But not her hand! This cannot be, and I must see to it: Red shall not marry white--such is our law. But graver matters are upon the wing, Which I must open to you. Know you, then, The nation that has doomed our Council-Fires-- Splashed with our blood--will on its Father turn, Once more, whose lion-paws, stretched o'er the sea, Will sheathe their nails in its unnatural tides, Till blood will flow, as free as pitch in spring, To gum the chafed seams of our sinking bark. This opportunity, well-nursed, will give A respite to our wrongs, and heal our wounds; And all our nations, knit by me and ranged In headship with our Saganash allies, Will turn the mortal issue 'gainst our foes, And wall our threatened frontiers with their slain. But till that ripened moment, not a sheaf Of arrows should be wasted, not a brave Should perish aimlessly, nor discord reign Amongst our tribes, nor jealousy distrain The large effects of valour. We must now Pack all our energies. Our eyes and ears No more must idle with the hour, but work As carriers to the brain, where we shall store, As in an arsenal, deep schemes of war! (A noise and shouting without.) But who is this? (Enter BARRON accompanied and half-dragged by warriors. The PROPHET goes forward to meet him.)

Tecumseh Monologue from Tecumseh : a Drama

Rehearse Tecumseh's monologue