Lo in each swarthy right-hand a knife;
in the left-hand, the bow and the arrows!
Brave Frenchmen, awake to the strife!--
or you sleep in the forest forever.
Nay, nearer and nearer they glide,
like ghosts on the field of their battles,
Till close on the sleepers, they bide
but the signal of death from Tamdoka.
Still the sleepers sleep on. Not a breath
stirs the leaves of the awe-stricken forest;
The hushed air is heavy with death;
like the footsteps of death are the moments.
"_Arise!_"--At the word, with a bound,
to their feet spring the vigilant Frenchmen;
And the depths of the forest resound
to the crack and the roar of their rifles;
And seven writhing forms on the ground
clutch the earth. From the pine-tops the screech-owl
Screams and flaps his wide wings in affright,
and plunges away through the shadows;
And swift on the wings of the night
flee the dim, phantom-forms through the darkness.
Like _cabris_[80] when white wolves pursue,
fled the four yet remaining Dakotas;
Through forest and fen-land they flew,
and wild terror howled on their footsteps.
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