START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ALHALLA, OR THE LORD OF TALLADEGA*** E-text prepared by Larry B. Harrison, Paul Marshall, and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net) from page images generously made available by HathiTrust Digital Library (https://www.hathitrust.org) Note: Images of the original pages are available through HathiTrust Digital Library. See https://babel.hathitrust.org/cgi/pt?id=nnc1.0114481022;view=1up;seq=5 Transcriberâs note: Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_). Small capitals have been converted to SOLID capitals. ALHALLA, OR THE LORD OF TALLADEGA. A Tale of the Creek War. With Some Selected Miscellanies, Chiefly of Early Date. by HENRY ROWE COLCRAFT. New-York and London: Wiley and Putnam. MDCCCXLIII. Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1843, by Henry Rowe Colcraft, in the Clerkâs Office of the District Court of the Southern District of New-York. John F. Trow, Printer, 33 Ann-street. TO WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT, ESQ. OF NEW-YORK. SIR:âWhatever may be the particular estimate set upon the intellectual character of the American aborigines, or the decision had on the perplexing question of their remote origin, or their actual and varying condition, few will dispute the large share of interest which they have in the public mind. And it is a species of interest which, I think we shall perceive, will be found to assume a higher and more imaginative cast, connected with the advancing state of letters and the fine arts, as we recede from the historical era, when these tribes were confessedly the lords and rulers of the land. Their name and semblance are, in truth, infiltrated, if I may use a chemical phrase, into the very elements of the American landscape, which can hardly ever be contemplated without bringing out from the latent depths of the imagination, the image of the lithe Indian, with his Robin Hood arms and his picturesque costume. The policy which an enlightened government and people ought to pursue towards them, at all times, is a question that chiefly concerns the statesman and the philanthropist. But there are a hundred subordinate questions which come home for decision to the bosoms of all readers and thinkers, travellers and writers, to whom the race itself, viewed as a broken link in the ethnological chain, is a fruitful theme, both for retrospection and for actual observation. I have indeed, myself, participated largely in this field of observation, and may with truth affirm, that I return to society, after completing a period of but little short of four and twenty years in their territories. How far the interest of these reminiscences of a noble race are realized, or communicated in the following tale, I cannot pretend to predict. But if I may rely on the American press, and it is an authority which, in this instance, is sustained abroad, there are few persons who are so well qualified to judge of success in this particular as yourself. This consideration would plead a justification for the liberty I take, of addressing the present sketch to you; but it is a liberty which I should hardly venture on, were I not, Very truly yours, THE AUTHOR. ADVERTISEMENT. The treaty of Ghent, concluded in the autumn of 1814, terminated the contest then existing between the United States and Great Britain, although it was not promulgated in time to arrest one of the severest battles of the war. In this contest, as in all prior ones of a general character, subsequent to the settlement of European nations in the new world, the native tribes were deeply involved. Indeed, it was under the influence of an extraordinary prophetic delusion, that it may be said to have commenced, on their part, on the plains of Tippecanoe. If the opening of this renewed struggle for supremacy by the aborigines in 1811, on the banks of the Wabash, had the effect to bring on the stage of action a noted warrior, in the person of Tecumthe,[1] who certainly has had few equals as a military and political leader, since the era of the prior stand made by the American tribes under Pontiac; its onward events, and its, to them, disastrous close, drew into prominent notice a scarcely less remarkable, and in some traits superior, character, under the name of Tuscaloosa, or the Black Warrior. This man, from his personal courage, skill, and activity, absorbed the full confidence of his tribe; and to him was, in effect, committed the cause of the Indian war in the south, until the date of his voluntary personal surrender to the American commander, after the power of his nation had been crushed in a series of sanguinary battles, and a price set upon his head. It was the race of the Muscogees, who, under the popular name of Creeks, opposed the most strenuous opposition to the arms of the United States. This nation, in its numerous clans and subdivisions, were, at the period, strong in their numbers, and confident in their strength. These clans, influenced and misled by foreign counsel, were seated in their original vallies, forests, and fastnesses, in the remoter slopes and spurs of the Southern Alleghanies, stretching towards the gulf of Mexico and the Mississippi, but were found to have their chief point of military supply in Florida, then under the dominion of Spain, into which the operations of the war were eventually and necessarily transferred. It was in this manner that the Seminoles, who have since made so protracted a stand, first drew upon themselves the force of the American arms. The present tale, in which fiction builds itself upon these general facts, turns upon the contest of the Muscogees, their exertions, their discomfitures, and their final fall. It opens at a distant point, many degrees towards the north, within a short period after the close of the