Bring me my boy—and he will his deliverer know!”
XIII.
It was not long, with eyes and heart of flame,
Ere Henry to his loved Oneyda flew:
“Bless thee, my guide!”—but backward, as he came,
The chief his old bewildered head withdrew,
And grasped his arm, and looked and looked him through.
’Twas strange—nor could the group a smile control—
The long, the doubtful scrutiny to view:—
At last delight o’er all his features stole,