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

The pent-up wrath that rankled in his breast,
O’er smould’ring embers shot a lurid glare,
And wrongs that time itself had not redrest,
In ghost-like silence stalked and glimmered there.
And from the wizzard caverns of despair,
Came voice and groan, reminding o’er and o’er 
The outrage on his wife so young and fair;
And so, by heaven and earth and hell he swore
To treat in council with the white man never more.