Creek war. It occupies two days and two nights in its action. The idea here brought forward of uniting or intermingling the dramatic, with the narrative and descriptive, is believed to be well adapted to topics of this character, in which the natural bent of the natives for declamation and mystic romance may be indulged, while the time of the action, it is conceived, may be thereby curtailed, and verbal description retrenched. The measure is thought to be not ill adapted to the Indian mode of enunciation. Nothing is more characteristic of their harangues and public speeches, than that vehement, yet broken and continued strain of utterance, which would be subject to the charge of monotony, were it not varied by an extraordinary compass in the stress of voice, broken by the repetition of high and low accent, and often terminated with an exclamatory vigor, which is sometimes startling. It is not the less in accordance with these traits, that nearly every initial syllable of the measure chosen, is under accent. This at least may be affirmed, that it imparts a movement to the narrative, which, at the same time that it obviates languor, favors that repetitious rhythm, or pseudo-parallelism, which so strongly marks their highly compound lexicography. Of the theme itself, nothing further is requisite to be said. The tale was written, as it now stands, in 1826, with a few exceptions of earlier date; and it may be added, that it was among the _agremens_ of the writerâs seclusion, while he was living in a public capacity, within the impressive scenes, and among the manly tribes, in the lake region described. That its publication should have been deferred until the author had seen cause to resume the original orthography of the initial syllable of his patronymic name, may render it proper further to add, in this connection, that the change from School, and resumption of Col, in the adjective syllable of the name, is in strict conformity with family tradition, supported by recent observation in England. In the latter country, however, the name is uniformly written Cal, however it may be pronounced. [1] A name inveterately recorded in our annals, under the false orthography of Tecumsehâwhich is not true Shawanoe. INTRODUCTORY STANZAS. Stretched on his couch, the Indian warrior lay, His bow and quiver prostrate at his side, Revolving all his fate in still dismay, Dominion lost, skill baffled, power defied. âShades of my fathers!â thus his reverie ran, âAnd shall the Red Man thus, in clouds decline, With no memorial of his name or clan, Or only left to point the poetâs line, And tell to other years, the tale of his decline?â âOh, is it thus, the noble woodswise race, Shall steal away to an unhonored tomb, Who once were lords of the ascendant chase, And swept the forests in their pristine bloom? Brave were their hearts, and strong in sinewy strength They drew the shaft that fellâd the stately deer, Or spread the craven foeman at his length, And triumphed in the battleâs wild career, A wanderer of the woodsâlord of the bow and spear.â âAh tell me, Spirit of the Golden West! Say, is it want of knowledge dooms my race? Or the wild passions of an untamed breast, That leaves nor peace nor virtue there a place? Can raging tumults of the mortal soul Prejudge its fate, and lead the wayward mind Through seas of want and poverty to roll, Till in a gloom of fixed despair it find Lifeâs path without a friend, and even death unkind?â âDoth human rectitude, in mind and heart, The inward purposes of right and wrong In human actsâso great a boon impart, Or lead, by their neglect, to thraldom strong? And can it be, ye messengers of air! Who know the great high Spiritâs sovâreign will, So vast a detriment he can prepare For those who follow natureâs dictates still, And worship Manitoes on every breezy hill?â ââTis wondrous all, and yet there are, I ween, Some inward inklings of the Indian soul That whisper to his mind of things unclean, That taint his rites, and all his life control, Leading the mindâwhenever he would do An evil act, or eâen the purpose form, To that High Excellence beyond the view, Who guides the sun and regulates the storm, Dispensing winter winds, or summer breezes warm.â âAnd is this conscience? So the white man tells, Pointing to letters as the star-light kind, That manâs own heart to man himself reveals, And warms and renovates the wandering mind, Impels the hand to drop the bloody blade, And seek support from artâs more kindly cares, Where genial fields invite the plough and spade, And industry her golden wreath prepares, And peace and joy and health, the household circle shares.â âBut whyâand here my doubts and fears ariseâ Why are kind precepts of such angel forms All bleared by acts that sunder friendshipâs ties, And overcast our atmosphere with storms; Our lands despoiled by arts, we know not how, Erst in the solemn council we convene, But ere we note the hour, the white manâs plough, Driven reckless through each quiet hamlet scene, While steel-armed horsemen, stand as guards between?â âAnd whenceâif we must acts by precepts tryâ Whence all the new-found ills that mar our life, The liquid fire of distillation high, That whelms our bands in most unseemly strife, And oft our maddening blood, unruled before, Stains with its purple tide our utmost lands? Is this benignly meant? say, ye who teachâ Or be there few that aim to overreach? Ah, do not outward acts most eloquently preach?