dwell on
Oaabi's

26
THE AMERICAN INDIAN.
Ouabi's manly form; nor can the utmoſt efforts of my
mind wean them from the fond abode.
AIR.
fades away,
Zíſma.
Thus, when by Fate compellid to fly,
Some lov'd retreat we bid adieu;
Ere diſtance hide it from the eye,
We turn to take a parting view!
And as the landſcape fades
And mocks the ſtill attentive eye;
The ſcenes of bliſs from which we ſtray,
Imagination's pow’rs fupply:
But ſoon the dream of Fancy fades,
With each bright ſcene her ſmiles impreſs’d;
The cheated fenfes wake in ſhades,
And laſting anguiſh racks the breaſt:
In vain new viſions we invite,
And hope to ſoothe the anxious mind;
Which penfive dwells on paft delight,
And mourns the joys we left behind!
SCENE V.
THE WAR-FEAST.
A wide plain, bordered by lofty trees.
A
range of ſeats, in
the form of half-moons, appear riſing one above another;
at the foot of which are other ſeats. A kind of throne for
the Sachem, ſomezuhat more elevated than the ſeats, ſtands
in the centre. A fire is ſeen in the back ground, and a
diſtant view of the Miſfilippi.--A procellion of Warriors
enters, with bows (0.) ſlung acroſs their ſhoulders, and
hatchets in their hands; which, on their entrance, they
bang on the ſurrounding trees. The Warriors place them.
ſelves on the ſeats, according to their rank: then follow a
groupe of venerable Chiefs, or Counſellors, who feat thema
ſelves

THE AMERICAN INDIAN.
27
felves in like order on the ſeats ſurrounding that appointed
for the Sachem. After which, Ouâbi enters, with Azâkia,
Celario, Ziſma, Izênia, and train of Attendants; who
having ſeated themſelves, the bowl is ſerved round with
great ſolemnity and devotion.-The Warriors then riſe, and
form the dance.
Oudbi. ENOUGH! Break off the airy meaſure, Tune
we, now, our voices to notes of melody.
Fill, fill to it's brim, the gen’rous bowl;
Let copious draughts inſpire the foul:
To deeds of fame, your voices raiſe,
And fing the battle's glorious praiſe !
CHORUS.
Fill, fill to it's brim, &c.
Firſt Warrior.
See our brave chiefs, their warrior train,
To meet the foe impatient lead;
Or through the wood, or o'er the plain,
With anxious hope they urge their ſpeed.
CHORUS.
Fill, fill to it's brim, &c.
Second Warrior.
Lo! where the firm battalions riſe,
There miſlive darts unerring fly!
Th' echoing war-whoop (P.) rends the ſkies,
And bleeding chiefs expiring lie!
CHORUS.
Fill, fill to it's brim, &c.
Third Warrior.
Though Danger rear her fick’ning form,
The dauntleſs chief no terror knows;
Fearleſs he braves the threat'ning ſtorm,
And all his ſoul with ardour glows.
CHORUS.
Fill, fill to it's brim, &c.
Fourth
D 2

28
THE AMERICAN INDIAN.
Fourth Warrior.
And now, with dread, refiftleſs force,
Whole ranks the hatchet's rage deſtroy;
And Vi&try's ſhouts make Echo hoarſe,
Thrilling each breaſt with madd’ning joy!
CHORUS.
Fill, fill to it's brim, &c.
Fifth Warrior.
The vanquiſh'd foe, with trembling haſte,
The peaceful white-town (Q.) ſeek to gain;
Swift o'er the wide, expanſive waſte,
The victor leads th' exulting train.
CHORUS.
Fill, fill to it's brim, &c.
Sixth Warrior.
And now each weary chief retires,
To joys that hail his native plain ;
Still watchful of the ſacred fires, (R.)
Till war awake his pow'r again.
CHORUS.
Fill, fill to it's brim, &c.
Ouâbi deſcends from the throne, and with the reſt comes
forward.
Ouâbi. Lo! where the ſetting Sun, on the unrippled fur-
face of yon parent flood, darts his yet lingering beams;
while, in the eaſt, the pale ſtar of evening dawns, and warns
us of the fable night's approach. The hour of reſt draws
near: till then, let the peaceful calumet (s.) the folemn
feaſt ſucceed; and, ere the morning's ray over heaven's
high arch it's crimſon bluſh has ſpread, let every warrior be
prepared to hunt the daring foe that in the ſkirts of theſe do-
mains lie ambuſhed.----Remember, friends, the cauſe, the
facred cauſe, that calls us to the martial plain! To defend
from innovation our rights and liberties, to preſerve inviol-
aple the deareſt ties of nature, bend we the ſupple bow:
for theſe the barbed arrow wings it's flight; for theſe more
dreadful falls the hatchet's force; for theſe we dare the
battle's

