 | The poetical works of William H. C. Hosmer |  |
184
THE GLEN OF GHOSTS.
“Where hath not woman stood
Strong in affection's might.”
Strong in affection's might.”
Near the roadside yawns a dismal glen,
Where the wolf of yore found a brambly den;
The fissured rocks rise, ledge on ledge,
And a stream leaps over the precipice-edge
That makes, while melting in wreaths of snow,
A heavy and churning sound below.
Where the wolf of yore found a brambly den;
The fissured rocks rise, ledge on ledge,
And a stream leaps over the precipice-edge
That makes, while melting in wreaths of snow,
A heavy and churning sound below.
A leaning pine, whose rugged cone
Is the forest eagle's ancient throne—
Old birchen trees that drink the spray,
Encased in bark that is ghostly and gray,
And the hemlock's cloak of sombre green
Comport with the quiet of the scene.
Is the forest eagle's ancient throne—
Old birchen trees that drink the spray,
Encased in bark that is ghostly and gray,
And the hemlock's cloak of sombre green
Comport with the quiet of the scene.
It is a wild, a fearful spot,
And the sinless birds they love it not;
From its dark abyss unclouded day
Drives never the shades of night away,
And dungeon low, and cavern'd tomb
Have less of deep, mysterious gloom.
And the sinless birds they love it not;
From its dark abyss unclouded day
Drives never the shades of night away,
And dungeon low, and cavern'd tomb
Have less of deep, mysterious gloom.
An old companion in the chase,
A belted son of that red-browed race
Who ranged, a few, brief years ago,
This realm with feathered shaft and bow,
Near the “Glen of Ghosts,” with shudder cold,
To me the tale that follows told.
A belted son of that red-browed race
Who ranged, a few, brief years ago,
This realm with feathered shaft and bow,
Near the “Glen of Ghosts,” with shudder cold,
To me the tale that follows told.
185
“Ere felled by axe was forest tree
On flowery banks of the Genesee,
Or plough, by cunning white man made,
Tore the green carpet of the glade,
Shemokun, bravest of the brave,
Law to a mighty people gave.
On flowery banks of the Genesee,
Or plough, by cunning white man made,
Tore the green carpet of the glade,
Shemokun, bravest of the brave,
Law to a mighty people gave.
“In the chill moon of the falling leaf,
Declined the health of the mighty chief;
His stately form grew thin and weak,
Vanished the war-paint from his cheek—
Untrimm'd he wore his scalp-lock gray,
And waned the strength of his soul away.
Declined the health of the mighty chief;
His stately form grew thin and weak,
Vanished the war-paint from his cheek—
Untrimm'd he wore his scalp-lock gray,
And waned the strength of his soul away.
“Wise elders of the tribe, in vain,
Sought moon-lit herbs on hill and plain,
To thrill with energy once more
The flagging pulse of the sagamore;
And idly tried low-mutter'd charm
The sluggish blood in his veins to warm.
Sought moon-lit herbs on hill and plain,
To thrill with energy once more
The flagging pulse of the sagamore;
And idly tried low-mutter'd charm
The sluggish blood in his veins to warm.
“It chanced that from a dream one night
The sufferer woke in wild affright,
While, by his couch of panther-skin,
Kept watch the man of medicine,
And, with a loud, entreating tone,
Pronounced the name of Wah-non-ti-góne.
This legend was written to illustrate an Indian superstition in reference to dreams. They think that the sick are often bewitched by those whose names they mention in their troubled slumbers. “They believe, also, that some persons have the power of injuring others at a distance of many hundred miles, by charms and spells; this belief in witchcraft is constantly noticed by Tanner and others, who have resided long among them, and it seems to have been especially prevalent among the Oggibeways, and other northern tribes.”
The sufferer woke in wild affright,
While, by his couch of panther-skin,
Kept watch the man of medicine,
And, with a loud, entreating tone,
Pronounced the name of Wah-non-ti-góne.
“Next morn, throughout the village spread,
From lodge to lodge the tidings dread,
That lurking wizard's hellish art
Had withered Shemòkun's arm and heart;
And crested brave, and tottering sire
Convened to light the council-fire.
From lodge to lodge the tidings dread,
That lurking wizard's hellish art
Had withered Shemòkun's arm and heart;
And crested brave, and tottering sire
Convened to light the council-fire.
“When pipe had passed the ring around,
Rose from his mat a sage renowned,
And Wah-non-ti-góne against him heard
The charge of witchcraft foul preferr'd,
His bold accusers then defied
In the fierce tones of scorn and pride.
Rose from his mat a sage renowned,
And Wah-non-ti-góne against him heard
The charge of witchcraft foul preferr'd,
186
In the fierce tones of scorn and pride.
“They doomed the warrior to die,
Ere sunset flushed the western sky;
And, binding each athletic limb,
In the Lodge of Judgment prisoned him,
While stake was drest, and brush up-piled
Beneath the dim, o'er-arching wild.
