glory remains when their lights fade away!
Begin, ye tormentors! your threats are in vain,
For the son of Alknomook shall never complain.

II.

Remember the arrows he shot from his bow;
Remember your chiefs by his hatchet laid low:
Why so slow?--do you wait till I shrink from the pain?
No--the son of Alknomook will never complain.

III.

Remember the wood where in ambush we lay;
And the scalps which we bore from your nation away:
Now the flame rises fast, you exult in my pain;
But the son of Alknomook can never complain.

IV.

I go to the land where my father is gone;
His ghost shall rejoice in the fame of his son:
Death comes like a friend, he relieves me from pain;
And thy son, O Alknomook! has scorn'd to complain.

There is something in this song which ever calls forth my affections.
The manly virtue of courage, that fortitude which steels the heart
against the keenest misfortunes, which interweaves the laurel of glory
amidst the instruments of torture and death, displays something so
noble, so exalted, that in despite of the prejudices of education, I
cannot but admire it, even in a savage. The prepossession which our sex
is supposed to entertain for the character of a soldier is, I know, a
standing piece of raillery among the wits. A cockade, a lapell'd coat,
and a feather, they will tell you, are irresistible by a female heart.
Let it be so. Who is it that considers the helpless situation of our
sex, that does not see that we each moment stand in need of a protector,
and that a brave one too? [Formed of the more delicate materials of
nature, endowed only with the softer passions, incapable, from our
ignorance of the world, to guard against the wiles of mankind, our
security for happiness often depends upon their generosity and
courage:--Alas! how little of the former do we find!] How inconsistent!
that man should be leagued to destroy that honour upon which solely
rests his respect and esteem. Ten thousand temptations allure us, ten
thousand passions betray us; yet the smallest deviation from the path of
rectitude is followed by the contempt and insult of man, and the more
remorseless pity of woman; years of penitence and tears cannot wash away
the stain, nor a life of virtue obliterate its remembrance. [Reputation
is the life of woman; yet courage to protect it is masculine and
disgusting; and the only safe asylum a woman of delicacy c