The weekly Union times. [volume] (Union C.H., South Carolina) 1871-1894, 1890-05-09
oscEoIAs LAST DasAM.
By NEHEMIAH BurrERwonrH.

sct Tho windows open and cool my veins.
For the fever OF death is now begun,
Ana hot on my hands and feet are nay chains
And the oceen pants in tho low, red sun.
IN tue Enchee Anna the ibis TO night
Ana .s Soxn on ns w.So e the dead
Lilo thick as the stare in the seas OF dew.
Aud the misty moon looks over the waves
On the cypress covers OF bones and graves.
! AJAX but breath--wbat is left 70 me
In this treeless prison by hot Tybee2 '' .
Only the rain no that cries in the fen,
Only tho fur in ths ygoTe VOLTS den.
Only the bores where the hawk has been.
But pity not Osceola
o Florldas far so near you seem
Tho lives OF tho warriors form my dreams,
And my bride, the Beautiful, with me roves.
The fans OF the palms as in years Of old,
"a'o s cooling mo now in these splendors OF
Aga WINS AgpsG * The a s ssgsss Q. gold
And tho shores are filled with the moonrise
It is ali a dream what is left to me
OF ths palm-crowhed land and the nisht-cooled
What is left to osoeola2
Only the rain crow that calls in the fen.
Only tho fur in the werewolfs den,
Only the bones where the hawk has been,'
But pity not Osceola.
Ay, pity mo not-these hauds are red.
As red as the forges that linked these chains,
And tho merciful Fever waves over my head
The torch Of the Tempest, and throb my veins.
Your wife is dear to your bosom-well.
My forost bride was as dear to me.
My heart too, was Humankind what befeuP
Ask tho slavc pens, Ell in the Manatee.
Stolen and sold for slave And whose hand
Was lift ed for her in oil your land2
There barred my breast of my heart bereft
To tho winged rifle aud what t8 left?
What is left o Osceoa2
Only the rain crow that calIs in the fen'
Only the fur in the werewolt's den,
Only tho bones where the hawk has bean,
But pity not Osceola-
When wnrswild spirit broke in mo
l cursed the land aud it sunk from sight
] called the red plumes from the Manatee.
from Of wnts
And tho oozy swamps OF the dark Wahoo.
From the fca,hered trails in the red woods
And we fought for our own as the Heroes do.
Ye bound mo once, but broke my bands
And ye bound mo twice, and what remains
But this perveless arm and it's load OF chains.
What fs LETT to 'Osceola2
Only the rain crow that call in the fen,
,.; Only the fur in the wer' VOLTS den,
Glniy the bones where the hawk has been,
But pity not Osceola-
chains2 What are they now7 On plumes
Ye doves Zenada, ye ibises white,
1sweep tho clouds like your pinions free.
The Cherokee M roses, the sun6eams' flowers,
As in the bliss OF those starit hours
When my bride lay down mt my weary feet.
The sunset fades in myprison bars,
But the angel of Right see In the stars.
When Justice you face with your soul laid bare,
Tell me. what shall await you there?
Listen to Oscoola-
Only the rain crown that calls in the fen,
Only the fur in the werewolfs den,
Only the bones where the hawk has been
Pity not Usceoa.
70 shall lay my bones where the reedy winds
In the cool snvnnnahs for me shall sigh
Where the wandGrin heron the sea- conch finds,
And the tears OF the Gulf.clouds fill the sky.
ie shall not bring me your pity there,
Nor add ono bren h to the sounding deep,
Nor mo,k the heavens with psalm or prayer
Eok hersslf alone let Unjust ice weep. -.
,Yo may iny nj oxiissd Zorro In the eca,
But beyond yobr Teael, hang the scales OF God,
And I'm the hoiehts OF tho Judgment ar
Ye may find q sentence more hard to bear
Than the doom Of Osce ola
Only tho rain crow that calla in the fen,
Only the fur in tho werewolf.s den,
Only the bones where the hawk has been-
May the God Of the withered leaves pity you
then
Pity not Osceola