Page:The poetical works of Thomas Campbell.djvu/160
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XII.
"And hast thou then forgot," (he cried forlorn,
And eyed the group with half indignant air.)
"Oh! hast thou, Christian chief, forgot the morn
When I with thee the cup of peace did share?
Then stately was this head, and dark this hair,
That now is white as Appalachia's snow;
But, if the weight of fifteen years' despair,
And age hath bowed me, and the torturing foe,
Bring me my boy—and he will his deliverer know!—
"And hast thou then forgot," (he cried forlorn,
And eyed the group with half indignant air.)
"Oh! hast thou, Christian chief, forgot the morn
When I with thee the cup of peace did share?
Then stately was this head, and dark this hair,
That now is white as Appalachia's snow;
But, if the weight of fifteen years' despair,
And age hath bowed me, and the torturing foe,
Bring me my boy—and he will his deliverer know!—
XIII.
It was not long, with eyes and heart of flame,
Ere Henry to his loved Oneyda flew:
"Bless thee, my guide!"—but backward, as he came,
The chief his old bewildered head withdrew,
And grasped his arm, and looked and looked him through.
'Twas strange—nor could the group a smile controul—
The long, the doubtful scrutiny to view:
At last delight o'er all his features stole,
"It is—my own." he cried, and clasped him to his soul.
It was not long, with eyes and heart of flame,
Ere Henry to his loved Oneyda flew:
"Bless thee, my guide!"—but backward, as he came,
The chief his old bewildered head withdrew,
And grasped his arm, and looked and looked him through.
'Twas strange—nor could the group a smile controul—
The long, the doubtful scrutiny to view:
At last delight o'er all his features stole,
"It is—my own." he cried, and clasped him to his soul.
XIV.
"Yes! thou recallest my pride of years; for then
The bowstring of my spirit was not slack,
When, spite of woods, and floods, and ambushed men,
I bore thee like the quiver on my back,
Fleet as the whirlwind hurries on the rack;
Nor foeman then, nor cougar's crouch I feared[1],
For I was strong as mountain cataract:
And dost thou not remember how we cheered.
Upon the last hill-top, when white men's huts appeared?
"Yes! thou recallest my pride of years; for then
The bowstring of my spirit was not slack,
When, spite of woods, and floods, and ambushed men,
I bore thee like the quiver on my back,
Fleet as the whirlwind hurries on the rack;
Nor foeman then, nor cougar's crouch I feared[1],
For I was strong as mountain cataract:
And dost thou not remember how we cheered.
Upon the last hill-top, when white men's huts appeared?
- ↑ Cougar, the American tiger.