# Scenes and Hymns of Life, with Other Religious Poems/The Indian's Revenge

THE INDIAN'S REVENGE.
SCENE IN THE LIFE OF A MORAVIAN MISSIONARY.
But by my wrongs and by my wrath, To-morrow Areouski's breath That fires yon Heaven with storms of death, Shall guide me to the foe! Indian Song in "Gertrude of Wyoming."
Scene—The shore of a Lake surrounded by deep woods. A solitary cabin on its banks, overshadowed by maple and sycamore trees. Herrmann, the missionary, seated alone before the cabin. The hour is evening twilight.
Herrmann. Was that the light from some lone swift canoe Shooting across the waters?—No, a flash
From the night's first quick fire-fly, lost again In the deep bay of cedars. Not a bark Is on the wave; no rustle of a breeze Comes through the forest. In this new, strange world, Oh! how mysterious, how eternal, seems The mighty melancholy of the woods! The desert's own great spirit, infinite! Little they know, in mine own father-land, Along the castled Rhine, or e'en amidst The wild Harz mountains, or the silvan glades Deep in the Odenwald, they little know Of what is solitude! In hours like this, There, from a thousand nooks, the cottage hearths Pour forth red light through vine-hung lattices, To guide the peasant, singing cheerily, On the home path; while round his lowly porch, With eager eyes awaiting his return, The clustered faces of his children shine To the clear harvest moon. Be still, fond thoughts!
Melting my spirit's grasp from heavenly hope By your vain earthward yearnings. O my God! Draw me still nearer, closer unto thee. Till all the hollow of these deep desires May with thyself be filled!—Be it enough At once to gladden and to solemnize My lonely life, if for thine altar here In this dread temple of the wilderness, By prayer, and toil, and watching, I may win The offering of one heart, one human heart, Bleeding, repenting, loving! Hark! a step, An Indian tread! I know the stealthy sound— 'Tis on some quest of evil, through the grass Gliding so serpent-like. [He comes forward and meets an Indian warrior armed. Enonio, is it thou? I see thy form Tower stately through the dusk, yet scarce mine eye Discerns thy face.
Enonio.My father speaks my name.
Herrmann. Are not the hunters from the chase returned? The night-fires lit? Why is my son abroad?
Enonio. The warrior's arrow knows of nobler prey Than elk or deer. Now let my father leave The lone path free.
Herrmann.The forest way is long From the red chieftain's home. Rest thee awhile Beneath my sycamore, and we will speak Of these things further.
Enonio.Tell me not of rest! My heart is sleepless, and the dark night swift.— I must begone.
Herrmann, (solemnly.) No, warrior, thou must stay! The Mighty One hath given me power to search Thy soul with piercing words—and thou must stay, And hear me, and give answer! If thy heart Be grown thus restless, is it not because
Within its dark folds thou hast mantled up Some burning thought of ill?—
Enonio, (with sudden impetuosity.) How should I rest?— Last night the spirit of my brother came, An angry shadow in the moonlight streak, And said, "Avenge me!"—In the clouds this morn, I saw the frowning colour of his blood— And that, too, had a voice.—I lay at noon Alone beside the sounding waterfall, And through its thunder-music spake a tone— A low tone piercing all the roll of waves— And said, "Avenge me!"—Therefore have I raised The tomahawk, and strung the bow again, That I may send the shadow from my couch, And take the strange sound from the cataract, And sleep once more.
Herrmann.A better path, my son, Unto the still and dewy land of sleep, My hand in peace can guide thee—e'en the way
Thy dying brother trod.—Say, didst thou love That lost one well?
Enonio.Know'st thou not we grew up Even as twin roes amidst the wilderness? Unto the chase we journeyed in one path; We stemmed the lake in one canoe; we lay Beneath one oak to rest.—When fever hung Upon my burning lips, my brother's hand Was still beneath my head; my brother's robe Covered my bosom from the chill night air. Our lives were girdled by one belt of love, Until he turned him from his fathers' gods, And then my soul fell from him—then the grass Grew in the way between our parted homes, And wheresoe'er I wandered, then it seemed That all the woods were silent.—I went forth— I journeyed, with my lonely heart, afar, And so returned—and where was he?—the earth Owned him no more.
Herrmann.But thou thyself, since then,
Hast turned thee from the idols of thy tribe, And, like thy brother, bowed the suppliant knee To the one God.
