Page:Poems Davidson.djvu/88

Gazing on heaven, on hill, and wood!
His eye was wilder than the eagle's glare;
Its glance was triumph, mingled with despair!
Far floated on the breeze his plumes of red,
Waving in warlike pride around his head;
His bow was aimless, bent within his hand;
His scalping-knife was gleaming in its band;
And his gay dress, bedecked for battle's storm,
Was wildly fluttering round his warrior form!

"Farewell!" he cried, "this aged hand
Draws the last bow-string of our band!"
He spoke, and, sudden as the lightning's. glance,
The dart, one moment, o'er the waters danced;
Like comet's blaze, like shooting star,
It whirled across the waters far!
The dark lake sparkled, as the arrow fell,
Foaming, death's herald, a last, bright farewell!
Then from his belt his tomahawk he tore,
"Man shall ne'er stain thy blade again with gore!"
Then raised on high his arm, and wildly sung
The death-song of his tribe, till Nature rung!

THE DEATH-SONG.

"The last of the tribe of Hillis-ad-joe
Falls not by the hand of the bloody foe;
But they fled to the heaven of peace in the west;
The Great Spirit called, and they flew to be blessed!

"From the dark rock's frowning brow
They flew to the deep below;