Chapter XXXV

Our house is broken open at both ends
Though deeply set the posts, its timber strong--
From ruthless foes, and traitors masked as friends,
Tutored to sing a false but pleasant song
The Seneca and Mohawk guarded long
Its blood-stained doors:--the _former_ faced the sun
In his decline--the _latter_ watched a throng
Clouding the eastern hills--their tasks are done;
A game for life was played, and prize the white man won.