THE UNBOUGHT SEMINOLE
It burns! it blazes! let it be
A globe-mark for the bold and free
To beacon on Eternity.
Ay, let it flash its halo high—
Flash like a meteor in the sky
With lightning flame
To carve a name
That cannot, will not quickly die!
No subtle tribute of the mine
Could quell that hero-heart of thine;
Not the ripe wilderness of gold
Through which Pactolian tides have roll’d;
Not the star-gem that grandly flings
Its flambeau by barbaric kings;
No traitor’s breath, no hostile band,
Not Power’s all-pervading hand
Could wrench thee from thy native land.
The lone wolf from his lair
May find a shelter from despair—
Man of the weary-foot, for thee
No refuge held the land or sea—
Death, death alone could set thee free—
And, more than free, since thus it came
Girt with the glory-wings of fame.
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