As hungry panther from his tree Darts on his victim, bold and free, Or black crotalis, ere he spring, Gives warning of the deadly sting, Thus swift and sure in strength and mood Ten warriors leapt from out the wood, Upon the instant when, with pain, I sank upon the dewy plain; Each armed with arms of steel and dread, With brave Clewalla at their head, And at one shout, and at one bound, They shake the trembling woods around. They fight—they vanquish! words are vain, They bring me safe my child again. What boots it, that I here should tell, Or those who ’scap’d, or those who fell? Th’ assailants, merged in margin damp And tangled brushwood, sought their camp. Of those who fell, a liquid grave We gave in Coosa’s yellow wave; Which, soft and slow, and winding, bore Its charge to ocean’s sand-bound shore. Now sober silence once again Began to hold her wonted reign; My wounds, with simple skill, were bound, My warriors lay reclining round, And ere the hour of midnight chill, All seemed as dreary, hush’d, and still, As if the shout, or battle’s roar, Had ne’er been heard upon that shore. I sat within my tent, and mused, (As oft in peaceful days I used,) Upon the Spirit, great and high, That rules the earth, the sea, the sky, And that mysterious power and will That warrants man still man to kill, Sends powers and nations to and fro, And fills the earth with strife and woe. I thought upon my own wild kin, And all their wand’rings, want, and sin, And that untoward fate that gave, Profuse, their bodies to the grave, And seemed to set them in array, For Saxon arms to drive and slay. I cast my eye in thought profound, On that dear circle slumb’ring round, And mark’d th’ unoccupied recess A son, a father, once could press; And last bethought me of the fate And juncture of my own estate: Weak, wounded, foiled, and sore distrest— Of friends bereav’d—by foemen prest— Sad, bitter thoughts my heart control, A dreamy madness steeps my soul, Or wake or sleeping wist I not, By whom environ’d, whom forgot; Unreal scenes before me rise, And visions pass before my eyes. Methought I looked upon the sea, And low, dark waves, not large nor free, Came rolling in towards the shore, With scarce a pebble dash, or roar, Then larger grew, and louder sound, Till one wide tumult rings around. I looked again—a monster bear, With claws of steel, and fiery hair, Emerged from out the deep—his head, Two polished horns of brass o’erspread, And at his side a leader stood, Of visage pale,—a full-plum’d hood Danced o’er his brows, and in his hand He held a sharp and shining brand. I looked again, and from a tree, A beauteous bird sang joyfully; A ray of light from either eye