THE AMERICAN INDIAN..
29
battle's furious rage, and bravely conquer, or as bravely
fall! [A flouriſh of mufick. [T.] Ouâbi leads off Azákia;
and is followed by Čelario, Zitma, Izênia, and Atten-
dants. The order of the proceſion reverſed.
ACT III.
SCENE I.
A plain, bounded by a thick wood.
Enter Ziſma, and Izênia.
Izenia.
tentions ?
Ziſma. Vainly I fought to win him from his griefs, and
ſcarcely did he deign to notice my civilities. Sometimes,
indeed, they ſeemed to gain his attention; and then, in
mournful accents, fighing, he ſaid.“ I thank thy friendly
care, that, hopeleſs of ſucceſs, ftill ſtrives to ſoothe my for-
rowing mind.” Then ſtopping ſhort, again was filent. At
length, wearied with my importunities, he rudely cried"I
would be left alone, and unattended trace thefe gloomy
Ahades!” Then hurried from my fight.
Izênia. See where he comes, followed by Azâkia, who
ſtrives to ſtill the tempeſt in his breaft!Let us retire.
[They retire.
Enter Celario, followed by Azâkia.
Azâkia. Hear me, Celario! Do not, dear youth, indulge
this wayward grief. The friends you have left may boaſt of
fairer forms, and our uncultured courteſy excel; yet their
bofoms low not with love more fervent than thoſe our
clime affords you.
Celario,

30
THE AMERICAN INDIAN.
Celario. Alas! or love me leſs, or love me more. Grant
the fond wiſhes of my heart, or baniſh me for ever from
your preſence.
Azâkia. From the feeble charms the fad Azâkia boaſts,
turn thy deluded eyes.-Behold the youthful Ziſma.
Celario. Talk not of her! She is but the green foliage
of the riſing ſpring: thou art the ſummer's fragrant bloſ-
fom. (u.)
Azâkia. Though yet her beauty be but in the bud, the
hand of Time foon will ripen to perfection the lovely bloom ;
and proud ſhall be the beauteous maid to hail thee for her lord.
Enter a wounded Illinois, who throws himſelf on the ground.
Illinois. Help, help, or I die! [Azâkia and Celario fart
at the ſound of the voice; and, having ſeen the fallen
warrior, run to his aſſiſtance.
Azākia. Oh, my foreboding ſoul! All, all, I fear, is loft!
Say, gallant chief, has loved Ouâbi eſcaped the battle's rage,
or is the noble warrior numbered with the dead? He
cannot ſpeak! the hand of Death is on him, and his parched
lips are fealed for ever!
Celario. No, he revives!...How fares it, friend? If thou
Canft aught of utterance command, ſpeak, I charge thee, to
the diſtracted fears which rack our tortured minds. Where
is the Sachem?
Illinois. I alone, of all our numerous hoſt, eſcaped the
fatal plains: the reſt--the reſt, are fallen, or to the Huron
towns in ſlavery led! I can no more.
Enter Izenia.
Celario. ilaſte, Izênia, to where yon warriors inactive
ſtand, and fend them hither; a fallen chief demands their
care. [Exit Izênia.] Yield not, Azâkia, to immoderate grief.
The royal chief may yet be ſafe; and yet, again, receive thy
fond embrace. I will this inſtant ſeek the hero's ſcattered
friends, more numerous ſtill than thoſe he led to battle, and
in a few ſhort hours purſue theſe Huron bands. This arm,
inured

