Part 8 (2/2)
Then Cartier's rapt gaze wandered Where, starred with wild flowers sweet, In its gorgeous autumn beauty, Lay the forest at his feet.
With red and golden glory All the foliage seemed ablaze Yet with brightness strangely softened By October's amber haze.
Around him stretched the mountain Ever lovely--ever young-- Graceful, softly undulating, By tall forest trees o'erhung; 'Twas then his thought found utterance, The words ”_Mont Royal_” came, And thus our Royal Mountain Received its fitting name.
THE WHITE MAIDEN AND THE INDIAN GIRL.
”Child of the Woods, bred in leafy dell, See the palace home in which I dwell, With its lofty walls and cas.e.m.e.nts wide, And objects of beauty on every side; Now, tell me, dost thou not think it bliss To dwell in a home as bright as this?”
”Has my pale-faced sister never seen My home in the pleasant forest green, With the suns.h.i.+ne weaving its threads of gold Through the boughs of elm and of maples old, And soft green moss and wild flowers sweet, What carpet more fitting for maidens' feet?”
”Well, see these diamonds of price untold, These costly trinkets of burnished gold, With rich soft robes--my daily wear-- These graceful flower-wreaths for my hair; And now, at least, thou must frankly tell Thou would'st like such garb and jewels well.”
”The White Lily surely speaks in jest, For has she not seen me gaily dressed?
Bright beads and rich wampum belts are mine, Which by far these paltry stones outs.h.i.+ne, Whilst heron plumes, fresh flowers and leaves, Are fairer than scentless buds like these.”
”But, Forest Maiden, to this my home What sights--what sounds of beauty come; Pictures of loveliness--paintings rare-- All the charms that art can bestow are there, With ravis.h.i.+ng music of harp and song, Sweet notes that to gifted souls belong.”
”The wild birds sing in our shady trees, Mingling their notes with the vesper breeze; The flow of waters, the wind's low moan, Have a music sweet that is all their own; Whilst surely no tints or colors rare Can with those of the sky and the wood compare.”
”But what of the winter's cheerless gloom When nature sleeps in a snowy tomb, The storm clouds brooding over head, Thy song-birds gone--thy wild-flowers dead?
With silence and gloom where'er you roam, What then, what then, of your forest home?”
”We sing gay songs round our winter fires, Or list the tales of our gray-haired sires; When the hunting path has claimed our braves, We pray to the G.o.d of winds and waves; Or, on snow-shoes swift, we love to go Over the fields of untrodden snow.”
”Then, I cannot tempt thee here to dwell, Oh! wayward child of the forest dell, To leave thy wandering, restless life, With countless dangers and hards.h.i.+ps rife For a home of splendor such as this, Where thy days would be a dream of bliss?”
”No, sister, it cannot my heart engage, I would worry to death of this gilded cage And the high close walls of each darkened room, Heavy with stifling, close perfume; Back to the free, fresh woods let me hie, Amid them to live,--amid them to die.”
THE TRYST OF THE SACHEM'S DAUGHTER.
In the far green depths of the forest glade, Where the hunter's footsteps but rarely strayed, Was a darksome dell, possessed, 'twas said, By an evil spirit, dark and dread, Whose weird voice spoke in the whisperings low Of that haunted wood, and the torrent's flow.
_There_ an Indian girl sat silent, lone, From her lips came no plaint or stifled moan, But the seal of anguish, hopeless and wild, Was stamped on the brow of the forest child, And her breast was laden with anxious fears, And her dark eyes heavy with unshed tears.
Ah! a few months since, when the soft spring gales With fragrance were filling the forest dales; When suns.h.i.+ne had chased stern winter's gloom, And woods had awoke in their new-born bloom, No step had been lighter on upland or hill Than her's who sat there so weary and still.
Now, the silken ears of the ta.s.seled maize Had ripened beneath the sun's fierce blaze, And the summer's suns.h.i.+ne, warm and bright, Had been followed by autumn's amber light, While the trees robed in glowing gold and red, Their fast falling leaves thickly round her shed.
A Sachem's daughter, beloved and revered, To the honest hearts of her tribe endeared By her goodness rare and her lovely face, Her innocent mirth and her artless grace; Wooed oft by young Indian braves as their bride, Sought by stern-browed chiefs for their wigwam's pride.
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