Classic Poem

The dusky warriors stood in groups around the funeral pyre;
The scowl upon their knotted brows betrayed their vengeful ire.
It needed not the cords, the stake, the rites so stern and rude,
To tell it was to be a scene of cruelty and blood. . . .

O lovely was that winsome child of a dark and rugged line,
And e'en 'mid Europe's daughters fair surpassing might she shine:
For ne'er had coral lips been wreathed by brighter, sunnier smile,
Or dark eyes beamed with lustrous light more full of winsome wile. . . .

And, yet it was not wonderful, that haughty, high-born grace—
She stood amid her direst foes a Princess of her race;
Knowing they'd met to wreak on her their hatred 'gainst her name,
To doom her to a fearful death, to pangs of fire and flame. . . .

One moment,—then her proud glance fled, her form she humbly bowed,
A softened light stole o'er her brow, she prayed to heaven aloud:
“Hear me, Thou Great and Glorious One, Protector of my race,
Whom in the far-off Spirit Land I'll soon see face to face!

“Pour down thy blessings on my tribe, may they triumphant rise
Above the guileful Iroquois—Thine and our enemies;
And give me strength to bear each pang with courage high and free,
That, dying thus, I may be fit to reign, O God, with Thee.”

Her prayer was ended, and again, like crowned and sceptered Queen,
She wore anew her lofty smile, her high and royal mien,
E'en though the chief the signal gave, and quick two warriors dire
Sprang forth to lead the dauntless girl to the lit funeral pyre.

Back with an eye of flashing scorn recoiled she from their grasp,
“Nay, touch me not, I'd rather meet the coil of poisoned asp!
My aged sire and all my tribe will learn with honest pride
That, as befits a Huron's child, their chieftain's daughter died!”

She dashed aside her tresses dark with bright and fearless smile,
And like a fawn she bounded on the fearful funeral pile;
And even while those blood-stained men fulfilled their cruel part
They praised that maiden's courage rare, her high and dauntless heart.