Where not a christian dwelling ever smiled,
Nor e'er a well-known sound the ear beguiled,
But all was wild and hideous—and the heart,
Mayhap, of stout man, trembled as a child,
—And oft the exile's tear would, gushing, start,
That ever he was lured from Albion's coast to part.
But there was one, the chieftan, of that band,
Whose soul no dread, however great, could chill,
His was the towering mind, the mighty hand,
On which, his feeble followers resting, still