The scalps that we number'd in triumph were there, And the musket that never was levell'd in vain,— What a leap has it given to my heart

To see thee suspend it in peace.

When the black and blood-banner was spread to the gale When thrice the deep voice of the war-drum was heard I remember thy terrible eyes

How they flash'd the dark glance of thy joy.

I remember the hope that shone over thy cheek
As thy hand from the pole reach'd its doers of death;
Like the ominous gleam of the cloud

Ere the thunder and light'ning are born.

He went and ye came not to warn him in dreams,
Kindred Spirits of him who is holy and great!
And where was thy warning, O Bird,

The untimely announcer of ill.

Alas! when thy brethren in conquest return'd;
When I saw the white plumes bending over their heads
And the pine-boughs of triumph before

Where the scalps of their victory swung, ..

The war-hymn they pour'd, and thy voice was not there.
I call'd thee,.. alas, the white deer-skin was brought,
And thy grave was prepar'd in the tent
Which I had made ready for joy!

Ollanahta all day by thy war-pole I sit,..
Ollanahta all night I weep over thy grave,
To morrow the victims shall die,
And I shall have joy in revenge.

The Old CHIKKASAH to his GRANDSON.

Now go to the battle my Boy!

Dear child of my son

There is strength in thine arm,
There is hope in thy heart,
Thou art ripe for the labours of war.
Thy Sire was a stripling like thee

When he went to the first of his fields.

He return'd, in the glory of conquest return'd,
Before him his trophies were borne,

These scalps that have hung till the Sun and the Rain
Have rusted their raven locks.

Here he stood when the morn of rejoicing arriv'd,

The day of the warriors reward;

When the banners sun-beaming were spread,

And all hearts were dancing in joy

To the sound of the victory drum.

The Heroes were met to receive their reward;
But distinguish'd among the young Heroes that day,
The pride of his nation, thy Father was seen:
The swan-feathers hung from his neck,

His face like the rainbow was tinged,

And his eye, .. how it sparkled in pride!
The Elders approach'd, and they placed on his brow
The crown that his valour had won,

And they gave him the old honour'd name.
They reported the deeds he had done in the war,
And the youth of the nation were told
To respect him, and tread in his path.

My Boy! I have seen, and with hope,
The courage that rose in thine eye
When I told thee the tale of his death.
His war-pole now is grey with moss,
His tomahawk red with rust,

His bow-string whose twang was death.

Now sings as it cuts the wind,

But his memory is fresh in the land

And his name with the names that we love.

Go now and revenge him my Boy! That his Spirit no longer may hover by day O'er the hut where his bones are at rest, Nor trouble our dreams in the night.

My Boy I shall watch for the warriors return, And my soul will be sad

Till the steps of thy coming I see.

F