OTHER POEMS.

11*

OTHER POEMS.

KING PHILIP.

We call them savage-O be just!
Their outraged feelings scan:

A voice comes forth, 'tis from the dust
The savage was a man.

SPRAGUE.

ON Mount Hope, mid his council fires,
Stood Philip, by the aged oak;
Surrounded by his chiefs and sires,

'Twas thus the indignant warrior spoke :

Ye messengers! who here have borne

turn again,

The white man's threatenings,
And with you bear the Red Man's scorn,
The language of his proud disdain.

A feeble race your fathers came,

Driven, as ye said, abroad to roam;
We nursed you, warmed you, at our flame,
And gave you on our shores a home.

Our choicest haunts on hill and plain,
The stream, the forest, wide and free,
We gave; and bade you here remain,
On terms of frank equality.

We gave; though you the deed disguised
With terms of sale, your pride to save;
As if your paltry gifts you prized

Above the mighty boon we gave.

Like friends we held you, nay, far more,
Esteemed your race above our own;
As if, descending on our shore,

The Gods in you their power made known.

And still ye came, like waves that run,
Before the storm, along the beach :
E'en now the flood seems scarce begun,
That soon above our hills may reach.

My simple faith, deceived with ease,
Was early caught, in falsehood's snare;
Till all my study was to please

The white man, and his favour share.

'Twas therefore took I Christian name,
And in your foreign language spoke ;
That so I might, with less of shame,
Receive, at last, the Christian yoke.

Ye said that yoke would easy prove,
And told how light its burdens were ;
But I have tried your Christian love,
And know that yoke, how hard to bear.

In English faith and honour too,
E'n less of trust can I repose;
still have found you base, untrue,
Friends in your speech, in action foes.

Your God may stronger prove than mine, And triumph to your arms secure ;

Yet in the Red man's God divine,

Who taught his warrior to endure.

The ills, he cannot shun, he knows,
With stern composure, to sustain ;
Unmoved amidst insulting foes,
Triumphant over mortal pain.

I know your strength, yet fear it not,
The thunder of your deadly arms,
The vollied blast, death-dealing shot,
Beyond the powa's subtlest charms.

Yet not for that will I forego

These pleasant hills, our forests fair, The sea's wild waves, that roll below, Our loved abodes, and native air.

Old ocean, beating at our feet,

As soon this Hill of Hope shall move, As we resign our native seat,

Or yield to you the land we love.

The fount's pure crystal from yon cave, That slaked, of yore, our father's thirst, Would cease to roll its limpid wave,

Should we forsake their treasured dust.

This ancient oak, these moss-grown stones, This cherished home of all our race

We will not leave our father's bones,

Nor move them from their resting place.