Enonio.Yes, I have learned to pray With my white father's words, yet all the more My heart, that shut against my brother's love, Hath been within me as an arrowy fire. Burning my sleep away.—In the night hush, Midst the strange whispers and dim shadowy things Of the great forests, I have called aloud, "Brother! forgive, forgive!"—He answered not— His deep voice, rising from the land of souls, Cries but "Avenge me!"—and I go forth now To slay his murderer, that when next his eyes Gleam on me mournfully from that pale shore, I may look up, and meet their glance, and say, "I have avenged thee."
Herrmann.Oh! that human love Should be the root of this dread bitterness, Till heaven through all the fevered being pours
Transmuting balsam!—Stay, Enonio, stay! Thy brother calls thee not!—The spirit world Where the departed go, sends back to earth No visitants for evil.—'Tis the might Of the strong passion, the remorseful grief At work in thine own breast, which lends the voice Unto the forest and the cataract, The angry colour to the clouds of morn, The shadow to the moonlight.—Stay, my son! Thy brother is at peace.—Beside his couch, When of the murderer's poisoned shaft he died, I knelt and prayed ; he named his Saviour's name, Meekly, beseechingly; he spoke of thee In pity and in love.
Enonio, (hurriedly.) Did he not say My arrow should avenge him?
Herrmann.His last words Were all forgiveness.
Enonio.What! and shall the man Who pierced him with the shaft of treachery, Walk fearless forth in joy?
Herrmann.Was he not once Thy brother's friend?—Oh! trust me, not in joy He walks the frowning forest. Did keen love, Too late repentant of its heart estranged, Wake in thy haunted bosom, with its train Of sounds and shadows—and shall he escape? Enonio, dream it not!—Our God, the All Just, Unto himself reserves this royalty— The secret chastening of the guilty heart, The fiery touch, the scourge that purifies, Leave it with him!—Yet make it not thy hope— For that strong heart of thine—oh! listen yet— Must, in its depths, o'ercome the very wish For death or torture to the guilty one, Ere it can sleep again.
Enonio.My father speaks Of change, for man too mighty.
Herrmann.I but speak Of that which hath been, and again must be, If thou wouldst join thy brother, in the life
Of the bright country, where, I well believe, His soul rejoices.—He had known such change. He died in peace. He, whom his tribe once named The Avenging Eagle, took to his meek heart, In its last pangs, the spirit of those words Which, from the Saviour's cross, went up to heaven— "Forgive them, for they know not what they do, Father, forgive!"—And o'er the eternal bounds Of that celestial kingdom, undefiled, Where evil may not enter, he, I deem, Hath to his Master passed.—He waits thee there— For love, we trust, springs heavenward from the grave, Immortal in its holiness.—He calls His brother to the land of golden light, And ever-living fountains—couldst thou hear His voice o'er those bright waters, it would say, "My brother! oh! be pure, be merciful! That we may meet again."
Enonio, (hesitating.)Can I return Unto my tribe, and unavenged?
HerrmannTo Him, To Him return, from whom thine erring steps Have wandered far and long!—Return, my son, To thy Redeemer!—Died He not in love— The sinless, the divine, the Son of God— Breathing forgiveness midst all agonies, And we, dare we be ruthless?—By His aid Shalt thou be guided to thy brother's place Midst the pure spirits.—Oh! retrace the way Back to thy Saviour! he rejects no heart E'en with the dark stains on it, if true tears Be o'er them showered.—Aye, weep, thou Indian chief! For, by the kindling moonlight, I behold Thy proud lip's working—weep, relieve thy soul! Tears will not shame thy manhood, in the hour Of its great conflict.
Enonio, (giving up his weapons to Herrmann.) Father, take the bow, Keep the sharp arrows till the hunters call
Forth to the chase once more.—And let me dwell A little while, my father! by thy side, That I may hear the blessed words again— Like water brooks amidst the summer hills— From thy true lips flow forth; for in my heart The music and the memory of their sound Too long have died away.
Herrmann.O, welcome back, Friend, rescued one!—Yes, thou shalt be my guest, And we will pray beneath my sycamore Together, morn and eve; and I will spread Thy couch beside my fire, and sleep at last— After the visiting of holy thoughts— With dewy wing shall sink upon thine eyes!— Enter my home, and welcome, welcome back To peace, to God, thou lost and found again!
[They go into the cabin together.—Herrmann, lingering for a moment on the threshold, looks up to the starry skies.
Now look'st on us, thy children! make this hour Blessed for ever! May it see the birth Of thine own image in the unfathomed deep Of an immortal soul;—a thing to name With reverential thought, a solemn world! To Thee more precious than those thousand stars Burning on high in thy majestic Heaven!