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The writings of John Greenleaf Whittier, Volume 1. (ed. John Greenleaf Whittier), Narrative and legendary poems (search)
ne sit on his wigwam floor. Go, let him seek some meaner squaw to spread The stolen bear-skin of his beggar's bed; Son of a fish-hawk! let him dig his clams For some vile daughter of the Agawams, Or coward Nipmucks! may his scalp dry black In Mohawk smoke, before I send her back. “ He shook his clenched hand towards the ocean wave, While hoarse assent his listening council gave. Alas poor bride! can thy grim sire impart His iron hardness to thy woman's heart? Or cold self-torturing pride lday to come And cure his bed-bound wife? Was there a hell? Were all his fathers' people writhing there— Like the poor shell-fish set to boil alive— Forever, dying never? If he kept This gold, so needed, would the dreadful God Torment him like a Mohawk's captive stuck With slow-consuming splinters? Would the saints And the white angels dance and laugh to see him Burn like a pitch-pine torch? His Christian garb Seemed falling from him; with the fear and shame Of Adam naked at the cool of day, <