Part 7 (1/2)

He knew naught of magic arrows, Nor O-kis-ko's secret mission; He saw only his own arrow Piercing through her tender bosom, Never doubting but the wonder Which his awe-struck eyes had witnessed Had been wrought by his own arrow, Silver arrow from a far land, Fas.h.i.+oned by the skill of Pale-Face, Gift of Pale-Face Weroanza To a race she willed to conquer.

All his hatred of the Pale-Face, Fed by fear and superst.i.tion, To him made this sudden vision Seem an omen of the future, When the Red Man, like the White Doe, Should give place unto the Pale-Face, And the Indian, like the white mist, Fade from out his native forest.

All his courage seemed to weaken With the dread of dark disaster; And with instincts strong for safety Fled he from the place in terror.

Love hath not the fear of danger, And O-kis-ko's faith in magic Kept him brave to meet the changes Which had each so quickly followed.

For he saw the human maiden Where had stood the living White Doe; And he knew his hazel arrow, Charmed with all We-nau-don's magic, Had restored the lost Wi-no-na To reward his patient loving.

But the conflict of _two_ arrows, Bringing death unto the maiden, Was a deep and darksome myst'ry Which his ignorance could not fathom.

All the cause of his undoing Saw he in the silver arrow; So with true love's tireless effort, Quick he strove to break its power.

From her heart he plucked the arrow, Hastened to the magic water, Hoping to destroy the evil Which had stilled the maiden's pulses.

In the sparkling spring he laid it So no spot was left uncovered, So the full charm of the water Might act on the blood-stained arrow.

As the blood-stains from it melted, Blood of Pale-Face shed by Red Man, Slowly, while he watched and waited, _All the sparkling water vanished;_ Dry became the magic fountain, Leaving bare the silver arrow.

Was it thus the spell would weaken Which had wrought his love such evil?

Would she be again awakened When he sought her in the thicket?

Must he shoot this arrow at her To restore her throbbing pulses?

Must he seek again We-nau-don To make warm her icy beauty?

While he of himself sought guidance, Sought to know the hidden meaning Of the mysteries he witnessed; Lo! another mystic wonder Met his eyes as he sat musing.

From the arrow made by Pale-Face, As th' enchanted water left it, Sprang a tiny shoot with leaflets Pus.h.i.+ng upward to the sunlight.

Did the arrow dry the fountain With the blight of death it carried?

Or in going, had the water Left a charm upon the arrow?

Did the heart-blood of the Pale-Face From the arrow in the water Cause the coming of the green shoot, Which reached upward to the sunlight?

All O-kis-ko's love and courage Could not give him greater knowledge.

Savage mind could not unravel All the meaning of this marvel.

Fear forbade him touch the arrow Lest he should destroy the green shoot; So he left the tender leaflets Reaching upward to the sunlight, Sought again the lifeless maiden For whose love his soul had hungered; Knelt beside her in the forest, With the awe of death upon him, Which in heathen as in Christian Moves the human soul to wors.h.i.+p.

All his faith in savage magic Turned to frenzy at his failure; And the helplessness of mortals Pressed upon him like a burden; While a mighty longing seized him For a knowledge of the Unknown, For a light to pierce the Silence Into which none enter living.

And unconsciously his spirit Rose in quest of Might Supernal, Which should rule both dead and living, Leaving naught to chance or magic; Which should seize the throbbing pulses Ebbing from a dying mortal, And create a higher being Free from thrall of earthly nature; Almost grasping in his yearning Knowledge of the G.o.d Eternal, In whose hand the earth lies helpless, In whose heart all souls find refuge.

But no light came to O-kis-ko; Still the burden pressed upon him, And a pall of hopeless yearning Wrapped his soul in voiceless sorrow As he gazed upon the maiden With death's mysteries enfolded.

Then he made upon her bosom The strange Cross-Sign she had taught him; From his shoulders took the mantle Made of skins of many sea-gulls, Gently wrapped the maiden in it, Heaped the tinted leaves about her; Leaving all his own life's brightness With her where the shadows darkened.

Thus the ancient legend runneth, with its plaint of hopeless doom, Bearing in its heart the fragrance of the Truth's enduring bloom, Standing in the light of knowledge, where developed ages meet, We can read the mystic omens which O-kis-ko's eyes did greet.

And to us they seem the symbols of what coming ages brought, Realization gives the answer, which in vain the Savage sought.