VIII.

Go seek the red man's last retreat! A lonesome land, the haunted lands! Red mouths of beasts, red men's red hands: Red prophet-priest, in mute defeat!

His boundaries in blood are writ! His land is ghostland! That is his, Whatever man may claim of this; Beware how you shall enter it! He stands God's guardian of ghostlands; Ay, this same wrapped half-prophet stands All nude and voiceless, nearer to The awful God than I or you.