Yet, in that glance, a quenchless hate,
Lost but with life, was concentrate,
Glaring as, Gorgon-like, endowed
To freeze the reckless gazer's blood.
He laughed—a laugh that fiends might use.
Deriding man's ephemeral views:
One hand he wreathed in Mytah's hair;—
Whirled then the tomahawk in air;—
It glittered—sunk:—a thrilling shriek
Its mission served too well to speak:
With grim delight the savage drew
His weapon wet with gory dew—
Waved it, exulting, o'er his head,
Then through the wood's wide shelter fled.
Moyarra saw not; for his eye
When flashed the fateful axe on high
Convulsive closed in dizzy trance:—
Vain hope! to dwell in ignorance:
That thrilling cry the air that rent
To his prophetic heart hath sent
The curst conviction that his fate
Is sealed, and he now desolate.
