"Notch on the twisted sinew of thy bow This fatal weapon"--Ou-wee-ne-you[G] cried, Dropping a golden shaft--"and pierce the foe Under the rounded scale that wall his side!" Then vanished, while again the valley wide And mountain quaked with thunder:--from the ground The warrior raised the gift of Heaven, and hied On his heroic mission while around The hill with closer clasp his train the serpent wound. [G] Great Spirit. XXIV. Flame-hued and hissing played its nimble tongue Between thick, ghastly rows of pointed bone Round which commingled gore and venom clung: Raging its flattened head like copper shone, And flinty earth returned a heavy groan Lashed by quick strokes of its resounding tail; Heard is like uproar when the hills bleak cone Is wildly beat by winter's icy flail, But in that moment dire the archer did not quail. XXV. Firm in one hand his trusty bow he held, And with the other to its glittering head Drew the long shaft while full each muscle swell'd; A twanging sound!--and on its errand sped The messenger of vengeance:--warm and red Gushed from a gaping wound the vital tide-- Wrenched was the granite from its ancient bed, And pines were broken in their leafy pride, When throes of mortal pain the monster's coil untied. XXVI. Down the steep hill outstretched and dead he rolled Disgorging human heads in his descent; Oaks that in earth had deeply fixed their hold Like reeds by that revolving mass were bent, Splintered their boughs as if by thunder rent: High flung the troubled lake its glittering spray, And far the beach with flakes of foam besprent, When the huge carcass disappeared for aye In depths from whence it rose to curse the beams of day. XXVII. When winds its murmuring bosom cease to wake Through bright transparent waves you may discern On the hard, pebbled bottom of the lake Skulls changed to stone:--when fires no longer burn Kindled by sunset, and the glistening urn Of night o'erflows with dew the phantoms pale Of matron, maid, child, seer and chieftain stern Their ghastly faces to the moon unveil, And raise upon the shore a low heart-broken wail. XXVIII. The lovers of Genundewah were blest By the Great Spirit, and their lodge became The nursery of a nation:--when the West Opened its gates of parti-colored flame To give their souls free passage loud acclaim Rang through the Spirit Land, and voices cried "Welcome! ye builders of eternal fame! Ye royal founders of an empire wide The stream of joy flows by, quaff ever from its tide!" XXIX.