THE UNBOUGHT SEMINOLE
It pealed, like trumpets in the fray
That canonized Thermopylae;
It wailed o’er Warren, sad and shrill,
In the hot crash of Bunker Hill;
It wept wild music o’er the dart
That burst from Osceola’s heart,
And still fares forth, a choral wave
Upon the never-dying brave.
Such, such the heavenly-gardened seed
That flowers each immortal deed.
Such, such the spirit of the past
That nobly battles to the last,
And such the sunbeam of thy soul,
Grim Brutus of the Seminole!
And I—though pale-faced and thy foe,
Can laud thy joy and feel thy woe;
Would that a Homer’s magic lyre,
His Sybil lip, his tongue of fire,
Were mine but one great moment—then,
Statued with monumental men,
Thy ghostly form, rapt in renown,
Should stand with helmet, sword, and crown—
And who would dare to drag it down?
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