Chapter XXI

From chief to chief the calumet they past,
Sitting, in silent solemn council, round;
Each thrice inhaled, thrice forth the vapors cast,--
First to the power that bids the thunder sound,
Then to the gods that ride the angry blast,
Then to the fiends that dwell beneath the ground;
These made propitious, they the hatchet gave,
The bloody hatchet, to a peaceful grave.