Part 9 (1/2)
Heart-free, unwon, she had turned from each prayer, And thought but of smoothing her raven hair; Of embroidering moccasins, dainty, neat, With quills and gay beads for her tiny feet; Or skilfully guiding her bark canoe O'er St. Lawrence's waves of sparkling blue.
Alas for the hour, when in woodlands wild The white man met with the Sachem's child, And she wondering gazed on his golden hair, His deep blue eyes, and his forehead fair, And his rich soft voice fell low on her ear, And became to her heart, alas! too dear.
Well trained was he in each courtly art That can please and win a woman's heart; And many a girl of lineage high Had looked on his wooing with fav'ring eye: Inconstant to all, in hall or in bower, What chance of escape had this forest flower?
Soon, ah! very soon, he tired of her smile, Her dusky charms and each sweet, shy wile; And yet it was long ere, poor trusting dove, Her faith was shaken in the white man's love; And now one last tryst she had asked of him In this haunted glade in the forest dim.
He had lightly vowed, as such men will do, To the place and hour that he would be true; She had waited since the dawn broke chill, Till the sun was setting behind the hill; But for him, amid scenes of fas.h.i.+on gay, All thought of his promise had pa.s.sed away.
”I will wait for him here,” she softly said, ”Yes, wait till he comes,” and her weary head Drooped low on her breast, and when the night, On noiseless pinions had taken its flight, She looked at the sunrise, with eyes grown dim, And murmured: ”I'll wait here for death or him.”
It was death that came, and with kindly touch He stilled the heart that had borne so much; To the _Manitou_ praying, she pa.s.sed away With the sunset clouds of another day,-- No anger quickened her failing breath, Patient, unmurmuring, even in death.
For days they sought her, the sons of her race, In deep far-off woods, in each secret place, Till at length to the haunted glade they crept, And found her there as in death she slept.
They whispered low of the spirit of ill, And buried her quickly beside the hill.
That year her false lover back with him bore A radiant bride to his native sh.o.r.e.
And, with smiling triumph and joy elate, Ne'er gave one thought to his dark love's fate; But an All-seeing Judge, in wrath arrayed, Shall avenge the wrongs of that Indian maid.
A PLEA FOR OUR NORTHERN WINTERS.
”Oh, Earth, where is the mantle of pleasant emerald dye That robed thee in sweet summer-time, and gladdened heart and eye, Adorned with blooming roses, graceful ferns and blossoms sweet, And bright green moss like velvet that lay soft beneath our feet?”
”What! am I not as lovely in my garb of spotless white?
Was young bride in her beauty ever clothed in robe as bright?
Or, if you seek for tinting warm, at morn and evening hour, You'll find me bathed in blushes bright as those of summer flower.”
”But, Earth, I miss the verdure of thy woods and forests old, The waving of their foliage, casting shadows o'er the wold, The golden sunbeams peering 'mid the green leaves here and there, And I sigh to see the branches so cheerless and so bare.”
”But oft they're clothed in ermine to the sight and touch more fair Than the costly robing monarchs for regal garments wear, Whilst at times the glitt'ring branches with jewels are ablaze, The Frost King's pearls and diamonds flas.h.i.+ng back the light's clear rays.”
”Well, I grieve to see thy rivers, thy lakes and mountain streams, That in summer rippled gaily beneath the suns' glad beams, As light barks glided swiftly o'er their azure waves at will, Held now in icy barriers that guard them cold and still.”
”But, see their gla.s.sy bosom, what scene could be more bright?
How gaily o'er the surface darts the skater, strong and light; And happy, cheerful voices ring out from sh.o.r.e to sh.o.r.e, And forms are clearly mirrored on that dazzling crystal floor.”
”Ah, Earth, I cannot listen to thy soft, persuasive voice, Though the pleasures thou can'st offer may make other hearts rejoice, For with love and fond regret I recall each cloudless day, Spent with friends in sunny rambles--when the whole world seemed at play.”
”Why, the time for pleasant converse is the winter's stormy night, Its long and quiet evenings, with fire and tapers bright, The soothing strains of music, laughter, jest and happy song,-- Yes! the dearest of all pleasures to the winter-time belong.”
”I yield! Oh, Earth, thou hast thy charms, I grant it freely now, In winter's sterner hours, as when the spring-buds deck thy brow, So, a truce to idle grieving o'er summer beauties fled, Our northern winters we'll accept with grateful hearts instead.”
RICH AND POOR.
'Neath the radiance faint of the starlit sky The gleaming snow-drifts lay wide and high; O'er hill and dell stretched a mantle white, The branches glittered with crystal bright; But the winter wind's keen icy breath Was merciless, numbing and chill as death.