Last Words of an Indian Chief.

“ He cometh !  Death is here. Leave me alone !1
                        
                        Hence !  hence !  Ye shall not see me when I die,2
                        
                        If die I must. I would not that the men3
                        
                        Whom I have led to battle saw me yield4
                        
                        To any conqueror. Shall my warriors hear5
                        
                        From this undaunted breast the gasp, or groan,6
                        
                        As when a woman dies ?
                        “ How cold the dew7
                        
                        Starts o’er my temples !  Wipe it not away.8
                        
                        Shame on your tears !  Leave me alone with Death !9
                        
                        For I will meet him as a brave man should,10
                        
                        And hurl defiance at him.
                        “ What is this ?11
                        
                        Ha !— He hath smote the lion !  Was it well,12
                        
                        
To steal upon me, in my unarm’d bed,13
                        
                        Most potent Enemy ?  How hast thou cut14
                        
                        The nerve of that strong arm, which us’d to cleave15
                        
                        The proudest foeman, like the sapling spray !16
                        
                        Oh friends !— the dimness of the grave doth steal17
                        
                        Over those eyes, that as the eagle dar’d18
                        
                        The noontide sunbeam.  Let me hear your voice,19
                        
                        Once more !  once more !
                        “ In vain !  That ear is seal’d20
                        
                        Which caught the rustle of the lightest leaf,21
                        
                        Where the close ambush lay. Come back !  come  
back !22
                        
                        back !22
Hear my last bidding, friends !  Lay not my bones23
                        
                        Near any white man’s bones. Let not his hand24
                        
                        Touch my clay-pillow, nor his hateful voice25
                        
                        Sing burial hymns for me. Rather than dwell26
                        
                        In paradise with him, my soul would choose27
                        
                        Eternal darkness and the undying worm.28
                        
                        Ho !  heed my words, or else my wandering shade29
                        
                        Shall haunt ye with its curse !”
                        And so, he died,30
                        
                        That pagan chief, the last strong banner-staff31
                        
                        Of the poor Senecas. No more the flash32
                        
                        Of his wild eloquence shall fire their ranks33
                        
                        To mortal combat. His distorted brow,34
                        
                        And the stern grapple, when he sank in death,35
                        
                        Sadly they grave upon their orphan hearts,36
                        
                        As to their rude homes in the forest glade37
                        
                        Mournful they turn’d.38