_Iena._ Oh, could it turn you from your mad intent How freely would I give it! Drop this scheme, Dismiss your frenzied warriors to their beds; And, if contented with my hand, Tarhay Can have it here. _Tarhay._ I love you, Iena! _Iena._ Then must you love what I do! Love our race! 'Tis this love nerves Tecumseh to unite Its scatter'd tribes--his fruit of noble toil, Which you would snatch unripen'd from his hand, And feed to sour ambition. Touch it not-- Oh, touch it not, Tarhay! and though my heart Breaks for it, I am yours. _Prophet._ His anyway, Or I am not the Prophet! _Tarhay._ For my part I have no leaning to this rash attempt, Since Iena consents to be my wife. _Prophet._ Shall I be thwarted by a yearning fool! [_Aside._ This soft, sleek girl, to outward seeming good, I know to be a very fiend beneath-- Whose sly affections centre on herself, And feed the gliding snake within her heart. _Tarhay._ I cannot think her so-- _Mamatee._ She is not so! There is the snake that creeps among our race; Whose venom'd fangs would bile into our lives, And poison all our hopes. _Prophet._ She is the head-- The very neck of danger to me here, Which I must break at once! [_Aside._] Tarhay--attend! I can see dreadful visions in the air; I can dream awful dreams of life and fate; I can bring darkness on the heavy earth; I can fetch shadows from our fathers' graves, And spectres from the sepulchres of hell. Who dares dispute with me, disputes with death! Dost hear, Tarhay? [TARHAY _and braves cower before the_ PROPHET. _Tarhay._ I hear, and will obey. Spare me! Spare me! _Prophet._ As for this foolish girl, The hand she offers you on one condition, I give to you upon a better one; And, since she has no mind to give her heart-- Which, rest assured, is in her body still-- There,--take it at my hands! [_Flings_ IENA _violently towards_ TARHAY, _into whose arms she falls fainting, and is then borne away by_ MAMATEE. [_To_ TARHAY.] Go bring the braves to view the Mystic Torch And belt of Sacred Beans grown from my flesh-- One touch of it makes them invulnerable-- Then creep, like stealthy panthers, on the foe! SCENE.--_Morning. The field of Tippecanoe after the battle. The ground strewn with dead soldiers and warriors._ _Enter_ HARRISON, _officers and soldiers, and_ BARRON. _Harrison._ A costly triumph reckon'd by our slain! Look how some lie still clench'd with savages In all-embracing death, their bloody hands Glued in each other's hair! Make burial straight Of all alike in deep and common graves: Their quarrel now is ended. _1st Officer._ I have heard The red man fears our steel--'twas not so here; From the first shots, which drove our pickets in, Till daylight dawn'd, they rush'd upon our lines, And flung themselves upon our bayonet points In frenzied recklessness of bravery.