Lit my forehead, draped my figure, leapt with fury from my glance;
’Midst the foemen rushing frantic, to their sight I seemed gigantic,
Like the motion of the ocean, like a tempest my advance.
Stoutest of them all, one savage left the ravage round and faced me;
Fury braced me, for I knew him—he my pleading wife had slain.
Huge he was, and brave and brawny, but I met the slayer tawny,
And with rigorous blow, and vigorous, clove his tufted skull in twain—
Madly dashing down the crashing bloody hatchet in his brain.
As I brained him rose their calling, “Lo! appalling from yon meadow
The Monedo of the white man comes with vengeance in his train!”