What is there in my nature so supine That I must ever quarrel with revenge? From vales and rivers which were once our own The pale hounds who uproot our ancient graves Come whining for our lands, with fawning tongues, And schemes and subterfuge and subtleties. O for a Pontiac to drive them back And whoop them to their shuddering villages! O for an age of valour like to his, When freedom clothed herself with solitude, And one in heart the scattered nations stood, And one in hand. It comes! and mine shall be The lofty task to teach them to be free-- To knit the nations, bind them into one, And end the task great Pontiac begun! SCENE II.--ANOTHER PART OF THE FOREST. _Enter_ LEFROY, _carrying his rifle, and examining a knot of wild flowers._ LEFROY. This region is as lavish of its flowers As Heaven of its primrose blooms by night. This is the Arum which within its root Folds life and death; and this the Prince's Pine, Fadeless as love and truth--the fairest form That ever sun-shower washed with sudden rain. This golden cradle is the Moccasin Flower, Wherein the Indian hunter sees his hound; And this dark chalice is the Pitcher-Plant Stored with the water of forgetfulness. Whoever drinks of it, whose heart is pure, Will sleep for aye 'neath foodful asphodel, And dream of endless love. I need it not! I am awake, and yet I dream of love. It is the hour of meeting, when the sun Takes level glances at these mighty woods, And Iena has never failed till now, To meet me here! What keeps her? Can it be The Prophet? Ah, that villain has a thought, Undreamt of by his simple followers, Dark in his soul as midnight! If--but no-- He fears her though he hates! What shall I do? Rehearse to listening woods, or ask these oaks What thoughts they have, what knowledge of the past? They dwarf me with their greatness, but shall come A meaner and a mightier than they, And cut them down. Yet rather would I dwell With them, with wildness and its stealthy forms-- Yea, rather with wild men, wild beasts and birds, Than in the sordid town that here may rise. For here I am a part of Nature's self, And not divorced from her like men who plod The weary streets of care in search of gain. And here I feel the friendship of the earth: Not the soft cloying tenderness of hand Which fain would satiate the hungry soul With household honey-combs and parloured sweets, But the strong friendship of primeval things-- The rugged kindness of a giant heart, And love that lasts. I have a poem made Which doth concern earth's injured majesty-- Be audience, ye still untroubled stems! (_Recites_)