Heart-full of sorrows and shall lay them down.

LEFROY. (_Springing to his feet_.) The poor!
What care your rich thieves for the poor?
Those graspers hate the poor, from whom they spring,
More deeply than they hate this injured race.
Much have they taken from it--let them now
Take this prediction, with the red man's curse!
The time will come when that dread power--the Poor--
Whom, in their greed and pride of wealth, they spurn--
Will rise on them, and tear them from their seats;
Drag all their vulgar splendours down, and pluck
Their shallow women from their lawless beds,
Yea, seize their puling and unhealthy babes,
And fling them as foul pavement to the streets.
In all the dreaming of the Universe
There is no darker vision of despairs!

1ST OFFICER. What man is that? 'Tis not an Indian.

HARRISON. Madman, you rave!--you know not what you say.

TECUMSEH. Master of guile, this axe should speak for
him!

[_Drawing his hatchet as if to hurl it at_
HARRISON.]

2ND OFFICER. This man means mischief! Quick! Bring up
the guard!