Classic Poem

Brothers ! all things have end, as hath this feast —
This farewell feast of sweet sagamity
And fine brown flesh of beaver and of bear.
Your own provision I have thus set forth
After the ancient custom. Whilst you ate
I sat aside, and thought how we are one —
In language, race — in all things one save love.
I sat aside, and pondered in my soul
The severing hate which seals my lingering death,
Yet sweetens still the foretaste of its pangs.

The feast now over — bowls well scraped — but first,
Confess I run the gauntlet well! Ah, ha!
No hatchet hit this loftier head than yours,
And, save these mangled hands, all's right with me!
Why not, since you, the quarry of my chase,
Have ne'er o'ertaxed my speed to run you down?

This galls you! Good! Let womanish passion rise —
Your childish rage — and break my leave to speak!
When captives of your nation give us feasts
We let them speak; yet, I remember me,
They but beseech their miserable lives —
Not death, with torture, as we do.

One word!
In lieu of him who perished by this axe
Yon dotard will not take me for a son —
A substitute worth fifty of his tribe!
Belike, that wench rejects my brotherhood,
Though thus she might be sister to a man,
Not to a Yendat dog with soul askew,
Who sneaked and snarled. This is your Chief's desire —
As far from mine as I am from your power
To make me quail at aught that you can do.
What! Lift you up! An Onondaga help
Your recreant breed to rise! Nay, were this urged,
Then would your torture strike!

You bear with this! —
Struck dumb, mayhap, by some ancestral thought.
For, Yendats, I perceive we might be one
But for this flood of hate which, turned to love —
For now my thoughts clear up with coming death —
Might well oppose the flux which threatens all;
Those pale, thin streams which up our inlets pour —
Diverse, yet deadly. Ah! " Yonondio
Is still your friend with whom you trade, " you say,
" As we do with Corlaer " ; and, true, their tools
Are finer than our flints, their kettles thin,
And better than our clay, their arms — but, what?
" No more! " you cry; then lead me to the stake!
(He is led by the Hurons to the place of torture.)
Now here, behold me! Atotaroh's son!
For he it is you ambushed yesterday —
A goodly prize — so now exhaust yourselves!
But, hark! no common cords, since you must tie
An Onondaga's very spirit down!
You will not heed! and I am bound, you fools,
After your fashion! for one strain, and see!
Your moosewood strings and linden lashings snap
Like rotten twigs! ( Flings them in their teeth .) You must be taught to bind!

Chut! yelping urchins, hence! Ye wizened crones
And screeching hags, stand off! Your wise men know
I am their sacrifice, and not your sport.
Ye warriors, what I would say is this:
Naught holds the Onondaga but his stocks
Of iron-wood, or the hard gray willow withe.
Bring this, then tie me to our people's tree —
The foliaged elm, leaf-wreathen to the root!

Believe me, chiefs, I have no fear of death —
That lies not in the compass of my soul!
Nay, I rejoice in this your sacrifice
To great Areskoui, who, from the sun,
Looks down upon us all. Yet there are thoughts —
Like storm-clouds beating up against the wind,
Or eddies running counter to the stream —
Which fain would stem our currents of revenge.
For did Yonondio but look on this —
Corlaer! those rival raveners, whose maws
Would drink our rivers and devour our lands!
How they would smile to see you round me now,
And whisper, sidelong, from their screening palms —
" One foe the less, one fertile tract the more! "
Ah, they would gloat upon this dance of death;
For they who still beseech will yet demand,
And dance in grinning triumph round you all!
Have we not heard — but wherefore should I speak,
Since you but mock me with assent? forked words
Wherewith unwittingly you stab yourselves!
Have you not heard your fathers' tales of yore —
How the destroyers voyaged with the sun
O'er boiling reaches of outlandish foam,
And, anchoring fast by many a torrid isle,
Woke the mild Arrawac from his livelong dream?
You have not! care not! Foes are friends, friends foes,
In the dread turmoil which confuses all!
Yet, if your ears have served not, I have seen
Old Wamesits and Wampanoags who know
Their pale-faced pilgrims from across the sea;
The men who came with faded, upturned eyes,
And, supplicating some outlying land,
With subtle leasing, straight enlarged themselves —
Who from the gift made title to the whole,
And thrust the red man back upon the ribs
Of spiny mountains, bleak with summer snow,
Till great Metacomet arose, and fell!
And, otherwhere, encased in iron they came,
Or in black robes — and won you to their side!
Through you they smote us, tore our castles down,
And sought to lay the mighty " Long-House " low,
Which else had spread — a shelter for us all!
Away all thoughts and feelings save my hate,
Which burns and hisses in my veins like fire —
Hate infinite and fierce, whose sense will dull
The pangs of all your faggots and your flames!
O fools! we were the tempest, you the leaves
Which fled before it! Traitors to our race,
Where are ye? Erie or Andaste, speak!
Ye craven remnants of the Yendat — where?
Your emptied forests tell — your ruined towns!
O you poor creatures of Yonondio, blush!
Your women should deride, your children jeer,
And Atahensic, from her silver home,
Look down and curse you! Ah! come back, my soul!
This rage is viler than the fear of death!
O Jouskeha, give calm! that I may feel,
And so endure, and by endurance please
Areskoui and thee!

The withes at last!
My meaning has been reached, and I am bound!
No flimsy setting this, half-fast, half-free,
But the triced frame, as stubborn as the elm!
Ah, there is something yet unsaid, but, no —
The darkness falls! Now, torches and the Fire!