’Tis well, I said; but tell me true, What bodes this vision to my view? It comes with a prophetic air, But can I see the Red Race there? “The little waves which erst thou spy’d, Calm and unruffled,” he replied, “Denote the earliest flag unfurl’d, Advent’rous in this western world; Whence gaining strength, in heart and hand, The stranger spreads along the strand, Like tumbling waves, whose onward way No human force can check or stay. The monster rising from the sea, Imports dominion—once by thee In peace and war triumphant sway’d, But now to other hands convey’d; His horns of brass and claws of steel, A more obdurate power reveal; His altered, red and fiery hair, Denotes unnumbered means of war, Complex inventions, sharp and true, Such as thy fathers never knew, Whereby the rule at first he gains, And then with growing power maintains; The leader is that iron race, Who drive thee on, from place to place, And long have driv’n, and long shall drive, The waning, scattered, Indian hive, Till they forsake th’accursed road, And turn to virtue, peace, and God. Then shall they quit the forest gloom, The sceptre and the plough resume, Renounce all base, revengeful ires, Rebuild the altars, light the fires, And cherish every sweet employ Denoted by the bird of joy, Whose beaming eyes, with stellar light, Shall chase away barbaric night, And teach thy race in holy lays To sing the great Elohim’s praise.”
THE FALL OF THE MUSCOGEE RACE. THE VOLUNTARY EXILE.
[Scene in reminiscence. The valley of the Coosa river, and parts adjacent.]
Who is Elohim? who? I said— The vision broke—the angel fled. Dread on my ear these accents broke, And high—it seemed a god who spoke— His features, as my race he drew, Assumed a clear and heavenly hue, And voice, and attitude, and air, Became more fearful, bright and fair, Till the transcendence pained the sight; And when he ceas’d—a cloud of light, Far stretching up the starry frame, Told whence he flew, and whence he came. My soul an inward tremor shook, And in a wild amaze I woke. The sun was darting from his bed A gorgeous flame of gold and red, That streaming far, and wide, and free, Gilt bank and bower, cliff and tree, And merry birds of plumage fair, With varied sweetness fill’d the air.