IX.
Proudly the monarch raised his head,
And proudly turn’d his eye
Upon the spoils of many wars,
And scalps that hung on high;
And then his trusty bow and club
He haughtily survey’d,
And thus with stately air and tone
His brief reply he made.
‘If such rare presents have been sent
‘From your great king to me,
‘Remember too, I am a king,
‘And all this land you see,
‘And all these woods and groves are mine,
‘And the mighty rivers too,
‘That pour down from the mountain sides
‘And glide these valleys through.
‘And thirty tribes with all their chiefs
‘Their homage pay to me,
‘And fight my battles when I call—
‘Your captain of the sea
‘Should better know the place he fills:
‘His presents to bestow,
‘He may, when suits him, come to me;
‘To him I shall not go.’