Or where the wigwam’s flame was wreathing high,
Showing its inmates, wild with terror flying.
Seemed he not king-like, with his plumy crown,
And like a tiger, streak’d with hideous painting!
With hand that sought no treasure but renown,
And heart that knew no fear, and felt no fainting.
Full many a time, perchance beneath thy shade,
The youthful sachem stood with pride surveying
His wide domains, and the soft valley’s shade,
Where through the bowers his dark-eyed love was straying.