Above his inky locks, which, dangling loose,
Half veiled his cheeks, and reached unto his breast;
Around that breast the same black fox's hair
Moved as he breathed, and seemed as growing there.
XXV.
Tall was his form, and in his dexter hand
He bore a barb with deadly venom fraught;
Whilst in his left, supported by a band,
He held a casket, where the rabble thought
A manittoo, awaiting his command,
Coiled in a serpent's folds; and there was nought
That in brave warriors could awaken fright,
Save his dire glance and fascinating might.
XXVI.
For, strange to tell! e'en on the human kind,
That serpent ventured his mysterious charm;
And there were those who thought the subtle mind
Of Chepian's self inspired his winding form.
All sought his omens.—He was aye enshrined,
Through winter's cold, in furs to keep him warm;
And never issued to the open light,
Till famine roused his rage, or prey provoked his might.
XXVII.
Thus, with strange terrors armed, the wizard stood,
And on the casket riveted his eyes,
And whispered for a while in ghastly mood,
Until responses from it seemed to rise
Faintly distinct, whereat the vulgar blood
Stayed its career, and even Sachems wise
Heard with a thrill,—for these dread accents rose:
"Count ye the sands—ye count your pale-faced foes."
