Gaunt red men, in light hunting shirts,
Stained like the grass and leaves around them, Crouched in the brambly forest-skirts,
As if a spell of witchcraft bound them.
The pheasant scratched, where sunshine warmed
A patch of forest earth, unharmed;
The marmot, near his burrow deep,
Played on the sward with clumsy leap;
Ungalled, by shaft from toughened bow,
Coursed on their runway buck and doe;
And, by Autaugua's reedy shores,
A brotherhood of beavers wise
Protruded, from their hovel-doors,
Brown furry heads with staring eyes.
For other game those hunters true
Withheld the shot and loud halloo !
Abiding patiently the hour
When each might prove his skill and power;
While keeping watch for nobler prey,
All dumb and motionless were they,
Like figures carved from granite gray.
Time, when an Indian warrior lies
In ambush, unregarded flies:
Though morning lark and whipporwil
Find him a voiceless watcher still,
Unwearied, in their sockets, roll
His black and ever-open orbs,
While the deep vortex of his soul
Alone one vengeful thought absorbs.
Though thirst oppress, and hunger gnaw,
Wo to the brave who quits his post!
The rigid doom of forest law
Degrades him with the name of squaw,
And Heaven rejects his ghost.
While under cover, thick and green,
Those hidden spies kept look-out keen,
Their foemen, with extended flank,
Were marching on the river-bank.
The morning star had seen them rise,
By bugle warned, their tents to strike,
And form, alert for high emprise,
With arquebuse and bristling pike:
Their trained battalions, ere the rays
Of rising sun dispelled the haze
That wrapped the woodland, leaf and limb,
In winding sheet obscure and dim,
Forded the rapid Hon-e-oye:
Dark allies hovered in advance
To guard the regulars of France
From Seneca decoy.
There his swart tribe the Saukie led,
Proud of the hawk-plumes on his head;
There stalked the Huron armed to slay,
And cross upon his bosom bore,
Taught by the Jesuit to pray
With hand imbrued in human gore;
There was the Adumdack seen,
Like his own hills of iron mien;
Half-naked, fierce and wampum-decked,
By marshal discipline unchecked,
The fleet Ottawa glided there,
Drest in the spoils of wolf and bear.
It must have been a gallant show,
When sunlight reached the valley low,
Made by those well-appointed troops:
Their glancing arms, half seen, half hid,
While moving, at quick time, amid
Tall trees in columned groups.
Borne in that host were banners old
By veterans "all seamed with scars,"
With
conquest written on each fold,
And marked by shot of former wars: Whose wings at Steenkirk, on the blast, Had flapped when blood ran warm and fast; Banners which haughtily had streamed
When Luxemburg in armor gleamed,
Leading, with trenchant sabre drawn,
The whirlwind of the battle on.
proven valor was the chief,
And worthy of the laurel leaf,
Who led that chivalrous array;
His steed, adorned with harness bright,
He managed like a youthful knight,
Although his head was gray.
Behind him pranced a mounted guard
Of men at arms, with visors barred-
Beneath him, in command alone,
Rode a tall warrior by his side;
And much of trouble had he known,
Unless soured look, and cheerless tone,
The heart within belied.
A few stray locks of glistening snow
Fell his bruised morion below,
But wintry age had left untamed
An eye, at times, that fiercely flamed;
And though his leader on parade
Would nobler chevalier have made,
Still his broad chest and martial front,
Bronzed o'er by toil, and weather-stain,
Told plainly that it was his wont
To bide the roaring onset's brunt
Upon the battle-plain.
"Twice, Baron, has the tedious night
Been reddened by our watch-fires bright;
Twice has the morning sunbeam found
Our force afoot on hostile ground,
And nothing in the shape of foe
Has brandished axe, or bended bow".
Murmured De Nonville, in disdain,
Stroking his courser's flowing mane.
"The rich, green forests of a land,
So beautiful on every hand,
Diversified by upland-swell,
Bright leaping rill, and flowery dell;
Another race, methought, possessed
Than these dark Senecas, misnamed
The tawny Romans of the west!".
The stern, old warrior exclaimed.
"Curse, that false Jesuit"-rejoined The fiery Marquis-" who has coined A lying tale for knightly ears
Of On-gui-hon-wi pride and power! Their hunting-grounds a Frank might scour, And find no foe in wood or bower,
Though marked was every leaf and flower
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