 | The poems and prose writings of Sumner Lincoln Fairfield |  |
THE DESERT HORSEMAN.
The lightning glared, and the wild wind blew,
And the hurtling thunder broke,
And awfully black the storm-clouds grew
Beneath each wrathful stroke;
When the Warrior Chief of the wild woods sprung
On the Desert's coal-black steed—
Oh! fearfully then the dark skies rung
As they trump'd the awful deed!
And the hurtling thunder broke,
And awfully black the storm-clouds grew
Beneath each wrathful stroke;
When the Warrior Chief of the wild woods sprung
On the Desert's coal-black steed—
Oh! fearfully then the dark skies rung
As they trump'd the awful deed!
The plumes of the eagle waved o'er his brow,
And his tomahawk glistened bright,
And his bended bow and his arrows now
Were ready for the fight;
The scalping-knife hung at his wampum belt
And his mantle loosely flowed—
Oh! who may tell what the Warrior felt
As thus with the winds he rode?
And his tomahawk glistened bright,
And his bended bow and his arrows now
Were ready for the fight;
The scalping-knife hung at his wampum belt
And his mantle loosely flowed—
Oh! who may tell what the Warrior felt
As thus with the winds he rode?
On, on to the desert!—Hegon's eye
'Mid the gloom like a meteor burned,
When the furnace fire of the midnight sky
To cavern darkness turned,
And his warwhoop pealed through the pathless wood
As he hurried madly on;
And the wild horse dashed through marsh and flood—
Oh! where hath the Chieftain gone?
'Mid the gloom like a meteor burned,
When the furnace fire of the midnight sky
To cavern darkness turned,
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As he hurried madly on;
And the wild horse dashed through marsh and flood—
Oh! where hath the Chieftain gone?
Hark!—'t is the shout of the Indian band
That rises loud behind;
And the Warrior lifts his blood-red hand,
And hurries with the wind
Through the haunted glen and the trampled dell,
And the woodland plain of gore,
Where his Huron foes in the battle fell
A thousand years before.
That rises loud behind;
And the Warrior lifts his blood-red hand,
And hurries with the wind
Through the haunted glen and the trampled dell,
And the woodland plain of gore,
Where his Huron foes in the battle fell
A thousand years before.
And he vanisheth by the hallowed vale
Where his fathers' sepulchres lay,
And a thousand ghosts with whoop and wail
Do hurry him on his way,
While the lightnings flare and the thunders break,
And the dark gale howls along—
Yet the Chieftain's heart it doth not quake,
But he bears him high and strong.
Where his fathers' sepulchres lay,
And a thousand ghosts with whoop and wail
Do hurry him on his way,
While the lightnings flare and the thunders break,
And the dark gale howls along—
Yet the Chieftain's heart it doth not quake,
But he bears him high and strong.
On, on to the desert!—wildly bend
The moaning woods around,
And the thick ravines of the mountains send
A hollow deathlike sound;
And the beasts of the forest howl and cry
For the heart of the Indian Chief,
But the Sagamore hurries quickly by
As the hurricane bears the leaf.
The moaning woods around,
And the thick ravines of the mountains send
A hollow deathlike sound;
And the beasts of the forest howl and cry
For the heart of the Indian Chief,
But the Sagamore hurries quickly by
As the hurricane bears the leaf.
On the wild steed's back he stands upright,
And his warwhoop shrieks afar,
And he draws his bow with a monarch's might
At a light like a distant star;
And a wail arose in the morning there,
For an innocent child was dead,
And the arrow hung in its bosom fair—
But where had the murderer fled?
And his warwhoop shrieks afar,
And he draws his bow with a monarch's might
At a light like a distant star;
And a wail arose in the morning there,
For an innocent child was dead,
And the arrow hung in its bosom fair—
But where had the murderer fled?
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On the horse of the desert Hegon stood,
And the trees shrunk back as he passed,
While the black steed's hoofs through the lonely wood
Crashed louder than the blast;
And the serpent, coiled in his venom fold,
Sprang vainly from his den,
For far away over wood and wold,
The horse rushed through the glen.
And the trees shrunk back as he passed,
While the black steed's hoofs through the lonely wood
Crashed louder than the blast;
And the serpent, coiled in his venom fold,
Sprang vainly from his den,
For far away over wood and wold,
The horse rushed through the glen.
And a thousand men had vainly striven
To stay that wild career—
With the arrowy bolts of the midnight heaven
Rode Hegon, void of fear;
And his tomahawk struck on the forest trees,
As he passed with terror by,
And the wildwood fell—and the morning breeze
Shook the sear leaves o'er the sky.
To stay that wild career—
With the arrowy bolts of the midnight heaven
Rode Hegon, void of fear;
And his tomahawk struck on the forest trees,
As he passed with terror by,
And the wildwood fell—and the morning breeze
Shook the sear leaves o'er the sky.
Thus the Prophet Chief in his terrors passed
To the hunting ground of souls,
'Mid the lightning's glare and the tempest's blast,
Where, from their secret holes,
The moose and the deer start up and scud
Before the hunter's bow,
While his arrow drinks their red, red blood—
This Kichtan doth bestow.
To the hunting ground of souls,
'Mid the lightning's glare and the tempest's blast,
Where, from their secret holes,
The moose and the deer start up and scud
Before the hunter's bow,
While his arrow drinks their red, red blood—
This Kichtan doth bestow.
Thus Hegon passed in his war array,
On the coalblack steed of Death,
To the Land of Souls, where the warm clear day
Is Areouski's breath,—
And far in the northern wood, at night,
The Oneida poets tell
How Hegon rode in his warrior might,
Where only warriors dwell.
On the coalblack steed of Death,
To the Land of Souls, where the warm clear day
Is Areouski's breath,—
And far in the northern wood, at night,
The Oneida poets tell
How Hegon rode in his warrior might,
Where only warriors dwell.
| The poems and prose writings of Sumner Lincoln Fairfield | |