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CHICOMICO.
39
And Rathmond joined, till long and high,
Rang the loud chorus to the sky!
Hark! o'er the rocks, the shrieks are answered wild;
Can it be Echo, Nature's darling child?
No; 'tis a whoop of horror and despair,
Which knows no sympathy, which sheds no tear!

Lo! on yon cliff, which frowns above the wave,
Mark the stern warriors hovering o'er their grave!
'Tis done: the sullen bosom of the bay
Opens and closes o'er its sinking prey!

One hollow splashing, as the waters part,
Sad welcome of the victim to his bed,
One mournful, shuddering echo, and the heart
Turns, chilled, at length, from scenes of death and dread!

But, ah! like some sad spectre lingering near,
A form still hovers o'er the scene of woe;
Does it await its hour of vengeance here,
Watching the cold forms weltering below?

The morn was dawning slowly in the east,
A few faint gleams of light were bursting through
When the dread warriors sought the lake's calm breast,
And sullen sunk amid its waters blue!

That rude, wild phantom hovering there,
Poised on the precipice midway in air,
Like some stern spirit of the dead,
Rising indignant from its bed,
Was Ompahaw! alone, he stood,