102
POEMS.
Round the old man the Indian maiden clung,
Her dark locks twining with his snowy hair;
Clasping, as in her sorrow wild she hung,
His feeble hands that joined in fervent prayer.
Her dark locks twining with his snowy hair;
Clasping, as in her sorrow wild she hung,
His feeble hands that joined in fervent prayer.
And onward! onward! came the band of death,
Swiftly, yet surely, like a mighty flood,
Trampling the flowers that seemed, with balmy breath,
To stay their footsteps from the deed of blood.
Swiftly, yet surely, like a mighty flood,
Trampling the flowers that seemed, with balmy breath,
To stay their footsteps from the deed of blood.
Near, and yet nearer, till, with vengeful cry,
Manhatta marks his prey before him rise.
Through the still air the fatal arrows fly,
Then starts he back with horror and surprise.
Manhatta marks his prey before him rise.
Through the still air the fatal arrows fly,
Then starts he back with horror and surprise.
He sees two victims wrapp'd in last embrace;
His heart grows cold! what form his eye doth meet?
Why does he dread to look upon the face
Of her who sleepeth in her beauty sweet?
His heart grows cold! what form his eye doth meet?
Why does he dread to look upon the face
Of her who sleepeth in her beauty sweet?
Lo! with the blighted flower upon his breast,
The aged martyr in the forest lay.
The dart that gave his earthly spirit rest,
Hath call'd the Indian maiden's soul away.
The aged martyr in the forest lay.
The dart that gave his earthly spirit rest,
Hath call'd the Indian maiden's soul away.
