From “Twasinta’s Seminoles” (Canto I, XLVIII)

Thus have we, Mickasukie, seen thy brave,
And, too, Twasinta, seen thy homes decline!
Thus have we found how yearns the poorest slave
For freedom—how at patriotism’s shrine,
The ardor of the exile is divine;
And now, that in the tide of years o’erflown,
There’s scarcely left a trace of thee and thine,
We pause and sigh, mid wrecks that time hath strewn;
Of all the world has been how little now is known!