â Such is the race, whose deeds of scaith and strife, The muse essays in numbers to review, In that dark hour of opening peril rife, When late to arms the Southern war chiefs flew, Albeit, misguided in their warlike ires, By foreign counsels cast with cruel ken, And war, through all their borders, lit his fires, Transferring ruin to the peaceful glen, And woe to many a band of noble hunter men. ALHALLA, OR THE LORD OF TALLADEGA. CANTO I. TRADITIONARY GLEAMS OF THE CREATION. THE COUNCIL. [_Scene._ A tent on the open shores of Lake Superiorâa camp-fireâcanoes turned up on the beachâboatmen engaged in cooking. A conference at the tent-door. Ethwald, a traveller. Oscar, a missionary. De la Joie, a trader. Mongazid (Azid), an Indian Prophet and hunter, with his retinue. The pipe is about to be lit. Timeâsun-set.] ETHWALD. HOARY hunter, stern and wild, Natureâs lone forsaken child! Wandâring born and wandâring bred, Forest schoolâd and forest fedâ Turn thy quick revolving glance, Oâer yon waterâs bright expanse. Seeâalong the purple sky, See the billows looming high; Not in rage as (if aright Men report the wild affright,) Oft with fear too sorely true, Thy adventârous kinsmen view, But with long and labâring swells, That of lulling tempest tells; Seest thou? near the horizon dim, Shadowy form upon its brim, Dun and smallâthat closer scannâd, Main and margin, should be land. Tell!âfor by thy lifted eye, Well I ken thou readâst the skyâ Tell me!âin its shadowy forms Is there sunshineâis there storms? Seest thou there, a spirit mild, Or the fiend of waters wild, Who shall make to-morrowâs wave, Many a hapless hunterâs grave, And along the yellow strand, Raise their mounds amid the sand? Or to thy well-practised eye, Is the god of south winds nigh, With his soft, ethereal balms, Whispâring peace and breathing calms? Say, shall mortal blade essay, Oâer yon waves a tranquil way On the morrowâspirit blest! Shall it speed toward the west, And the genii of the strand, Waft the ventârous bark from land, With a breeze and with a smile, To yon dim-discovered isle? MONGAZID.[2] Listen, white man! go not there; Unseen spirits stalk the air! Though the sky be clear and calm, And the south-west winnow balmâ Though each wave be smooth and fair, Be thou cautionedâgo not there! Misty forms, that walk the wind, Guard the treasures there enshrined; Hungry birds their influence lend, Snakes defy, and kites defend: There, the star-eyed panther prowls, And the wolf in hunger howls; There, the speckled adder breeds, And the mighty canieu feeds; Spirits prompt themâfiends inciteâ They are eager for the fight, And are thirsting, night and day, On the human heart to prey: Be they gods, or be they not, Touch not thou the sacred spot. [2] Print of the Loonâs foot. ETHWALD. Tell me, red man! old and hoar, Dweller on Igomeeâs[3] shore! Wherefore bound by spell or wile, Spirit guarded, is yon isle? Is there not embowelled there Many a gem of lustre rareâ Glow there not, in hidden mine, Jewel stones of ray divineâ Ore resplendentâcrystal bright, That illume the cavern-night? Or, along the mystic strand, Massy piles of golden sand? Tell me, hunter! wilt thou not Guide me to the treasurâd spot? Arms, with Europeâs skill prepared, Shall the daring deed reward; Bands shall deck thee, feathers bless, And the pride of Albion dress, With Columbiaâs banner wide, And a chieftainâs plate beside. [3] An abbreviation of Git-chi-go-mee,âthe Indian name for Lake Superior. MONGAZID. Listen, white man! Moons have past Since this earth was all a waste: Rains had drenched itâthunders rentâ Winds demolishedâwaters spentâ And the ocean, black and still, Slumbered deep oâer every hill, And not one lingâring beam of light Illumâd the vast and sullen night. âTwas then the spirit of the sky, In mercy hung yon lamps on highâ Sun, moon and starsâand by their light Expelled the dread chaotic night: Then clothed he hills and vales with trees, And stated bounds to lakes and seas; Then sent he bird and beast in woods, And fish in all our limpid floods, And creatures small, of foot and wing, And every living, breathing thing:â Last sent he manâ(a barbârous race, From whom my long descent I trace,) As lord oâer allâand thus benign, Addressed the parent of our line. To thee I give these smiling woods, These lofty hills, and peopled floods, Filled with all needful game, and blest For thy maintainance, peace and rest. I give thee bow, I give thee spear, To dart the fish, and fell the deer; I give thee bark full light to sweep Oâer the broad stream and billowy deep; I give thee skins for thy attire; To shade thee, woods; to warm thee, fire; More needâst thou not, nor covet more, And peace her joys shall round thee pour. But touch not gold; the tempter fly, Or all thy kin shall droop and die; For in that potent evil pent, Lurk envy, pain, and discontent; And luxuryâof life the baneâ And woe, with all her haggard train. Listen, white man! Dreamest thou My soul could eâer descend so low, To sell my country, life, and line, For any frail reward of thine? Or break the Sire-of-lifeâs command, By treading yonder sacred strand? My fare is scant; my roof is low; My country cold, and deep my woe, And every moon that gilds yon hill, Sees growing want and growing ill! But scantier still must be my meal, And keener woes my bosom feel, A sharper winter chill our sky, And louder tempests rage on high, Gaunt famine howl along the plain, And every limb be rackâd with pain, Ere I compromit heavenâs decree, By touching gold, or guiding thee. ETHWALD. Man of the woods! thy fancies seem Like some distemperâd midnight dream; Wild and devoid of reason. Vain Are all thy fears of gold or gain! Not more vain the infantâs call To the starry skies to fall; Or the fear this ocean-lake Oâer yon cliffs its way shall take, If a single pebble-trace Circles in its glassy face. MONGAZID. Wealth is a curse, our old men said, [Their wisdom speaks, though they be dead,] Wealth is a curse, and all its trust A breath of windâa heap of dust: âTis hereââtis gone! told or untoldâ And Mystery is my name for gold. We have been pining, since we knew The wonders ye could make it doâ But find with cavil, years, and time, It is the white