THE AMERICAN INDIAN
3r
inured to toil, and nerved by friendſhip, ſhall to the noble
warrior freedom give, or on the ſavage foe revenge his fate!
[Several Warriors enter, who raiſe the wounded chief, and
bear him off:]
Azâkia. Generous man! gladly I fee burſt forth the in-
nate virtues of thy god-like mind. As when conflicting
ſpirits ſhake the ſkies, and the clear beams of yonder golden
orb lie hid in darkneſs, (x.) ſo wayward paſſion, though it
ſway thy ſoul, and veil awhile the luſtre of thy reaſon, ſtill
yields to native worth, fubdues the reſtleſs fiend, and diffi-
pates the miſt of each oppoſing error. I feared the mention
of Ouabi's fate would have fluſhed thy countenance with
joy! His death, methought, had baniſhed from thy lorn bo-
fom the pangs of wretchedneſs, and given birth to ardent
hope !
Celario. Curſed be the wretch who on another's ruin
builds his hope of bliſs! No, Azâkia, thy example ſhall be
the model of my future conduct. From thee, loved object
of my doating eyes, to ſerve my friend, with grateful joy I
Hy! Thy wondrous beauties memory ſhall forget : thy ma-
gick yoice vibrate no more on my enraptured ear! Re-
venge alone ſhall fire my ſoul, and all my thoughts employ.
Azâkia. Vain, I fear, will be your kind attempt! But go,
Celario, endeared more cloſely to my heart by this heroick
greatneſs; go, and incite our hardy tribe to arms. For you
each warlike youth will raiſe his voice; you, who beneath
their matchleſs Sachem's eyes, could greatly conquer, and
could nobly bleed.
Celario. The fce, fatigued with ſlaughter, reſigns to eaſe.
Their conquering arms are thrown afide: thus, unprepared
for war, they fall an eaſy prey. Meantime, within the bo-
fom of the faithful Ziima, indulge the pleaſing dreams of
bliſs; for foon, my hopes preſage, thy friend and huſband
fhall to theſe peaceful ſhades triumphantly return,
[Exeunt.
SCENE

THE AMERICAN INDIAN.
SCENE II.
Outſide of Ouâbi's dwelling.
Soon Enter Zifma, and Attendant.
Zifma. THUS, then, the fabled viſion of Delight, by
faithleſs Hope pourtrayed, by Fondneſs cheriſhed, is faded
from my view! Celario may wed the fond Azâkia; but
Ziſma's love ſleeps in Death's icy arms!
Attendant. Of that no certain news is yet arrived. Per-
haps, the captive of inſulting foes, he mourns the loſs of
liberty.
Ziſma. In either caſe, my doom is wretchedneſs! Or
dead, or held in bondage, he to me is loft for ever! It was
fome comfort to behold his manly form, and hear the tuneful
accents of his voice. But even of theſe joys I am now com-
pleatly ſtripped by cruel Fate!
AIR.
Ziſma.
Set Alas! he is loft to my fight,
No more his lov'd form ſhall I fee!
That form which could all eyes delight,
That form which was worſhipp'd by me!
How oft, on the banks of yon rill,
Where Flora her beauties diſplays;
How oft, on yon thyme tufted hill,
I fondly have caroll'd his praiſe ! 10
There Fancy would ſmiling attend,
And Hope point to ſcenes of delight;
But day-dreams of bliſs quickly end,
And horrors pervade the long night!
A garland of cypreſs I'll weave,
The tomb of my love to adorn;
His grave bathe with tears ev'ry eve,
And haften to weep there each morn.
Enier

