Classic Poem

SCENE SEVENTH. — The R UINS OF THE Prophet'S T OWN .

Enter the Prophet , who gloomily surveys the place .

Prophet . Our people scattered, and our town in ashes!
To think these hands could work such madness here —
This envious head devise this misery!
Tecumseh, had not my ambition drawn
Such sharp and fell destruction on our race,
You might have smiled at me! for I have matched
My cunning 'gainst your wisdom, and have dragged
Myself and all into a sea of ruin.

Enter T ECUMSEH .

T ECUMSEH . Devil! I have discovered you at last!
You sum of treacheries, whose wolfish fangs
Have torn our people's flesh — you shall not live!
( The Prophet retreats, facing and followed by T ECUMSEH .)
Prophet . Nay — strike me not! I can explain it all!
It was a woman touched the Magic Bowl,
And broke the brooding spell.
T ECUMSEH . Impostor! Slave!
Why should I spare you?
Prophet . Stay, stay, touch me not!
One mother bore us in the self-same hour.
T ECUMSEH . Then good and evil came to light together.
Go to the corn-dance, change your name to villain!
Away! Your presence tempts my soul to mischief.
Would that I were a woman, and could weep,
And slake hot rage with tears! O spiteful fortune,
To lure me to the limit of my dreams,
Then turn and crowd the ruin of my toil
Into the narrow compass of a night.
My brother's deep disgrace — myself the scorn
Of envious harriers and thieves of fame,
Oh, I could bear it all! But to behold
Our ruined people hunted to their graves —
To see the Long-Knife triumph in their shame —
This is the burning shaft, the poisoned wound
That rankles in my soul! But why despair?
All is not lost — the English are our friends.
My spirit rises — Manhood, bear me up!
I'll haste to Malden, join my force to theirs,
And fall with double fury on our foes.
Farewell, ye plains and forests, but rejoice!
Ye yet shall echo to Tecumseh's voice.

Enter L EFROY .

L EFROY . What tidings have you gleaned of Iena?
T ECUMSEH . My brother meant to wed her to Tarhay —
The chief who led his warriors to ruin;
But, in the gloom and tumult of the night,
She fled into the forest all alone!
L EFROY . Alone! In the wide forest all alone!
Angels are with her now, for she is dead.
T ECUMSEH . You know her to be skilful with the bow.
'Tis certain she would strike for some great lake —
Erie or Michigan. At the Detroit
Are people of our nation, and perchance
She fled for shelter there. I go at once
To join the British force.
L EFROY . But yesterday
I climbed to Heaven upon the shining stairs
Of love and hope, and here am quite cast down.
My little flower amidst a weedy world,
Where art thou now? In deepest forest shade?
Or onward, where the sumach stands arrayed
In autumn splendour, its alluring form
Fruited, yet odious with the hidden worm?
Or, farther, by some still sequestered lake,
Loon-haunted, where the sinewy panthers slake
Their noon-day thirst, and never voice is heard,
Joyous of singing waters, breeze or bird,
Save their wild wailings. ( A halloo without .) 'Tis Tecumseh calls!
Oh, Iena! If dead, where'er thou art —
Thy saddest grave will be this ruined heart!