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THE INDIAN MASSACRE, FR. ACADIA, by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: For them no stately canopy is spread
Last Line: To charm the list'ning ear, or touch the heart.
Subject(s): Acadia; Massacres; Native Americans; Indians Of America; American Indians; Indians Of South America


(A family of settlers in the early days of Acadia retire to sleep at
nightfall in their log cabin in the wilderness.)

For them no stately canopy is spread:
Dried fern and withered leaves compose their bed—
Rough couch—but still their waning strength it cheers,
For Labour sweetens it, and Love endears.
How oft Ambition, on his softest down,
Implores the God of Sleep his cares to drown;
How oft the anxious child of Commerce tries
To calm his thoughts and close his sleepless eyes,
While Slumber mocks his unavailing prayer,
And seeks the hut to strew its poppies there.

Why starts the mother from that soft repose?
What means the horror that her looks disclose?
Why are her children clasped with eager care,
While Hope seems wildly struggling with Despair?
Why has the father seized the axe and knife,
Like one resolved to combat Death for Life,
And yield no vantage that his arm can hold
Though hungry wolves assail his gentle fold?
Hark to that horrid and soul-piercing yell
That seems the war-cry of a fiend from Hell;
That starts the raven from the lofty pine
On which he closed his wing at day's decline,
And echoing back from the surrounding hills,
The beating hearts in that lone cottage chills;
For Hate, Revenge, and Murder's deepest tone,
Tell them the Micmac's toils are round them thrown.

From the wild covert of the forest shade,
By stealthy march their slow approach was made,
Now, by the spreading foliage concealed,
Now, by some sudden op'ning half revealed,
As to the settler's dwelling they drew nigh,
And gazed upon it with malignant eye.
'Twas yet high noon when it appeared in sight,
But for his work the Indian loves the night.
In patient ambush scattered round they lay,
Content to linger ere they seized their prey.
They marked the settler at his weary moil,
And smiled to think how they'd repay his toil;
Saw him partake the draught his boy would bring
To cheer his labor, from the crystal spring,
And vow'd, e'er morning's dawn, their souls should laugh,
While the parch'd earth his blood should freely quaff;
And when he sought his home at eventide,
To taste the pleasures of his dear fireside,
With ears attentive—footsteps light and true,
And treacherous hearts, around the eaves they drew,
Listen'd the song the mother sung her child,
Heard the light converse that the hours beguiled,
And joyed to think the time would not be long
Ere midnight's cries would follow evening's song.

When sleep had closed the weary cottar's eyes,
They sought to take the slumberers by surprise—
Essay'd the door, and then the window tried
With gentle pressure, studiously applied,
Nor knew how light a doting mother sleeps,
When near her babes its watch the spirit keeps.
The first faint whisper of alarm within,
Convinced them force, not fraud, their prey must win.
'Twas then their shout of fierce defiance rose,
While fast and vehement their heavy blows
On door and shutter diligently fell,
Each followed by a wild tumultuous yell;
Nor are the inmates idle—logs of wood,
Trunks, cribs, what'er can make defences good,
Are piled against the bars that still are true,
Despite the efforts of the howling crew.
This done, the gun is seized—the Father fires,
Chance guides—a groan—one bleeding wretch expires.
Again he loads, again a savage dies—
Again the yells upon the welkin rise,
Hope half persuades that till the dawn of day
The fierce besiegers may be kept at bay.
What scene so dark, what stroke of fate so rude,
That Hope cannot a moment's space intrude?
But soon he flies, for now an Indian flings
Himself upon the roof, which loudly rings
To every stroke the polished hatchet lends;
The bark which bears him, to the pressure bends,
It yields—it breaks—he falls upon the floor—
One blow—his fleeting term of life is o'er,
The settler's axe has dashed his reeking brain
Upon the hearth his soul had sworn to stain.
Fast through the breach two others downward leap,
But, ere they rise, a knife is planted deep
In one dark breast, by gentle Woman's hand,
Who, for her household, wields a household brand;
The axe has clove the other to the chin.
But now, en masse, the shrieking fiends leap in,
Till wounded, faint, o'erpowered, the Father falls
And hears the shout of triumph shake his walls.
The wretched Mother from her babe is torn,
Which on a red right hand aloft is borne,
Then dashed to earth before its Parent's eyes,
And, as its form, deform'd and quivering lies,
Life from its fragile tenement is trod,
And the bruised, senseless, and unsightly clod,
Is flung into the soft but bleeding breast
To which so late in smiling peace 'twas press'd.

Nor does the boy escape—the smouldering fire
Is stirred,—and, as its feeble flames aspire
In wanton cruelty they thrust his hands
Into the blaze, and on the reddening brands,
Like Montezuma bid him seek repose
As though his couch were but a perfumed rose.
Sated with blood, at length the scalps they tear
Ere life be yet extinct—for these, with care,
The Indian tribes, like precious coins, retain
To count their victories, and the victims slain.

Now plunder follows death—then one applies
Fire to the bed, from which the flames arise
Fiercely and fast, as anxious to efface
All record of so sad, so foul a place.
Around the cot the Indians form a ring,
And songs of joy and triumph wildly sing
With horrid gesture and demoniac strain,
Then plunge into the forest depths again.

Such are the scenes Acadia once display'd;
Such was the price our gallant Fathers paid
For this fair land, where now our footsteps rove
From lake to sea, from cliff to shady grove,
Uncheck'd by peril, unrestrained by fear
Of more unfriendly ambush lingering near
Than timid rabbits lurking in the fern
And peeping forth your worst intent to learn;
Or mottled squirrel, frisking round the pines
To seek the buds on which he lightly dines;
Or feather'd fav'rites, who, on ev'ry spray
Cheer and enchant with many a simple lay,
And though their plumage cannot boast the dyes
That deck the feather'd tribe 'neath milder skies,
Their ev'ning songs can sweeter strains impart
To charm the list'ning ear, or touch the heart.





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