Be o’er them shower’d. Ay! weep, thou Indian chief!
For, by the kindling moonlight, I behold
Thy proud lips working—weep, relieve thy soul!
Tears will not shame thy manhood, in the hour
Of its great conflict.
Enonio, (giving up his weapons to Herrmann.)
Father! take the bow,
Keep the sharp arrows till the hunters call
Forth to the chase once more. And let me dwell
A little while, my father! by thy side,