Enclosed, that felt her heart, and hushed its wild alarm!

XXVII.

But short that contemplation—sad and short

The pause to bid each much-loved scene adieu!

Beneath the very shadow of the fort,

Where friendly swords were drawn, and banners flew,

Ah! who could deem that foot of Indian crew

Was near?—yet there, with lust of murderous deeds,

Gleamed like a basilisk, from woods in view,

The ambushed foeman’s eye—his volley speeds,