manâs curse and crime. Of old, our fathers held it good To deal in shells, and rove the wood; And had no fear of scaith or storm, With food, and skins to keep them warm. But ye, with your unhallowed gain, Have burned our forests from the plain, Causing our hopeâour gameâto fly, And making life itself a lie. ETHWALD. Know! thou man of suffâring proud, Ills that press, and woes that cloud! Know, that gold doth hold a charm Want to banish, care disarmâ To dispel the fatherâs fears, And suppress kind womanâs tears. Gold ensures the ready meal, And the joys the libâral feel, In the palace, or the cot, Famâd, applauded, or forgot. Oft its peace-inspiring power Gilds fair virtueâs evening hourâ Oft, at stern-eyed powerâs command, Renovates a drooping landâ Opening, by a blest employ, Founts of noble, lasting joy: From its toil-impelling springs, Commerce spreads her daring wings; Art uprears the public dome, Agriculture treads her loom, And a thousand pleasures stand To obey its potent wand. It is not wealth that ills produceâ So sages writeâbut its _abuse_. MONGAZID. Yet, is the sweet with bitter blent, And all without that boonâcontent! Else hadst thou not quit friend and home, In these unmeasured wilds to roam; Or boldly dared this forest-sea For gains, that still thy grasp shall fleeâ Or proffered me thy valued pelf To sell my godsâmy peaceâmyself! ETHWALD. Thou wouldst shun the white manâs joy, Lest there should be slight alloy: Know, to mortal is not given Joy unmixed, by righteous heaven: Death and sorrow, toil and woe, All must dread, and all must know. But me thinks thy purpose stern, That would neither teach nor learn, Give nor guide, remit or feel, Doth some _secret_ power revealâ Power that doth thy being sway, And thou must, perforce, obey! Is it pride of hunter fame, Azidâs art, or Azidâs name? Is it dread of fate severe, Is it hope, or is it fear? MONGAZID. Fear of mortal shaft or ill, Foemanâs ire or foemanâs skillâ Dread of pain or dread of woe, Azidâs heart can never know! It hath breasted famine drear, And the jagged flinty spear, Warriorâs wrath, or wizardâs sign, Nor doth dread the force of thine! ETHWALD. Wizard am I not, nor part, Read or know of such foul art, False and visionary. There, Wrapt in his robes of holy care, Behold yon pilgrim, early gray, Companion of my toilsome way, As now along the desert strand, With sober tread, he marks the sandâ Eâen now his lips the skies implore, Thy long-lost people to restore; To lead their steps where joys invite, And love, and truth, and life, and light! Disciple he, severe and high, Of the great ruler of the sky, To thee but known by thunders loud, The rushing wind, the fire-lit cloud; But to our fathers, sage and eld, By holy word and book revealed. If aught from fiend, or spiritâs wile Thou fearest on the desert isle, His simple, solemn, sacred prayâr Shall guard and guide and bless thee there. OSCAR. The fear from which you fly, is thisâ You would not _make_ but _find_ your bliss. But so God ruleth not his people. He Hath so hewn out our destiny, And linked it with our own free will, That means with ends must tally still. The bliss for which you chase and roam, You might more truly find at home, If but one tittle of the time You give to hunting, war, and crime, Were turned, with simple, peaceful hand, To stocks or grain upon the land. Besides, in every good manâs view, You worship nowâye know not who; The very Power, which, dark of eye, If seen, ye would most swiftly fly. MONGAZID. âTis well! _Thy_ god will list to _thee_, And thinkâst thou _mine_ shall turn from _me_? More may be vain: thee and thy crew Fair skies oâershadowâfriend, adieu! DE LA JOIE. Hunter, stay; I have a gift, Of such potence it shall lift From thy brain, and from thy mind, Every care of grosser kind, Every latent, earthly woe, Such as weary mortals know, And induce the lifted soul In one round of joy to roll. It shall banish selfish care, Change the fouler fate to fair, And inspire, with visions high, Thy sedate, prophetic eye. Take this little vase; the draught May be oft and freely quaffed, By those only who have felt Oft its sovereign power to melt, Raise and gladden; but with care Let thy lips the liquid share! When the sun, with splendor bright, Wakes the drowsy world with light, Come thou hither, straight, and tell If my gift be ill or well: If my words thou findest trueâ If such raptures may ensueâ And, with new-found courage brave, Thou wilt tempt with me the wave. ETHWALD. [_An attendant here introduces the pipe of peace._] Accept my pledge of purpose high, That calls me to your northern sky. Much have I heard, and longed to view These spreading coasts, and waters blue, These rosy skies, and beaming shores, Replete with all their sylvan stores. Nor less my interest in that race Who poise the dart, and lead the chase; And, with a pride of kin and sire, Still light up here their council fire. Tradition hath informed me well Of deeds in which ye yet excel: Your skill by water, rift and rock, The war-path and the battleâs shock; And all those arts, through which ye sing, âI am the wild-woodâs subtle king.