THE AMERICAN INDIAN.
33
Enter Azâkia.
Azâkia. What means this painful ftay? Hear they un-
moved their royal Sachem's fate? or does Celario repent
his vow, and unrevenged muſt brave Ouâbi fall?
Ziſma, Let not ſuſpicion wrong the gallant youth. Faith-
ful he will be found. [Shouts and warlike muſick heard.]
Hark! the friendly tribes are near; and fee, along the duiky
plain, our warlike chiefs extend their lengthened lines ! A
moving world they feem: heroes for conqueſt formed, and
formed for glory.
Enter Celario, with Warriors.
Gelario. See, lovely mourner, how your faithful tribes
burn to revenge their chief!
Azâkia. Thanks, gallant youth and thanks to you,
brave friends! This chearful hafte revives my drooping
ſoul.But, oh, Celario! each moment fince you left me
has teemed with miſery. The murderous dream (v.) ſcared
my imperfect ſlumbers. Clad in a flame of fire the warrior
came; towards me ſtretched his faithful arms; and, with
moſt piteous looks, reproached my lingering ſtay. Ah!
ſhould he once again ſalute my view, this killing draught,
[Takes from her bofom a phial.] of deadly cytron's [z.]
poiſonous root compoſed, ſhall waft me to the Stygian fhore,
where I may meet again the fearleſs chief. In life, I never
his firſt wih oppoſed; nor muſt I, after death, dare diſobey
his ſecond fummons.
Celario. How can the dead riſe from the ſilent tomb?
What power directs them through the gloom of night? The
bleeding warrior, who to thine ear pronounced the fatal
tidings of his fad defeat, knew not that he was flainPer-
haps he lives, ſlave to the haughty victors; or, beneatb the
ſavage torture, his towering mind ſtill ſtruggles to be free!
This arm ſhall burſt the ignoble bonds afunder, and free
him from the foe.O ſwear, then, by the facred powers on
high--ſwear by thy fond Celario's conſtant love-till his fad
fate be known, thou wilt not venture to provoke thy own!
Azâkia. Then, by the Ruler of yon Alaming orb, and by
Celario's conftant love, I ſwear, the fatal draught ſhall never
E
paſs

34
THE AMERICAN INDIAN.
paſs theſe lips, till the young warrior ſhall again return, and
the dreaded fate of my loved lord be faithfully revealed.
Celario. Enough! thy folemn vow lulls every anxious
fear..Now, brave friends, let us ruſh onward; and re-
member, 'tis for your king you fight.
[Exit Celario, with Warriors. Flouriſh of muſick.
Azâkia. War on, brave youth, and guardian angels thy
daring ſteps attend !--Meantime, Ziíma, let us withdraw,
and to the great God of nature prefer our humble ſuit for
their ſucceſs.
[Exeunt.
SCENE III.
A Huron town. Ouâbi bound, ſurrounded by Huron Chiefs
and Guards.--A pile of wood, round which ſeveral ſtakes
are ſeen: to theſe priſoners ſentenced to die are tied, in
order to be deſtroyed by a ſlow and diſtant fire.
Huron Chief. CAN nought ſubdue thy ſtubborn ſoul?
and doft thou ſtill defy our varied tortures ?
Ouâbi. My frail body, beneath thy inſtruments of cruelty,
may writhe with anguiſh; and, from thy coward daggers,
the purple current of my blood may flow: but ſtill my ſoul
is free, and ſcorns thy malicé. Born over a race of valiant
chiefs to reign, never will I yield to thy deteſted power.
Begin, then, flaves, your tortures! unmoved will I ſuſtain
your fierceſt rage, and brave with manly fortitude the linger-
ing anguiſh of the tardy flames! (AA.) Nor ſhall even death's
lalt pang efface the ſcornful ſmile that mocks your favage
hate !
Huron Chief. Since thus our power he braves, this in-
ſtant fix him to the fated ſtake. Soon ſhall the fames urge
him to ſupplicate the mercy which now his ſtubborn pride
affects to treat with bold diſdain.
The guards tie Ouâbi to the ſtake, and prepare to fire the pile.
Meantime, he fings-
THE

