O’er happy plains from human footsteps far;
And when our high chief’s voice to arm for war
Rang out in tones that rent the morning sky,
None of the band exulted more than I.
A god might gaze and tremble at the sight
Of our array that turned the day to night;
With bow and shield and flame-tipped arrows all,
Rushing together at our leader’s call,
Like storm clouds sweeping round a mountain height.
The lofty cliffs our warlike muster saw,