Chapter XVI

And was this savage? say,
Ye ancient few,
Who struggled through
Young freedom's trial-day--
What first your sleeping wrath awoke?
On your own shores war's larum broke:
What turned to gall even kindred blood?
Round your own homes the oppressor stood:
This every warm affection chilled,
This every heart with vengeance thrilled,
And strengthened every hand;
From mound to mound,
The word went round--
"Death for our native land!"