THE AMERICAN INDIAN.
35
THE DEATH SONG.
s6 Rear'd midſt the war-empurpled plain,
What Illinois ſubmits to pain!
How can the glory-darting fire
The coward chill of death inſpire!
The ſun a blazing heat beſtows;
The moon midſt penſive evening glows;
The ſtars in ſparkling beauty ſhine,
And own their faming fource divine.
Then let me hail th' immortal fire,
And in the facred flames expire;
Nor yet thofe Huron hands reſtrain,
This boſom ſcorns the throbs of pain.
No griefs this warrior foul can bow,
No pangs contract this even brow;
Not all your threats excite a fear,
Not all your force ſhall ſtart a tear.
Think not with me my tribe decays---
More glorious chiefs the hatchet raiſe ;
Not unreveng'd their Sachem dies,
Not unattended greets the ſkies!”
Enter haſtily a Huron Warrior.
Warrior. To arms! to arms, my friends! The foe, with
impetuous fury, ruſh on our unguarded bands, and to this
ſcene of death urge their refiftlefs way.
.
Huron Chief. Let us meet them, and ftem this mighty
torrent. Diſpatch, ye flaves, your priſoner ! quick to the
pile the lighted torch apply! His fall, at leaſt, we will ſecure.
[Exit, with Warriors.
Ouâbi. Too late, brave friends, ye come! Yet, ere my
foul her flight has taken, let but the ſhou: of victory reach
my ears, and I will die contented.
Enter another Warrior.
Warrior. Hafte, away! diſcard this work of blood! The
foe
E 2

36
THE AMERICAN INDIAN.
foe advance with rapid ſpeed: our trembling hoſt deſert their
arms, and flight alone can ſave us !
[Shouting at a diſtance.
Ouâbi. Oh! for one hour of glorious liberty! Curſe on
theſe ſhackles, that mock the ardour of my ſoul, and doom
me an idle ſpectator of yon work of death, when I could join
the conquering bands, and deal deſtruction on this daſtard
Tace! [ Another ſhout. Several Hurons croſs the ſtage.--
Celario enters, and falls at the Sachem's feet, while his
warriors releaſe him from the ſtake.
Celario. It is—it is Quâbi!-greateſt, firſt of men!
Heaven propitious ſmiles on our arms, and gives once more
the matchleſs hero to his deſpairing friends.
Ouâbi. Yes! my brave deliverer, it is Ouâbi !-Riſe,
noble youth, and let me ſtrain thee to my heart ! O ſay,
Celario, how did you learn the news of my defeat? I thought
my hardy train had ſhared one equal fate!
Celario. Diſcourſing with Azâkia in her walk, the cry
of one diſtreſſed affailed our ears; when, turning to learn
whence came the piteous accents, at the far limits of the
ſpangled lawn a ghaſtly figure, writhing with anguiſh and
beftained with blood, ſtraight met our view. He alone
eſcaped the ſavage foe! Azâkia's boſom ſwelled with boding
woes: ſwift to his aid ſhe fies; and with a fearful voice,
oft interrupted by her fighs and tears, enquired her huſband's
fate. The powers of ſpeech the wounded chief had loft ;
but o'er his mangled form ſhe weeping hung, and trembling
waited his waſted ſtrength's return. Too foon, alas ! his
broken accents told thy dire miſhap. Urged by revenge, I
fought thy ſcattered friends, reſolved to fuatch thee from the
victor's power, or ſhare thy fate; and Heaven, for the will,
has bleſſed the grateful deed.
Ouâbi. Nobly haft thou acted, my faithful friend, Celario!
Courage like thine gives honour to the land that gave thee
birth, and to the ear of Valour endears the name of Briton!
Celarię. Beneath the ſhade, or in young Ziſma's arms,
thy fond Azâkia mourns her Sachem's loſs. Ere yet I left
her, the murderous viſion her flambers had diſturbed; and
with impatient haſte fhe fought the poiſ nous root, prepared,
when

