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.
Geronimo
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