Page:Zinzendorff and Other Poems.pdf/15

Like haughty baron from his castled height.
Thus dwelt the kings of Europe,—ere the voice
Of the crusading monk, with whirlwind tone
Did root them from their base, with all their hosts,
Tossing the red-cross banner to the sky,
And pouring like a torrent o'er the wilds
Of wondering Asia.
The rude native tribes,
Fast by the borders of the gentle streams
Carv'd out their heritage, with rival heart,
And hand uncourteous. There the Shawanese
With surest arrow stay'd the flying deer,
And the bold Delaware with giant arm
Impell'd his swift canoe. In feudal pride
Oft the fierce chieftains led their eager hosts
To savage battle, or with oathless truce
Drew back in transient brotherhood, the hordes
Of wrathful warriors. In their cane-roof'd homes
Some budding virtues sprang as best they might
Beneath the chill and baleful atmosphere
Of savage life. The dusky mother prest
Her new-born infant with a rapturous thrill
Of unimagin'd love, and the glad sire
Saw his young boy with eager skill maintain
Against the opposing stream a venturous path,
Or firmer knit his sinews in the chase.
The lip of woman told the treasur'd lore
Of other times, and 'mid the tasks and toils
Of vassalage kept bright the historic chain,
As the sad vestal nurs'd the sacred fire,
—The young kept silence, while the old man spake,
And bowing down before the hoary head,