THE AMERICAN INDIAN.
37
when next thy ſhade fhould croſs her dreams, to obey the
fancied ſummons. Trembling for her ſafety, I drew from
her a vow to ſtay her fatal purpoſe till my return. Let us,
then, haften to chear the beauteous mourner.
Ouâbi. Lead on, my valiant friend! The powers that
ſnatched me from the Huron's rage, will ſurely guard the
virtuous Azâkia.
[Exeunt.
SCENE IV.
A pictureſque view, with an Indian town.
Enter Azâkia, and Ziſma.
Azâkia. STILL, ſtill he comes not !-Let us, my friend,
aſcend yon rock, whoſe lofty brow o’erlooks the illimitable
walte: there we may view our fable hoft's approach, if hap-
pily they ſhould have vanquiſhed the ſtubborn foe. But
much I fear Celario's daring fpirit, by fuperior force ſub-
dued, is gone to join his friend in Death's cold, dark man-
fions!
Ziſma. I cannot chide your fond impatience; but, ſurely,
Azâkia, you indulge too far the viſions of a perturbed mind!
Again, you ſay, the hero came, and chid your long delay!
Celario ſaid 'twas but the dream of Fancy, and bade you
heed it not. Have you not ſworn to bear with life till the
brave youth's return?
Azâkia. And faithfully will keep the ſacred vow. Yet,
let me not force gentle Nature, to veil my brow with Plea-
fure's traitrous ſmile, while grief reigns in my boſom.
[Warlike mufick heard at a diſtance.
Ziſma. Huſh all thy tender fears ! for, if my ears deceive
not, I hear the welcome ſounds of coming joy.
[They liſten with anxious attention.--Mufick again, fome-
what louder.
Azakia.

38
THE AMERICAN INDIAN.
Azâkia. Again the muſick breaks on my liſtening ear!
Hark!
[Mufick ſtill louder,
Ziſma. Now louder ſtill the filver ſtrains float on the air's
foft boſom!
Enter Izenia.
Izênia. Hail! to my loved Azâkia! I give thee jos.-
Our conquering bands, by the brave Briton led, are with
their royal chief returned from victory! Even now they
enter this arid plain, and ſoon their preſence will blefs thy
longing fight.
[A flouriſh of muſick.
Enter Ouâbi, Celario, and Warriors.
Azâkia. See ! fee his manly form breaks on my view!
Once more the fond Azàkia claſps in her faithful arms her
lord, her huſband !
[Runs to Ouâbi.
Oxâbi. After a night of horrid, pitchy darkneſs, more
welcome dawns the fmiling purple morn.-But, ſee what
anxious care fits on Celario's brow ! -'Tis you, Azâkia,
I long have ſeen, alone can calm the labouring forrows of
bis breaſt.
Celario. Brave chief, miſtake not. Far different feelings
now poſſeſs my mind, than thoſe of mifery. Thy fuperior
virtue awes my licentious paffions; which of late, forgetful
of thy kind regard, fought even to feduce thy ſpotlefs bride.
Ouâbi. Yes! in thy loofe defires, I trace thy country's
vices: yet ſtill each native worth adorns thy mind, and every
manly pallion dwells in thy boſom. Azâkja's unpolluted
foul, born among Virtue's favoured race, foars above the
power of baſe corruption ! Full well I know, with equal
warmth thy paſſion the returns. Take her, Celario, then,
to thy faithful arms; our laws allow it, and freely to you !
give the precious treaſure. Formed for the hardy war,
I
fcorn the peaceful ſhade; and on thee thoſe matchlefs charms
beſtow, which only to thy worth I would reſign
Celario. The fun his golden beams in yonder reddening
waves ſhall firſt forget to lave, or night's chaſte queen ſcorn
to reflect his rays, ere from thy generous foul Celario fhall
accept it's richeſt treaſure.
Ouabi.

