Her prophetic dream had made so deep an impression upon the mind of Minaree, that, from the first, she did not expect “the bold hunter’s return.” His lengthened absence troubled, but did not surprise her. She yielded him to a stern fate, from which there was no escape; and with a calmness which we, of another race, too often regard as coldness and insensibility, prepared to follow him to the spirit land. His return was to her soul like a visit from that land—a gift from the Great Spirit—and ever after, to the deep devotion of her early love, was added that peculiar reverence, that tender, holy affection, which the Indians every where cherish for the departed.
When the second party of the Senecas, in the course of the third day of the pursuit, arrived at the camp of their slaughtered people, the sight gave them a greater shock than they had ever known before. In their chilled war council they concluded, that he who had performed such surprising feats in his defence, before he was captured, and since that in his naked and unarmed condition, would, now that he was well armed and free, be a match for them all, if they should continue the pursuit. They regarded him as a wizard enemy, whose charmed life it was vain and wicked to attempt. They, accordingly, buried their comrades, and returned, with heavy hearts, to their homes.
MONICA,
OR
THE ITEAN CAPTIVE.
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What glorious hopes, what gloomy fears Have sunk beneath time’s noiseless tide!— The red man at his horrid rite, Seen by the stars at night’s cold noon,— His bark canoe, its track of light Left on the wave beneath the moon;— His dance, his yell, his council fire, The altar where his victim lay, His death song, and his funeral pyre, That still, strong tide hath borne away. |