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Stedman and Hutchinson, comps. A Library of American Literature:
An Anthology in Eleven Volumes. 1891.
Vols. IX–XI: Literature of the Republic, Part IV., 1861–1889


By Ernest McGaffey (b. 1861)

BESIDE that tent and under guard

In majesty alone he stands

As some chained eagle, broken-winged,

With eyes that gleam like smouldering brands;

A savage face, streaked o’er with paint,

And coal-black hair in unkempt mane,

Thin, cruel lips, set rigidly—

A red Apache Tamerlane.

As restless as the desert winds,

Yet here he stands like carven stone,

His raven locks by breezes moved

And backward o’er his shoulders blown;

Silent, yet watchful as he waits,

Robed in his strange, barbaric guise,

While here and there go searchingly

The cat-like wanderings of his eyes.

The eagle feather on his head

Is dull with many a bloody stain,

While darkly on his lowering brow

Forever rests the mark of Cain;

Have you but seen a tiger caged,

And sullen through his barriers glare?

Mark well his human prototype,

The fierce Apache fettered there.