There bristled darts, there glittered lances sheen,
And brandished knives upon the ambient air
Carved fiery circles—whilst, with threatening mien,
Their dark locks streaming and their muscles bare,
The dancers circled o’er the thundering ground,
And leaping, breathed the hard, harsh, aspirated sound.
III.
But chiefly tow’rd the centre pressed the throngs
Where plied the bravest chiefs their dances rude:—
There listened to their Sachem’s battle songs,