_Tecumseh._ Then good and evil came to light together. Go to the corn-dance, change your name to villain! Away! Your presence tempts my soul to mischief. [_Exit the_ PROPHET _hastily._ Would that I were a woman, and could weep, And slake hot rage with tears! O spiteful fortune, To lure me to the limit of my dreams, Then turn and crowd the ruin of my toil Into the narrow compass of a night! My brother's deep disgrace--myself the scorn Of envious harriers and thieves of fame, Who fain would rob me of the lawful meed Of faithful services and duties done-- Oh, I could bear it all! But to behold Our ruin'd people hunted to their graves-- To see the Long-Knife triumph in their shame-- This is the burning shaft, the poison'd wound That rankles in my soul! But, why despair? All is not lost--the English are our friends. My spirit rises--manhood bear me up! I'll haste to Malden, join my force to theirs, And fall with double fury on our foes. Farewell ye plains and forests, but rejoice! Ye yet shall echo to Tecumseh's voice. _Enter_ LEFROY. _Lefroy._ What tidings have you glean'd of Iena? _Tecumseh._ My brother meant to wed her to Tarhay-- The chief who led his warriors to ruin; But, in the gloom and tumult of the night, She fled into the forest all alone. _Lefroy._ Alone! In the wide forest all alone! Angels are with her now, for she is dead. _Tecumseh._ You know her to be skilful with the bow. 'Tis certain she would strike for some great Lake-- Erie or Michigan. At the Detroit Are people of our nation, and perchance She fled for shelter there. I go at once To join the British force. [_Exit_ TECUMSEH. _Lefroy._ But yesterday I climb'd to Heaven upon the shining stairs Of love and hope, and here am quite cast down. My little flower amidst a weedy world, Where art thou now? In deepest forest shade? Or onward, where the sumach stands array'd In autumn splendor, its alluring form Fruited, yet odious with the hidden worm? Or, farther, by some still sequester'd lake, Loon-haunted, where the sinewy panthers slake Their noon-day thirst, and never voice is heard Joyous of singing waters, breeze or bird, Save their wild wailings.--[_A halloo without._] 'Tis Tecumseh calls! Oh Iena! If dead, where'er thou art-- Thy saddest grave will be this ruin'd heart! [_Exit._ FOOTNOTES: