“I saw his war plume, soil’d and torn; I knew that he was doom’d to die; Pale, wounded, feeble, there he stood; The ground was crimson’d with his blood; Yet stood he as a soldier should-- Erect, with calm, determined eye. “I would not he should see me then,-- The sight his courage had betray’d; Therefore unseen we stepp’d aside, Into the forest-glade. “An Indian woman there was set, We knew her, and to her were known; The wife of a great chief was she, Deck’d in her Indian bravery; Yet there she sat alone. “‘Woman,’ I said, the silence breaking, ‘Thou know’st us--know’st that we belong To peaceful people, who have ne’er Done to thy nation wrong. ‘Thou know’st that ye have dwelt with us, As friend upon the hearth of friend;-- When have ye ask’d and been denied, That this good faith should end?’ “The Indian did not raise her head, As she replied in accents low, ‘Why come ye hither unto me, When I am sitting in my woe?’ “‘Woman,’ I said, ‘I ask for life-- For life, which in your hands doth lie; Go bid thy tribe release the bands Of him now doomed to die! “‘Go, Indian woman, and do this, For thou art mighty with thy race!’ The Indian made me no reply, But looked into my face. “‘Mighty! said’st thou?’ at length she spoke, ‘Mighty!--to one no longer wife! The hatchet and the tomahawk Lie by me on the forest-walk; The great chief in my hut lies low, The ruthless pale-face struck the blow-- And yet thou com’st to me for life!’ “‘By that chief’s memory,’ I cried, ‘Whom ne’er the peaceful men gainsaid; To whom the peaceful men were dear; Rise, though thou stricken be, and aid! “‘Crave not REVENGE,’ and with my words My tears flow’d fast, though hers were dry; ‘But look upon this pictured face, And say if such a one shall die!’ “Long looked she on the pictured face, Which from my neck I took and gave; Long looked she ere a word was spoke, And then she slowly silence broke, ‘The hatchet is not buried yet; The tomahawk with blood is wet; And the great chief is in his grave! “‘Yet for the father Onas’ sake-- For their sakes who no blood have shed, We will not by his sons be blamed For taking life which they have claimed;-- The red man can avenge his dead!’ “So saying, with her broken heart-- She went forth to the council-stone; And when the captive was brought out, ’Mid savage war-cry, taunt and shout, She stepp’d into the fierce array, As the bereaved Indian may, And claim’d the victim for her own. “He was restored. What need of more To tell the joy that thence ensued! But sickness followed long and sore, And he for a twelvemonth or more, With our good, peaceful friends abode.