Poems (Acton)/Lines, on a Picture of "Uncas at his Watch-fire"

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!

Were they sounds of Mingoe's tread,
 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.

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.

Loveliest daughters of thy land
 Deck in vain their forms, for thee;
Thou art clinging to a hope
 Doomed to bring thee misery!

Revel in thy dear-bought joys!
 Deem the vision true as bright,
That the wonder-worshipped one
 Ne'er will vanish from thy sight!

Hope still on! The heart is cold,
 Its beatings o'er when hope is past!
Trust, until the bitter truth
 Burst upon thee at the last.

Then, a warrior as thou art,
 Turn thy nature once again!
Spurn remembrance of the past
 As a vision wild and vain.

Tell thy Mingo foe, that grief
 Left thee still a Delaware!
Tho', should e'er thy heart be his,
 He'd find the name of "Cora" there.
R. A.