THE AMERICAN INDIAN.
39
Ouäbi. By yon ſwift flood, and by this cloud-enveloped
grove, I have already ſworn never again to preſs Azâkia's
beauty in theſe war-devoted arms; or even ſeek the downy
couch of ſleep, till thoſe bleſſed charms are thine. The
youthful Zilma long has given to me each tender thought;
with her the ſacred thivers will I break, while you with
Loved Azâkia do the ſame.
Ziſma. [Kneeling to Ouabi.] Long has my boſom che-
riſhed an hopeleſs paflion! To thee, in glad furprize, I bend
the willing knee, and own my boſom's bliſs.
Quâbi. Riſe, ſweet maid! Content to paſs with thee my
few remaining hours of life, thy love ſhall meet a kind return.
Celario. And canſt thou behold unmoved Azâkia's
heavenly beauties in another's arms! Ah! rather wilt thou
mourn their loſs; and, borne on Miſery's bier, forrowing
deſcend to an untimely grave!
Ouabi. No Illinois his facred word recals. Shun not,
then, Celario, the treaſure which my friendſhip gives :
Azâkia's boſom ſwells with grateful joy, and pants to call
thee lord.
Azâkia. Why ſhould I conceal the tranſports of my bo-
fom? Though thou, brave chief, haft ruled my faithful mind,
yet young Celario every paſion moved; even to his faults
my deating heart inclined, and every action charms with ma-
gick power.
Celario My heart was framed for tenderneſs and love;
and he who feels not their ſoft ties, or foars above, or finks
beneath, humanity!Come, then, bright perfection, to my
longing arms, and take my faithful vows.
Ouâbi The ſolemn rites performed, revenge again recals
me to the field. Ne'er ihall the dread hatchet in earth (BB.)
be laid, or ſnow-white plume (cc.) wave o'er the brow of
rival chiefs, till in one ſcene of wild confuſion left, I hurl the
Hurons to the ſhades below. --Now let the broken ſhivers
feed the hungry blaze, and from the towering cedar fell the
(preading branches the new made pairs to join. Let every
eve with pleaſure's ſparkling luſtre brighten; and, while the
graceful

40
THE AMERICAN INDIAN.
graceful feet the mazy circles trace, let the wild mufick join
the ſongs of praiſe.
CHORUS.
6 What can ſpeak the bofom's pleaſure,
Thus receiving ſuch a treaſure?
Tranſport ’tis, beyond all meaſure!
Fondly mutual love careſſing;
Each poffefs’d, and each poſſefling;
Earth affords no higher bleſſing!
Strew the way with fragrant flowers,
Wreathe with bloom the nuptial bowers;
Lull’d the foul's feverer powers,
Yield to ſong and dance the hours."
A Dance.
After which, Celario comes forward.
Celario. To your exalted virtues, Azâkia and Ouabi, the
joy is due that fills this grateful breaft. May each ſucceed-
ing hour be fraught with equal happineſs! And may the
ſcenes of rude, untutored nature, impreſs on nations of more
poliſh theſe moſt important truths-That virtue beams in
every clime; and that the wild and fable Indians enjoy, with
Europe's fairer fons, the guardian care of Providence.
From ev'ry clime, ſome good the good man draws;
And, where he finds it, gives the due applauſe.
THE END.
NOTES.

mohon
NOTES
ACT I.
SCENE 1.
(1)
SSISIPPI, an Indian rame, fignifying the
great father of rivers. It is ſubject to no tides; but, from
it's ſource in the north of the American continent, flows
with a rapid force, till it empties itſelf into the Gulph of
Mexico.
(B.) It is preſumed, that Azâkia had never before ſeen an
European, or heard the report of a piſtol; as fhe confiders
one a deity, and the other his thunder.
(c.) The Indian women of America are very chaſte after
marriage; and, if any perſon makes love to them, they an-
fwer-56 The friend that is before my eyes, prevents my ſeeing
you."
SCENE V.
(p.) This ceremony is obſerved at their marriages.---See
next Note.
(E.) The marriage-contract of the North American In-
dians is not neceſſarily during life, but while the parties con-
tinue agreeable to each other. The ceremony is performed
by their mutually breaking ſmall fhivers of ſticks or wood,
in the preſence of their friends, which are carefully depoſited
in ſome ſafe place, till they wiſh a ſeparation; when, with
like ceremony, the ſticks are thrown into the facred fires, and
the marriage conſequently diffolved. Mrs. Brooks obrerves,
that the obſtruction to the converſion of the Canadian In-
dians to Chriſtianity, was their reluctance at forming mar-
riages for life.
F
(F.) The

