Then I pois'd my tough ash spear,
Then I bent my pride of bows,
From my quiver drew an arrow,
Rais'd my war-cry—ha! he falls!
From his crest I took the feather,
From his crown I tore the scalp-lock.
Shout his friends their cry of vengeance—
What avails it? are they eagles?
Nought else may o'ertake the Maqua.
Came the Hurons to our border—
Hurons from the Lake of Thunder—
Hurons far renown'd for valour—
Forth I went with six to meet them:
In my cabin hang ten scalp-locks.
Should I fear a mortal warrior?
No—a Maqua never trembles.
Why should I fear?
I never told a lie,
Kind have I been to father and to mother,
I never turn'd my back upon a foe.
I slew my people's enemies—
Why should I fear to die?
Let the flame be kindled round me,
Let them tear my flesh with pincers,
Probe me with a burning arrow,
I can teach a coward Mingo
How a valiant man should die.
These were not exactly the kind of tales which M. Verdier had crossed the ocean and threaded the forest to hear, but he patiently awaited their conclusion. At a signal from a venerated chief, their martial narratives were dropped, and all retired to their seats. The dance was succeeded by a feast, of which the chiefs and warriors, together with their guest, first partook, and afterwards the men of inferior note. Before a mouthful was tasted, however, the best and juiciest pieces of the deer were selected as an offering to the Great Spirit. They were not laid upon the fire till the priest had been called to the performance of certain rites and ceremonies by the following hymn, chanted in their peculiarly solemn and impressive manner:—
INDIAN HYMN, OR INVOCATION.
From the wilderness we bring
The fat buck we have slain,
We have laid him on the coals:
Lord of Life!
Lord of Life!
We have opened the door,
That the smoke may ascend
To thy nostrils, and please thee,
Great Master of Breath,
Of our breath!
We will call the wise priest—
He will come!
He will come!
He will utter thy name with his lips;
He will ask that thy hand may be light
On our race, in thy wrath,
In thy wrath!
When the priest had performed certain ceremonies over the holocaust, he retired, and the hymn was resumed as follows:—
We have call'd the wise priest—
He has come!
He has come!
He has utter'd thy name with his lips,
He has open'd his breast to thine eye,
He has ask'd that thy hand may be light
On our race, in thy wrath,
In thy wrath.
Hear us, Master of Breath!
Nor destroy,
Nor destroy:
If thou wieldest the bolt of thy rage,
If thou callest thy thunder to shake,
If thou biddest thy lightning to smite,
We must pass to the feast of the worm,
Of the worm.