â Take of my proffered pledge: we stand Thus heart in heart, as hand in hand. MONGAZID. So be it, sire: the heavens turn black On all who from this pledge draw back. CANTO II. THE SACRED ISLAND. A DISCOVERY. [_Scene._ The broad expanse of the Lake. An assemblage of Indian canoes on the water. One, in advance, bearing the national flag of the United States. Timeâmorning.] THE golden sun with early ray, Saw Ethwald on his ocean way, With silent Azid for his guide, And mission-father by his side: His birchen vessel light and gay Speeds swan-like oâer the liquid wayâ The sky is calmâthe morning air Scarce stirs that mass, so vast, so fairâ That, like a sheet of waving gold, The eye may not undimmâd behold; Yet is there motionâbark and crew Dance lightly on that ocean blue, And ever, as up and down they ride Upon that broad, eternal tide, The strained sight descries the while, Short glimpses of that holy isle, Like dreams of bliss, that, fair and sheen, Flit in the moment they are seen. Nearer and nearer as they ply, A gathering mist swells up the sky, And every object, dun or fair, Spreads wild distorted through the airâ The trees like shrouded spectres stand, To guard that evil haunted landâ The pointed cliffs spread broad and square, Like castles with their banners fair, And motley shapes of monstrous size Start up, and glare before the eyes. To all but Azidâs fearful view The scene is glorious, grand, and new, But wondrous notâthey know and prize The gay refractions of these skies; But Azidâghastly forms pursue, All that he fears he sees in view! At first he muttersâthen he speaks, Cold drops bedew his aged cheeks; But ere he lifts thâ imploring eye, Tâ appease the spirit of the sky, An offering meet of sacred things Upon the misty wave he flings, But chief that herb whose sacred fame And power, the tribes UssÃ¡ma name. Then with brief word and solemn air Recites the simple hunterâs prayer. ââTis now with TheeâGreat Spirit free, My rite is doneâit is with Thee!â Now western breezes briskly play, And sweep those fleecy forms away; In broken fields they wheel on high, And show that treasurâd island nigh, In all its loveliest verdure drest, Like sanctuary of the blest, Where peace hath rearâd her forest throne, To man and all his works unknown. With joy they reach the silver strand, With joy they gazeâthey leap to land, Like beings from a higher sphere, Dropt down to dwell and worship here. On all its cliffs and arching bays, They pour intent their ardent gazeâ Each airy, wild, fantastic sight, They scan with ever new delight, As if the very earth-clod there Had something more than earthly fair, And every rock that wallâd the shore Were jewel set, or bright with ore; Each pebble on the saffron sands, They search with prying, chemic hands, By glass or magnet, lest perchance Aught should escape a grosser glance: The fragile little helix shell Along the shore their steps impel, Intent each speckâd and striped whorl To find a mass of orient pearl: The fallen trunk they search with care, For mark of ancient hatchet there; Or scan the antler bleachâd and dry With curious, searching, eager eye. Hours thus elapse: and every hour Is fraught with some expressive power; But now a task must be essayed, They seek the islandâs central shade; And first they pass a thicket green, Where birch and aspen intervene, And next a grove of sombre hue, Where spruce and fir arrest the view; A hill succeeds, and then a wold, With pines encumberâd, sere and old, That stretch their branches dead and bare, High forked amid the upper airâ Beyond, a beetling rock is seen, Of massy graniteâcrownâd with green, And from its clefts a limpid stream Pours on the sight its silver gleam, And murmâring on its downward way Speeds idly to a neighbâring bay. Here pause the travellers, joyâd to meet Such lonely, wild, and still retreat; And oft the streamletâs mossy side They press, to taste the crystal tide, Or lost in pleasing converse gay, Review the devious, toilsome way. But hark! a sound or voice is heard, A human voiceâperchance a bird? Or, in some spiral cliff around, Can rushing winds produce the sound? Or is the gaunt hyena here? To Azidââtis a voice of fear! But hark againâthe softening sound Reverbârates as if cavern-bound. They pause, they listâa strain is sung, âTis in the well-known Indian tongue. They listâa female voice essays This fond lament of other days. EDNEEâS SONG. 1. To sunny valesâto balmy skies, My thoughâa flowery arrow flies. I see the woodâthe bankâthe glade, Where first a wild-wood girl I played: I think on scenes and faces dear; They are not _here_âthey are not _here_. 2. In this cold skyâin this lone isle I meet no friendâsâno motherâs smile: I list the windâI list the wave, They seem like songs around the grave, And all my heartâs young joys are gone; It is aloneâit is alone. 3. Ah! can I ever cease recall My fatherâs cot, though it were small; The stream where oft, in sun and shade, I roved, a happy Indian maid, Pleased with the wild flowers, pink and red, A brave youth bound around my head. 4. I love the land that gave me birth, Its woods and streams, its air and earth; I love the very sounds I knewâ Sweet woodland soundsâwhen life was new; I love the garb my fathers had, And my own bright Muscogee lad. That voice is mute: with care they seek, By winding rock and fallen peak, For rift or path that foot may tread, To gain the cragâs oâerhanging head. At length a rugged path they spy, That seems nor light, nor safe to try; But still with patience, skill and might Suffices to attain that height. A faintly beaten path succeeds; This through a cedar coppice leads, Then by a rock, when turning short, A cave displays its ample port;â An Indian maid of stature fair, And forehead high and flowing hair, Sits pensively, secure and lone, Beside that rustic hall of stone; A string of shining shells she prest Upon her slender chisellâd breast; Unmoved her air,âand now again She raised the half unfinished strain, When that prizâd guardian of the night, The hunterâs dog, and fond delight, Darts forth instinctive, and defies Their near approach with doubling cries. Instant she starts, as with a shock, And flies within the cavernâd rock. Soon from within a man of years, The warrior father, slow appears; Tall, rigidâfirm of step and eye, That speaks of sage, or prophecy; A head, by nature bald, or shorn, A look of care, but not forlornâ A simple spear is in his hand; With brow upraised, and gesture bland, He stands beside the cavern way, With silent gaze, that seems to say, Come