Ere sunset flushed the western sky;
And, binding each athletic limb,
In the Lodge of Judgment prisoned him,
While stake was drest, and brush up-piled
Beneath the dim, o'er-arching wild.
“Wah-non-ti-góne had proved his right
To the war-bird's plume in many a fight,
But woke a haunting wish for life
When he thought of his newly-wedded wife,
Whose dark eye, with affection bright,
His wigwam made a place of light
To the war-bird's plume in many a fight,
But woke a haunting wish for life
When he thought of his newly-wedded wife,
Whose dark eye, with affection bright,
His wigwam made a place of light
“Not long in musing sad and lone,
All pinioned, lay Wah-non-ti-góne,
When a foot drew near with muffled fall,
And cranny wide in his prison wall
Revealed the face of his ‘Summer Flower’
True to her mate in the perilous hour.
All pinioned, lay Wah-non-ti-góne,
When a foot drew near with muffled fall,
And cranny wide in his prison wall
Revealed the face of his ‘Summer Flower’
True to her mate in the perilous hour.
“By sentry at the door unseen
Her arm she thrust the logs between,
And severed with keen knife the cord
That fetter'd the limbs of her forest lord—
An earnest, meaning gesture made,
And placed in his hand the trusty blade.
Her arm she thrust the logs between,
And severed with keen knife the cord
That fetter'd the limbs of her forest lord—
An earnest, meaning gesture made,
The red man is well skilled in the language of signs. Intelligence of approaching, or apprehended danger, or of the successful, or adverse result of an enterprise, is often given by mute, expressive gestures. Even the character of a nation against whom they march to battle is thus significantly represented:—The Sioux are designated by passing the hand across the throat as if cutting it. The sign for “all right!” is made by holding the palm downwards in a horizontal position, and waving it slowly outwards.
And placed in his hand the trusty blade.
“One bound—one well-directed thrust,
And rolled the luckless guard in dust!
Then brandishing his weapon red
Wah-non-ti-góne with Oonah fled,
While cries of fierce pursuit arose,
And arrows whizzed from a thousand bows.
And rolled the luckless guard in dust!
Then brandishing his weapon red
Wah-non-ti-góne with Oonah fled,
While cries of fierce pursuit arose,
And arrows whizzed from a thousand bows.
“‘Thy Summer Flower her light canoe
In the Great Bend hath hid from view,
And swan-like it will breast the tide,’
Outspoke his young, and dauntless bride,
‘While the lifted oars drop silvery rain,
And demons howl for our blood in vain.’
In the Great Bend hath hid from view,
187
Outspoke his young, and dauntless bride,
‘While the lifted oars drop silvery rain,
And demons howl for our blood in vain.’
“Unharmed the fugitives soon reached
Its pebbly marge by the billow bleached,
And Oonah swiftly led the way
To willow'd nook, in a quiet bay,
Where she moored her back ere blush of dawn—
‘Oh fell mischance’—she shrieked—‘'tis gone!’
Its pebbly marge by the billow bleached,
And Oonah swiftly led the way
To willow'd nook, in a quiet bay,
Where she moored her back ere blush of dawn—
‘Oh fell mischance’—she shrieked—‘'tis gone!’
“One moment brief the luckless pair
Felt the drear heart-ache of despair,
While louder on the rushing breeze
Rose the shrill whoop of enemies—
Wildly the scene around surveyed,
And cover sought in thickest shade.
Felt the drear heart-ache of despair,
While louder on the rushing breeze
Rose the shrill whoop of enemies—
Wildly the scene around surveyed,
And cover sought in thickest shade.
“When near the brink of a wooded dell
Known to the hunted warrior well,
The foot of Oonah flagged in speed,
And trembled her frame like a wind swept reed—
‘Leave me, Wah-non-ti-góne,’ she cried,
‘The Master of Life will watch over thy bride!’
Known to the hunted warrior well,
The foot of Oonah flagged in speed,
And trembled her frame like a wind swept reed—
‘Leave me, Wah-non-ti-góne,’ she cried,
‘The Master of Life will watch over thy bride!’
“To make response the chieftain turned,
And foemen nigh at hand discerned;
In vain he interposed his form,
His bride to shield from the battle-storm:
Both fell to earth—their faithful hearts
Pierced by a volley of feathered darts.
And foemen nigh at hand discerned;
In vain he interposed his form,
His bride to shield from the battle-storm:
Both fell to earth—their faithful hearts
Pierced by a volley of feathered darts.
“In the glen a shallow grave was made,
And together, there, were the lovers laid;
Thenceforth it was a haunted place,
And shunn'd by tribes of the forest race,
When the fires of day forsook the west,
And in darker robe the woods were dressed.”
And together, there, were the lovers laid;
Thenceforth it was a haunted place,
And shunn'd by tribes of the forest race,
When the fires of day forsook the west,
And in darker robe the woods were dressed.”
| The poetical works of William H. C. Hosmer | |