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But where is Montonoc? alone,
 Rathmond is musing on the strand;
Say, whither has the prophet gone?
 Why does young Rathmond heedless stand?

O! he is picturing to his vacant breast
Those scenes of joy, those moments doubly blessed,
Which youthful hope had promised should be his,
When all was light, and love, and cloudless bliss!
O! he was sighing o'er the dreary waste,
 Left in that bosom, which had loved so well!
O! he was wishing for some place of rest,
 Some gloomy cavern, or some lonely cell!

But, ah! the voice of Montonoc is heard,
Loud as the notes of yonder gloomy bird;
"Eagle!" he cried, "the fatal charm hath passed!
The blood-red tribe have darkly sunk at last!
And, warrior, now I yield unto thy power
The latest trophy of my life's last hour!
Deal with him as thou wilt, for he is thine!
But mark! 'twas I who gave, for he was mine!
Adieu! I go!" He closed his fiery eye,
And his stern spirit flew to heaven on high!

The prisoner sighed, and mutely gazed awhile
Upon the fallen prophet's brow of toil,
Then towards the warrior turned, dropped the dark hood,
And lo! Cordelia before Rathmond stood!

 1822.