Last Words of an Indian Chief

"He cometh! Death is here. Leave me alone!Hence! hence! Ye shall not see me when I die,If die I must. I would not that the menWhom I have led to battle saw me yieldTo any conqueror. Shall my warriors hearFrom this undaunted breast the gasp or groanAs when a woman dies?"How cold the dewStarts o'er my temples! Wipe it not away.Shame on your tears! Leave me alone with Death!For I will meet him as a brave man should,And hurl defiance at him."What is this?Ha! He hath smote the lion! Was it wellTo steal upon me in my unarm'd bed,Most potent enemy? How hast thou cutThe nerve of that strong arm, which used to cleaveThe proudest foeman like the sapling spray!Oh friends! the dimness of the grave doth stealOver those eyes, that as the eagle daredThe noontide sunbeam. Let me hear your voiceOnce more! once more!"In vain! The ear is seal'dWhich caught the rustle of the lightest leafWhere the close ambush lay. Come back! come back!Hear my last bidding, friends! Lay not my bones

Near any white man's bones. Let not his handTouch my clay pillow, nor his hateful voiceSing burial hymns for me. Rather than dwellIn Paradise with him, my soul would chooseEternal darkness and the undying worm.Ho! heed my words, or else my wandering shadeShall haunt ye with its curse!"And so he died,That pagan chief; the last strong banner-staffOf the poor Senecas. No more the flashOf his wild eloquence shall fire their ranksTo mortal combat. His distorted brow,And the stern grapple when he sank in death,Sadly they grave upon their orphan hearts,As to their rude homes in the forest gladeMournful they turn'd.