Each Indian sees some awful judgment nigh, 115
For fear of ghosts all in a circle lie;
Some one that's bolder, ere the turn of night,
Fills up his pipe, and sighs for morning light.
Example set, no more the Gods invoke,
But lose their fears amidst a cloud of smoke. 120
Now gay Aurora, in her dewy robe,
Precedes the sun, and cheers the wheeling globe. The soften'd females, active in distress,
With yellow bark the lifeless body dress;-
The shrowded corse in savage state appears,
And as they gaze, Remembrance draws their tears.
Meanwhile the men with decent looks behave,
And some with axes dig the hollow grave.
At this sad work the warmest hearts attend
The last kind duties of a genuine friend.
But now they move, a melancholy train,
Whose grief-pac'd steps slow cross the woody plain.
Each wears his gun, strict to their funeral law,
And various forms increase the solemn awe.
Soon as the grave her greedy jaws display,
And still insatiate asks her borrow'd clay.
The hunter's gun is pointed at the dead,
And through the body pours the show'ring lead,
Lest flesh resuscitate to life again,
And make their heroes taste death's double pain. 140
The firings cease, the sacred rites are paid;
Pale sorrows fresh the savage breasts invade.
Here scalping knives no barb'rous marks bestow,
But on the beech a nobler sculpture show,
Where deep-carv'd rind the years of Tonie tell, 145
The age he flourish'd, and the hour he fell;
An honour'd mark to all the wand'ring race,
Rough pointing downwards to the sacred place.
Then homeward all devoid of order go,
Dry up their tears, and close a scene of woe; 150
To sing the virtues of that worthy man,
Whose mortal woes from Susan's flight began.
In due respect to their departed sage,
A funeral feast the living chiefs engage;
When Squas' melodious, 'midst the list'ning ring,
His obsequies and glorious traits they sing : 155
Where is that man, 'midst wars and tumults born,
Whose active soul is from our forests torn;
Whose arm in pride of youth was known afar
To crush the Mohacs in their bloody war?
In courage bless'd, his deeds superior shine,
Who single-handed murder'd ninety-nine.
Tho' oft he tried, in honour of the state,
To kill the hundred, yet was check'd by fate.
Upon that day, which well our aged know,
When peace was granted to the woods below,
What tribes of warriors did our King surround! 165
What tomahawks were buried in the ground!
His word in pledge a nation's faith maintain'd,
And friendly acts our country's name sustain'd:
On seas, in woods, he ever led the van,
And o'er the snows 'midst various toils he ran. 170
The bulky elk, the gentler carriboo,
For weeks together would their track pursue.
The beaver huts, by highest instinct form'd,
On distant lakes successfully he storm'd,
Entrap, decoy, or bears and foxes catch;
For nights and days unmurm'ring stood the watch.
What fleets of fur then left our happy shores,
T' exchange the produce with European stores !
But with him now our heav'nly smiles will cease,
And wars and wrongs disturb our future peace. 180
His cheerful face, where dwelt the social powers,
No more in age approves our festive hours;
Nor shall we see his tottering limbs advance
Beyond their strength, and mixing in the dance;
No more his wit or stories shall prevail,
Nor list'ning wonder swallow up the tale,
Hid are his virtues, low his vices laid,
In mingling dust beneath the silent shade.
His noble traits, ye powers of mem'ry, save,
But let his faults lie buried in the grave.
So anguish flow'd, (its strength now lost in rhyme)
When minds untutor'd soar'd to heights sublime;
When many a voice, harmonious still in grief,
Sung the past glories of a woodland chief.
Now Bloody Sack, soon as the rites were o'er, 195
Burn'd for the prospect of some other shore;
Revenge more rooted in his breast still grew,
Thus, beckoning with his axe, attention drew :
" I see my friends a clouded aspect wear,
And Susan's conduct checks the filial tear.
Men round me stand, each witness to a scene
That laid our sire beneath the grassy plain.
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