POEMS.
115
LINES,ON A PICTURE OF "UNCAS AT HIS WATCH-FIRE."(From "The last of the Mohicans.")
Starting from thy reverie,
Crouching as thou listeth there,
Trace we in thy noble form
Thy dauntless race—young Delaware!
Crouching as thou listeth there,
Trace we in thy noble form
Thy dauntless race—young Delaware!
Were they sounds of Mingoe's tread,
Woke that stern expectant gaze?
Calling to thine eye a light
Rivalling thy watch-fire's blaze.
Woke that stern expectant gaze?
Calling to thine eye a light
Rivalling thy watch-fire's blaze.
Indian! there is on thy brow,
Fiercest passion's deepest shade;
Yet its trace can pass away,
And that eye's stern lustre fade.
Fiercest passion's deepest shade;
Yet its trace can pass away,
And that eye's stern lustre fade.
Glaring with revenge's fire,
When the foe is at thy feet;
Uncas! 'Tis not lighted thus,
The pale-faced maiden's smile to meet.
When the foe is at thy feet;
Uncas! 'Tis not lighted thus,
The pale-faced maiden's smile to meet.
