SCENE SEVENTH.--THE RUINS OF THE PROPHET'S TOWN.

[_Enter the_ PROPHET, _who gloomily surveys the place_.]

PROPHET. Our people scattered, and our town in ashes!

To think these hands could work such madness here-- This envious head devise this misery!

Tec.u.mseh, had not my ambition drawn Such sharp and fell destruction on our race You might have smiled at me! for I have matched My cunning 'gainst your wisdom, and have dragged Myself and all into a sea of ruin.

[_Enter_ TEc.u.mSEH.]

TEc.u.mSEH. Devil! I have discovered you at last!

You sum of treacheries, whose wolfish fangs Have torn our people's flesh--you shall not live!

[_The_ PROPHET _retreats facing and followed by_ TEc.u.mSEH.]

PROPHET. Nay--strike me not! I can explain it all!

It was a woman touched the Magic Bowl, And broke the brooding spell.

TEc.u.mSEH. Impostor! Slave! Why should I spare you?

[_Lifts his hand as if to strike._]

PROPHET. Stay, stay, touch me not!

One mother bore us in the self-same hour.

TEc.u.mSEH. Then good and evil came to light together.

Go to the corn-dance, change your name to villain!

Away! Your presence tempts my soul to mischief.

[_Exit the_ PROPHET _hastily_.]

Would that I were a woman, and could weep, And slake hot rage with tears! O spiteful fortune, To lure me to the limit of my dreams, Then turn and crowd the ruin of my toil Into the narrow compa.s.s of a night.

My brother's deep disgrace--myself the scorn Of envious harriers and thieves of fame, Who fain would rob me of the lawful meed Of faithful services and duties done-- Oh, I could bear it all! But to behold Our ruined people hunted to their graves-- To see the Long-Knife triumph in their shame-- This is the burning shaft, the poisoned wound That rankles in my soul! But, why despair?

All is not lost--the English are our friends.

My spirit rises--manhood bear me up!

I'll haste to Malden, join my force to theirs, And fall with double fury on our foes.

Farewell ye plains and forests, but rejoice!

Ye yet shall echo to Tec.u.mseh's voice.

[_Enter_ LEFROY.]

LEFROY. What tidings have you gleaned of Iena?

TEc.u.mSEH. My brother meant to wed her to Tarhay-- The chief who led his warriors to ruin; But, in the gloom and tumult of the night, She fled into the forest all alone.

LEFROY. Alone! In the wide forest all alone!

Angels are with her now, for she is dead.

TEc.u.mSEH. You know her to be skilful with the bow.

'Tis certain she would strike for some great Lake-- Erie or Michigan. At the Detroit Are people of our nation, and perchance She fled for shelter there. I go at once To join the British force.

[_Exit_ TEc.u.mSEH.]

LEFROY. But yesterday I climbed to Heaven upon the shining stairs Of love and hope, and here am quite cast down.

My little flower amidst a weedy world, Where art thou now? In deepest forest shade?

Or onward, where the sumach stands arrayed In Autumn splendour, its alluring form Fruited, yet odious with the hidden worm?

Or, farther, by some still sequestered lake, Loon-haunted, where the sinewy panthers slake Their noon-day thirst, and never voice is heard Joyous of singing waters, breeze or bird, Save their wild waitings.--(_A halloo without_) 'Tis Tec.u.mseh calls! Oh Iena! If dead, where'er thou art-- Thy saddest grave will be this ruined heart!

[_Exit_.]

END OF THIRD ACT.

ACT IV.

_Enter_ CHORUS.

War is declared, unnatural and wild, By Revolution's calculating sons!

So leave the home of mercenary minds, And wing with me, in your uplifted thoughts, Away to our unyielding Canada!

There to behold the Genius of the Land, Beneath her singing pine and sugared tree, Companioned with the lion, Loyalty.

SCENE FIRST.--A ROOM IN FORT GEORGE.

[_Enter_ GENERAL BROCK _reading a despatch from Montreal_.]

BROCK. Prudent and politic Sir George Prevost!

Hull's threatened ravage of our western coast, Hath more breviloquence than your despatch.

Storms are not stilled by reasoning with air, Nor fires quenched by a syrup of sweet words.

So to the wars, Diplomacy, for now Our trust is in our arms and arguments Delivered only from the cannon's mouth!

[_Rings_.]

[_Enter an_ ORDERLY. ]

ORDERLY. Your Exc'llency?

BROCK. Bid Colonel Proctor come!

[_Exit Orderly_.]