friendâcome foeâye still shall find A proud, resolved, unbroken mind, That oft hath tried the battle blade, Or set the deadly ambuscade; That neither shuns, nor seeks to die, That will not stoop, and will not fly. OSCAR. Holy hermitânot in ire Press we on thy cavern fire; Travellers we, from distant shores, Where the loud Atlantic roars, And the sun its earliest light Pours on valley, plain and height. By the Erieâs fretted shore, Plied we fast the cedar oar, And the Huronâs placid sea Swept with spirits light and free: Northward still we held our way, Glancing on by isle and bay, Bank and river, rift and wall, To St. Maryâs sounding fallâ Foamy pass of waters wild! Islet green and rock up-piled, Where the torrent silver-crownâd, Dances on with murmâring sound, Deep and mellowâwhile the eye Glows with thrilling ecstasy! There we pausâd, and gazed, and felt Natureâs potent power to melt; But with ever brief delay Urged again our watery way, Till we felt the dizzy swell, As it rose, and as it fell, Of this vasty sheet and breeze, Sire of continental seas! And with joy unfelt before, Gazed upon its ocean shore. Nor upon that border hoarse, Bent we many days our course, When a hunter, old and hoar, Spied we joyous on the shore. Him we urged, and by his skill Reached this storm-indented isle: Yet in all our lengthened way, Nought of wondrous, grave or gay, Have we met in joy or fear, Strange as thy existence here, Deemed by men a sacred shore, Mortal never trod before. ALHALLA. Hear me! of thy race severe, Nought I hope and nought I fear, Steelâd in heart, and steelâd in mind, To the ills of human kind; Yet, if in fateâs thorny round, Woes that press, and pains that wound, There were still a pang unblest, Deeper, keener than the rest, âTwould be, in this secret place, To behold the white-manâs faceâ Fatal race! to whom I owe Bitter, lasting streams of woeâ Hunted from my native plains, By wild warâs horrific strainsâ From my nationâs council-fire, By the plundererâs reckless ireâ From my lovâd, paternal streams, By the cannonâs battle-gleamsâ Driven from all I valued most, Kindred, country, fortune lost! I resolved apace to flee To some valley lone and free, Friendly wood or sheltering cave, Or some wild and distant wave, All too frigid, poor and dread, Eâer to tempt the white-manâs tread; There unknown to pass my life, Free from rapineâfree from strifeâ Happy in thâ unpeopled wild, With my loved, my only child! And full happy, freed from cares, Envy breeds, or hate prepares! Here in numbers brief and low, All unseen to vent my woeâ Dream oâer scenes of early peace, And, as lifeâs pulsations cease, Sink to earth without a groan, Calm, unnoticed, and alone. But eâen this may not be so, Fresh the springs of sorrow flow! And the fiat black and drear Still pursues its victim here; As if âtwere a boon too high Thus to live and thus to die! To declare thy presence here Doth inspire a joy sincere, Or with gladness fills my eye, Were most base, unseemly lie! Yet, to wayward mortal feet, Is my roof a safe retreat; Be ye foes, or be ye friends, If impelled by noble ends, Chance, or circumstance severe, Chilly blast, or famine drear, Welcome is my stony cot, Welcome is my forest lot; Freely enterâfreely share Cottage fire and cottage fare. CANTO III. THE BATTLES OF TALLASATCHES AND TALLADEGA. [_Scene._ A Cave on the Island. The king of the Hillabees, his sister and daughter. Ethwald and Oscar. Others attendance. Time, evening.] The fire shone bright on rift and wall, Within Alhallaâs cavern-hall; And oft had that lone maid, his pride, With splinterâd pine the flame supplied, And kindly spread, with ready zeal, The wholesome, frugal cottage meal: The ruddy haunch, the shreded moose, With vermil trout, and firland grouse, And sapid rice, and many a root, And many a tiny forest-fruit; And oft, in birchen vase, supplied The limpid fountainâs crystal tide, With such obeisance kind and brief, As well may suit an Indian chief. Nor wanting sheâwhose age and art Supplied the maidâa motherâs part. And now that chieftain, proud and high, Glanced round a wild, unsettled eye, As if that scanning glance should say, Up, strangers, and pursue your way! This Oscar marked with ready art, And thus expressâd his glowing heart. OSCAR. Thanks were but light and all too weak, Hearts mantling oâer, like ours, to speak, But we shall hold and carry hence, Of thee and thine, so high a sense, Thy courtesyâthy lifeâthy lot, As but with life can be forgot. One only wishâone strong desire, Still draws us to thy cavern-fire, And stays thâ intent we felt the while, To quit this ocean-cinctured isle. âTis more to knowâto hearâto see, Of one so noble, poor, and free, So proudâunfortunate as thee. Deign, then, oh chief!âfor trust you may, If aught that man can feel or say Can give assurance of our faith, To hold thee quit of ill or scaith. Deign, then, thy latent woes to tell, The rush and struggle, rout and yell, The scenes of care, or deeds of strife, That mark thy onward course through life, And weighing down with double weight, Of age and care that neâer abate, Have searâd thy cheeks, and searâd thy heart, And made thee, exile! what thou art. So when we reach our native vales, Dear land where home-bred bliss prevails! With joyâwith pride we may relate A good manâs fame, a brave manâs fate. ALHALLA. Man of prayerâfor I ween, By thy words, and dress, and mien, Such thou art,âwords, words are vain To cure my woes, or soothe my pain. Little boots it thee, to know Whence I came or whence I go. Hard my lotânor would I eâer Draw afresh the scalding tear, Tear the wound that has been healâd, Or renew the bloody field; And if eâen my tongue were prone Thus to dwell on actions done, Could I? âtwere reliance base, Eâer again to trust thy race. OSCAR. Deem not, stoic of the wood, Harshly thus of