PROPHET. It means that we
Attack the foe to-night.

IENA. And risk our all?
O that Tecumseh knew! his soul would rush
In arms to intercept you. What! break faith,
And on the hazard of a doubtful strife,
Stake his great enterprise and all our lives!
The dying curses of a ruined race
Will wither up your wicked heart for this!

PROPHET. False girl! your heart is with our foes;
Your hand I mean to turn to better use.

IENA. Oh, could it turn you from your mad intent
How freely would I give it! Drop this scheme,
Dismiss your frenzied warriors to their beds;
And, if contented with my hand, Tarhay
Can have it here.

TARHAY. I love you, Iena!

IENA. Then must you love what I do! Love our race!
'Tis this love nerves Tecumseh to unite
Its scattered tribes--his fruit of noble toil,
Which you would snatch unripened from his hand,
And feed to sour ambition. Touch it not--
Oh, touch it not Tarhay! and though my heart
Breaks for it, I am yours.