Classic Poem

" PE NA SE-WUG. "

Hear not ye their shrill-piping
screams on the air?
Up! Braves, for the conflict
prepare ye — prepare!
Aroused from the canebrake,
far south, by your drum,
With beaks whet for carnage,
the Battle Birds come.

Oh, God of my fathers,
as swiftly as they,
I ask but to swoop
from the hills on my prey;
Give this frame to the winds,
on the Prairie below,
But my soul, like thy bolt,
I would hurl on the foe!

On the forehead of Earth
strikes the Sun in his might,
Oh gift me with glances
as searching as light,
In the front of the onslaught
to single each crest,
Till my hatchet grows red
on their bravest and best.

Why stand ye back idly,
ye Sons of the Lake!
Who boast of the scalp-locks
ye tremble to take?
Fear-dreamers may linger,
my skies are all bright —
On — on — to the War Path,
MY G OD AND MY R IGHT .