Christian blood; Warm, and pure, and kind it flows, For the suffering Indianâs woes, Proudly beats and nobly swells, Where bland pityâs voice impels, Honor points, or justice drawsâ Justice! guide of Christian laws! There are bosoms burning high, Souls of bland philanthropy! Hearts and hands and means and space That would joy to serve thy race, Joy to see thee happier here, Happier in another sphere, And eâen life itself would give, That the Indianâs _soul_ should live. And were none to teach or pray, Point or lead the heavenly way, Soothe the lot so roughly cast, Or avert fateâs angry blastâ Were there not in all the land, One kind heart with love so bland, Aim so noble, care divine, Trust, lone recluse, trust to mine! Mine the purpose, mine the will, Heavenâs kind message to reveal, Teach the ever-glorious Son, Mercies promised, doing, done! Aid the weak, persuade the wise, And lead to worlds beyond the skies. ALHALLA. Man of wisdom, on mine ear Dark thy holy truths appear, And I would not, old and weak, Novel rites or doctrines seek, Or a path unknown pursue, That my fathers never knew, Though thou put the thorns aside, And lead on, a zealous guide. Ponder well this furrowâd face, See in me a hunter race, Rude in manners, poor in skill, Wanting knowledge, wanting will, Means and purpose, care and force, To pursue the white manâs course, But not lacking means or power That may suit the hunterâs bower, Brave the ills a man may brave, And deserve an honored grave, I would scorn the labor base Of thy wonder-working race; As my fathers lived, would I Wish to live and wish to die, Hold the precepts they have given, Seek with them my final heaven; Proper are thy gifts to _thee_, Proper are my gifts to _me_; Go thy wayâmy fervent cry Is _here_ undisturbed to die. ETHWALD. Yet when, beside the stormy wave, The tall grass whistles oâer thy grave, âTwere sweet, perhaps, for thee to know Kind hearts remember thee below. Thy glorious feats in earthly wars, Thy name, thy honors, and thy scars. OSCAR. And when the good, by word or pen, Spoke praises meet of gallant men, Chief, hunter, warriorâhearts divine! Who grace the manly Indian line, âTwere grateful thy proud course to scan, And say, thou wert the braver man. ALHALLA. Hear my words:âThrice twenty snows Have bleachâd and chillâd these frontless brows, And sun and frost, and wind and rain, Prevailâd alternate oâer the plain, As moons revolvedâsince erst with joy I roved a careless hunter boy, Full free from sorrow, care, and pain, On Talladegaâs sunny plain, And every year with fresh delight, Gleamed on my fond enraptured sight, And youth fled fast, and manhood came, But manhood found me still the same. I swept the woods with bended bow, And laid the deer and panther low; I sailâd the streams with net and line, And captive schools were often mine; I marched against the western foe, And laid the roving Paunee low; I sung my war-song, danced my round, Spuming with manly tread the ground; I met my peers in wood and glen, And knew no want, and fearâd no men, But lookâd, and spoke, and felt, and thought, As one that lackâd and dreaded nought; And all was gloriousâall was gay, A happy, bright, transcendent day. But years, that turn the young man gray, Brought silent on another day. War came:ânot such as memâry tells Once rung through Tuscaloosaâs dells, When simple wood-craft plied her art, Club against club, and dart to dart, But grim, exterminating wrath, That heaped with dead his giant path, Embracing in one genâral sweep Both those; who strike and those who weep, The young and old, the weak and brave, Drivân onward to one genâral grave. Upon the front of this fell storm, Rode gallant chief of martial form, Whose woodland skill, and battle ire, Eâen vanquishâd warriors may admire. OSCAR. Sayest thou there was no mercy shown, No prisoner saved in battleânone? ALHALLA. Little there wasâI must be brief, Yet would not play the knave or thief, By robbing foeman, chief or youth, Of one small tittle of the truth, To save this witherâd trunk the ire And rack of slow-consuming fire. When erst this cloud obdurate rose, Red with the wrath of many foes, And men and steeds promiscuous slain, Strewed Tallasatcheâs fatal plain, The struggle oâer, compassion fair, Perched on the standards floating there! I, on that sanguinary day, Mixed freely in the dubious fray, And with my war-axe, lance and brand, Fought with the foremost of my band. These scars upon my arm and breast, My valor on that day attest. But vain was every warrior art, By charge or war-whoop, club or dart; The foeman pressing on our ground, With horse and bayonet wallâd us round, And with fierce courage bearing down, Swept plain and covert, host and town, And nine score warriors, whom I led, Upon that day lay cold and dead. Few suns set on that dismal scene, My wounds were still unsearâd and green, When thundering on with trump and drum, I heard again the war-horse come, Like gathering tempest, big and black, That through the forest wings its track, Sweeping and tearing all that stand, And desolating wood and land. But I had oft seen danger near, And knew not that base feelingâfear! I roused my warriors from the rest That with short, fitful dreams they prest, And armed for fight, and strife and pain, Stood firm on Talladegaâs plain. Oh Talladega! thou art still My native wood! my native hill! There knew I first my fatherâs voice, And felt my infant mind rejoice, And all those sweet endearments start, That nature winds about the heart, And home, and love, and bliss, and fame, That cluster round a parentâs name. And there I hoped to live and die, In natureâs sweet simplicity; Unmovâd with arts, or cares, or strife, That mingle in the white manâs life; Nor knew I whence thâ intruder came, Nor what his race, or what his fame; Nor carâd, nor wishâd, nor sought to