Of these fierce savages, whose arms were bared,
Whose souls were ripe, and stalwart bodies trim,
For the wild revelry of slaughter grim?
LXVI.
How could he hope a safe abiding place,
Far in these forests, and his friends so few—
Among a wild and blood-besotted race,
That naught of laws divine or human knew;
Their wars proceeding oft from mad caprice,
Their hearts as hard ’s the tomahawks they threw:—