NOTES.
(F.) The married women wear a kind of cap, or veil, on
their heads, which is taken off at the marriage-ceremony.-
[See William Penn's Letters to his Friends in England. 1 - TO
this, it is ſaid, ſucceeds a circle of beads of various colours.
ACT II.
SCENE II.
(6.) Alluding to the Indian cuſtom of ſcalping.
(H.) Slaves. The priſoners of inferior rank, taken in
battle, are retained as ſlaves by the rights of war; and this
is the only kind of lavery known among them,
SCENE IIT.
(1.) Theſe people are the firſt botaniſts in the world; and,
from their knowledge of the properties of plants, according
to William Penn, have a remedy for almoſt every diſeaſe to
which they are fubject. They have certain antidotes to all
venomous bites; and, it is ſaid, an infallible cure for cancers,
(K.) The day before the battle, the Sachems and war-
riors meet together, and with great ſolemnity join in the
war-feaft.
(L.) Sable beverage, which they call the black-drink, is
made by a decoction of certain herbs, and is ſimilar in ap-
pearance to coffee. It is of an exhilarating nature; is pre-
pared by their warriors, or head men; and ſerved round at
their councils and war-feaſts, with great folemnity and de-
votion. The commiſſioners from the United States were
preſented with this liquor on their introduction.
(M.) The dance is rather an act of devotion, than of re-
creation, and conſtitutes a part of their publick ceremonies.
SCENE IV.
(N.) At their councils and war-feaſts they ſeat themſelves
in ſemi-circles, or half-moons: the King, or Sachem, ſtands
ΟΣ

NOTES.
43
or fixes himſelf in the middle, with his counſellors on each
Side, according to their age and rank..See William Penn's
Letters.
SCENE V.
(0.) The Indian bows are ſtained with a great variety of
glaring colours, and otherwiſe ornamented. For a ſpecimen,
See the Muſeum of the Univerſity of Cambridge,
(p.) War-whoop, the cry of battle, with which they al-
ways make their onſet.
(c) The pure, or white towns, are places of refuge, in
which no blood is ever permitted to be ſpilt; even criminals
are there protected.
(R.) It is a point of religion with the American Indians
never to fuffer their fires to go out till the cloſe of their year;
when they are totally extinguiſhed, and others are kindled
by friction of certain wood. The policy of this act of de-
votion is evident, as it not only indicates to their youth the
neceſſity of their being conſtantly ready for war, but ſerves
as an annual ſchool to inſtruct them in all caſes of emer-
gency-in the method of raiſing this neceſſary element into
action from the objects of nature which ſurround them.
(s.) The calumet is a highly-ornamented pipe, which the
Indians ſmoke, as a type of peace and harmony, on all pub-
lick occaſions,
ACT III.
SCENE I.
(T.) The muſick of the Indians, though of a wild and
unharmonious kind, is introduced at all their publick feſtivals
and folemnities.
(u.) Azâkia is ſuppoſed to be ſtill in extreme youths as,
among the Indians, the women contract marriage at the age
of fourteen, and the men at ſeventeen-William Penn's
Letters.
The

44
NOTES.
(x.) The American Indians believe, that the eclipſe of
the ſun is occafioned by a contention between the good and
evil ſpirit; and as light finally prevails, they ſuppoſe the good
ſpirit is always victorious.
01 SCENE II.
(v.) It is ſaid to have been anciently a cuſtom among the
Indians, if in the ſpace of forty days a woman, who had loft
her huſband, faw and converſed with him twice in a dream,
to infer from thence, that he required her preſence in the
land of ſpirits ; and nothing, then, could diſpenſe with her
putting herſelf to death.
(z.) The root of the North American cytron-tree, com-
monly called the candle-wood, produces a juice which is a
moſt deadly poiſon.
SCENE III.
(AA.) The American Indians, after exhauſting every
ſpecies of cruelty and torture on their moſt diſtinguiſhed
priſoners, burn them by a diſtant fire, and they expire linging
ſongs of glory and defiance.
(BB.) The principal Indian figure made uſe of to expreſs
the making peace, is burying the hatchet.
SCENE IV.
(cc.) The mode of making peace is, previous to the
ſmoking the friendly calumet, for the Sachem, or head-
warrior, to advance with a white plume, in the form of a
fan, towards the ambaſſadors of a riva! nation, and to draw
it lightly over their foreheads; meaning to indicate, that
from that moment all former animoſities are wiped away,
and all paſt injuries conſigned to oblivion: the whiteneſs of
the plume being emblematical of the purity of their inten-
tions in the treaty they are forming.
25 FINIS,
sys 9dies satiska oromow



C
1795