New England will grow envious of our glory;
And, greedy for renown so long abhorred,
Will on old England draw the tardy sword!




SCENE SEVENTH.--THE RUINS OF THE PROPHET'S TOWN.


[_Enter the_ PROPHET, _who gloomily surveys the
place_.]

PROPHET. Our people scattered, and our town in ashes!
To think these hands could work such madness here--
This envious head devise this misery!
Tecumseh, had not my ambition drawn
Such sharp and fell destruction on our race
You might have smiled at me! for I have matched
My cunning 'gainst your wisdom, and have dragged
Myself and all into a sea of ruin.

[_Enter_ TECUMSEH.]

TECUMSEH. Devil! I have discovered you at last!
You sum of treacheries, whose wolfish fangs
Have torn our people's flesh--you shall not live!

[_The_ PROPHET _retreats facing and followed
by_ TECUMSEH.]