The sun had not ascended high, Along the blue, unclouded sky, When, bearing pipe and wampum gay, My counsellors were on their way, And ere the heath had lost its damp, They stood within the foeman’s camp, Prepared from further strife to cease, The firm ambassadors of peace, And urge their suit: the war-worn chief, Assents in words direct and brief, But calls on all the gathered band, Before his star-crown’d tent to stand, By chief or elder—there to treat, And judge of peace, and limits meet; Meantime with promise bids them speed, To consecrate such holy deed. But ah! what mortal man can say, He counts upon one single day Of fortune, favor, health, or bliss, In such uncertain scene as this! For, ere another setting sun, All—all! was vanished, lost, undone! And while, from war-mark’d front and cheek My young men washed the vermil streak, And elders counsel and prepare To drop the war-club and the war— Upon a sudden—horse and men Come rushing on o’er hill and glen, And wide encircling field and cot, With fire and sword, and hissing shot, Assail my wonder-stricken bands, Who stand with peace-pipes in their hands! Unarmed and unprepared, they spy The foe perfidious drawing nigh, Yet scarce can deem that deed so base Should stain the whites’ obdurate race; Nor deigned they—when they felt th’ attack, With all its missile horror black! To raise a lance—or draw a bow, Or supplicate th’ infuriate foe; Or break that honest pledge of faith Once given: but calmly meeting death, There brave as noble martyrs stood, Nor shed one drop of foeman’s blood, While three score warriors, honor-crown’d, In mortal silence pressed the ground, And twice six score the conq’ror saves, To grace his tarnish’d sword as slaves. Perfidious! have I called—who slights Or peace or war’s time-honored rights! For then I knew not _other_ head[4] That band of fierce assailants led, And not that chief surnamed The Hard,[5] Who erst received our warm regard. But ours the wrong, and ours the woe, We only saw one gen’ral foe, And knew not name or rank, or who Th’ extended hand of peace withdrew. [4] This attack was made by troops commanded by the late Judge Hugh L. White. [5] Gen. Jackson. Me, wounds detained within my bower, Upon that fell, destroying hour, Nor deemed I rout, or battle roar, Should vex my suppliant nation more; Their hapless fate my bosom mourn’d, And all to peace my hopes I turn’d. Old as I was, and weak and scarr’d, Meet seemed the thought, to be prepared, At night or noon, in bed or field, The prisoned spark of life to yield, And leave to those with vigor rife, Its sweets and sorrows, joys and strife. One wish alone inspir’d my breast, It was to see my Ednee blest.