VII.
Ere yet the day's returning beam
Had crimson-tinged the distant hill,
Or, glancing on the bubbling stream
Lent joyous lustre to its rill.
The chieftain rose, and gloomy strode
Through twilight grey his lonely road.
Morn came; around their watch-fires mustered
The warrior chiefs: the children clustered
In playful groups; in mimic war
To combat some their brethren dare;
Quick wielded by the dexterous hand,
The club a fresh-peeled myrtle wand;
The well-poised reed a spear supplies.
While high, in rapid circles, flies
The crescent toy whose airy flight6
Full oft attracts the wanderer's sight.
Rapt in the counsels of the band
One fondly clasps his father's hand,
Each intimation of his will
Quick to receive and to fulfil.
