LEFROY. Yes, life was there! inexplicable life, Still wasted by inexorable death. There had the stately stag his battle-field-- Dying for mastery among his hinds. There vainly sprung the affrighted antelope, Beset by glittering eyes and hurrying feet. The dancing grouse at their insensate sport, Heard not the stealthy footstep of the fox; The gopher on his little earthwork stood, With folded arms, unconscious of the fate That wheeled in narrowing circles overhead, And the poor mouse, on heedless nibbling bent, Marked not the silent coiling of the snake. At length we heard a deep and solemn sound-- Erupted moanings of the troubled earth Trembling beneath innumerable feet. A growing uproar blending in our ears, With noise tumultuous as ocean's surge, Of bellowings, fierce breath and battle shock, And ardor of unconquerable herds. A multitude whose trampling shook the plains, With discord of harsh sound and rumblings deep, As if the swift revolving earth had struck, And from some adamantine peak recoiled-- Jarring. At length we topped a high-browed hill-- The last and loftiest of a file of such-- And, lo! before us lay the tameless stock, Slow-wending to the northward like a cloud! A multitude in motion, dark and dense-- Far as the eye could reach, and farther still, In countless myriads stretched for many a league. BROCK. You fire me with the picture! What a scene! LEFROY. Nation on nation was invillaged there, Skirting the flanks of that imbanded host; With chieftains of strange speech and port of war, Who, battle-armed, in weather-brawny bulk, Roamed fierce and free in huge and wild content. These gave Tecumseh greetings fair and kind, Knowing the purpose havened in his soul. And he, too, joined the chase as few men dare; For I have seen him, leaping from his horse, Mount a careering bull in foaming flight, Urge it to fury o'er its burden strange, Yet cling tenacious, with a grip of steel, Then, by a knife-plunge, fetch it to its knees In mid-career, and pangs of speedy death. BROCK. You rave, Lefroy! or saw this in a dream. LEFROY. No, no; 'tis true--I saw him do it, Brock! Then would he seek the old, and with his spoils Restore them to the bounty of their youth, Cheering the crippled lodge with plenteous feasts, And warmth of glossy robes, as soft as down, 'Till withered cheeks ran o'er with feeble smiles, And tongues, long silent, babbled of their prime. BROCK. This warrior's fabric is of perfect parts! A worthy champion of his race--he heaps Such giant obligations on our heads As will outweigh repayment. It is late, And rest must preface war's hot work to-morrow, Else would I talk till morn. How still the night! Here Peace has let her silvery tresses down, And falls asleep beside the lapping wave. Wilt go with me? LEFROY. Nay, I shall stay awhile. BROCK. You know my quarters and the countersign-- Good-night, Lefroy! LEFROY. Good-night, good-night, good friend! [_Exit_ BROCK.]