be Else than I wasâa Hillabee. And still I hoped, when nature threw Around my brows the silver hue, And fainting limbs proclaimed the close Of earthly cares and earthly woes, To lay me down with sober care, And slumber with my fathers there. Ah! land of all my heart holds dear, Thy groves are desolate and searâ The echoes of thy winding shore Shall charm my listening ear no moreâ The winds that whistle oâer thy plain Repeat a sad and hollow strain, And all thy haunts are fillâd with moans, And whitened by my nationâs bones. But let me drop this strain of woe: I told thee of the coming foe, And he did come, in such array As well foretold a stubborn day. Few words I spoke to those who stood, With ready arms, within that wood; But, when I ceasâd, the battle cry Rung long and loudlyâstrike or die! Erst trampling horse, in armor bright, Pricked to the front and wooed the fight, With volley quick and furious tread Essayed thâ assault, and, wheeling, fled. I forward sprang, and at one yell A thousand warriors served me well, And urging ball and featherâd dart, Playâd hot and strong the warriorâs part; And once I drove the reeling ranks Back on their chiefâthe chief outflanks, Pours from behind his galling horse, And opes the war with all his force. Thick round my sides my bowmen lieâ They faint, they waver, and they fly; Then streams afresh the battle gore Wider and wider along the shore, And those who fly but fly to feel Thâ avenging horsemenâs angry steel. And when the night closed on that plain, To veil the dying and the slain, Few, out of all my gallant band, Had âscaped the mark of ball or brand; And death, of brave Muscogee men, Had numbered fourteen score and ten. CANTO IV. THE WARRIORâS DREAM. A PROPHECY. [Scene in reminiscence. The forest of Talladega. Alhalla alone. Time, midnight.] ALHALLA. The sun went down that fatal night, Not as it wont, in glory bright, But veilâd in clouds of sombre trace, Prophetic of my falling race. I stood upon a rising ground, As darkness flung her mantle round, And heard the last, departing din, Of horse and footmen, gathering in, With clank of steel, and sharp hallo, As from the onset they withdrew, Far winding down the distant hill, Faint, and more faintâthen all was still, Save crackling tread, or groan severe Of hapless comrade, weltering near: For all that wide, extended wood, Was strewed with carnage, death and blood. I stood as petrified, with thought On all one fleeting day had wroughtâ Of friend and foeâthe brave and deadâ And those who fought, and those who fled; And bitter were the pangs that came That hour within my inmost frame: For I had seen a father slain, A father old in years and pain; Two brothers stricken at my side, And a fond parentâs dearest pride, The child hope shone most brightly on, My loved, my first-born, only son! In grief absorbed and musing high, And yet no tear escaped my eyeâ No sigh my bosom heavedâno moan Bespoke my heartâs forsaken tone; But sealed in woe, within that wood, Unmoved as storm-beat rock I stood. The moon, in pity veiled that night, Shed out a transitory light, As dusky clouds, in rapid chase, Now hid, and now revealed her face; And by her feeble, trembling ray, I took my solitary wayâ The narrow, winding, leaf-clad road, Conducting to my own abodeâ The fragile shed, that, low and poor, So oft hath made me feel secure; So oft hath spread its sheathing wild To guard the mother and the child; That shed, which, howsoeâer he roam, Still forms the Indian warriorâs homeâ And which he would not change, or give, Like Briton, Scot, or Gaul to live, For all the wealth that kings command, Or temples made with mortal hand. Brief space I walked, when, turning round A beetling rock that walled the ground, And just oâerhung my lodge, there fell Sounds on my ear I knew not well; A murmur indistinctâand then The harsh, brief words of stranger men. A pause ensuedâshriek! I sped To guard my lowly, leaf-crowned shed, And saw, with deeply rousâd alarms, My Ednee in a soldierâs arms Borne shrieking off, in accents wild, âOh, father! save thy injured child!â What space there was âtwixt him that bore And my own stand upon the shore, Ill can I vouchâbut, wide or spare, One instant served to waft me there. I raised one yell my warriors knewâ For I had warriors still, and trueâ Then sprang, and drew, and smote with might, And still the plunderers answeredâsmite! And still those thrilling accents wild, Rung in my earsââOh, save thy child!â Vain cry! outnumbered, hand to hand I felt the foemanâs heavy brand, And reeled to earthâand bleeding there, I felt unuttârable despair, For still I heard that plaint so wild, âOh, father! save thy injured child!â As hungry panther from his tree Darts on his victim, bold and free, Or black crotalis, ere he spring, Gives warning of the deadly sting, Thus swift and sure in strength and mood Ten warriors leapt from out the wood, Upon the instant when, with pain, I sank upon the dewy plain; Each armed with arms of steel and dread, With brave Clewalla at their head, And at one shout, and at one bound, They shake the trembling woods around. They fightâthey vanquish! words are vain, They bring me safe my child again. What boots it, that I here should tell, Or those who âscapâd, or those who fell? Thâ assailants, merged in margin damp And tangled brushwood, sought their camp. Of those who fell, a liquid grave We gave in Coosaâs yellow wave; Which, soft and slow, and winding, bore Its charge to oceanâs sand-bound shore. Now sober silence once again Began to hold her wonted reign; My wounds, with simple skill, were bound, My warriors lay reclining round, And ere the hour of midnight chill, All seemed as dreary, hushâd, and still, As if
{'title': 'Alhalla, or the Lord of Talladega: A Tale of the Creek War. by Schoolcraft', 'source': 'Project Gutenberg', 'lang': 'en'}