 | The poetical works of William H. C. Hosmer |  |
RAINBOW SPIRITS.
(A LEGEND OF SILVER LAKE.)
Shakespeare.
Lovely to sight in calm and storm,
Washing the feet of misty hills,
Whose sides, all ribbed with rocky bones,
Send forth a thousand crystal rills
Filling air with slumberous tones:
Their foreheads, crowned with evergreen,
Are mirrored in the wave below,
And near the reedy marge are seen,
When cometh June of radiant mien,
Water-lilies with cups of snow.
Many are lakes in the Seneca land
Of azure breast, and glittering strand,
That picture cloud and mountain well,
But fairest of the cluster bright,
By day, and in the starry night
Is the lake where rainbow spirits dwell.
An Indian town ere the white man came,
But demons issued from the wood,
And gave its lodges to the flame,
When not an arm to guard was near,
And chieftain and hunters were chasing deer:
Knife-pierced, the heart of childhood bled,
And robbed of scalp was the hoary head;
Sharp hatchet clove the mother's brain,
And the summer dust drank crimson rain.
Of raven tress, and voice more sweet
Than song of black bird in the brake
When heard was the rush of hostile feet,
And yells that sent a fearful thrill
To her lover's heart on the distant hill?
She was bending over a hillock low
That marked her mother's place of rest,
And the swelling turf was newly drest
With flowers that symbolized her woe.
Upstarting at the horrid sound
Con-yok-way-oo looked wildly round—
To earth, by spell of terror chained,
One instant motionless remained,
Then, light of foot, away she sprung,
Like a frighted doe when the hound gives tongue.
Her cedar-ribbed canoe lay moored
In a basin fringed with the water willow—
And losing there its snow-white crown,
Though high the gale, sinks gently down
With murmur soft the billow.
Her course the maiden thither laid
Unloosed the bark, and pushed from land;
Long line of flashing foam it made,
So well she plied the paddle-blade,
Receding from the strand.
The spirit of her mother dear,
Whispered a warning in her ear,
When magical tints of darker blue
Told that the water deeper grew—
“Betrothed one of Chu-gah-gos speed!
Like flying gull the lakelet over,
To help thee, in thine hour of need,
Waits on the shore thy dauntless lover.”
And in swift pursuit a birchen bark
Cut with sharp prow the billow white
While heaven as if to veil the sight,
In that dread hour grew dark:
The wind, with a sudden howl, awoke,
And on the beach in thunder broke
The heavy, laboring wave;
The Cloud-King strung his sable bow,
And fiery shafts on the flood below,
Hissed as they found a grave—
When snarling wolf is on the track,
The hunted fawn looks trembling back,
Then onward flies with wilder spring—
And Con-yok-way-oo pursuer eyed,
And with quicker stroke the paddle plied,
For a fiend was following.
Su-ah-dis the bloody—Su-ah-dis the base,
Black, gliding snake of the Chippewa race,
Was daring the perils of lightning and wave,
To capture the bride of Chu-gah-gos the brave.
On Silver Lake in all its strength;
Rain-drops danced on the lengthened swells,
And made a tinkling sound like bells;
A blacker bow the Cloud King bent,
And swifter, redder arrows sent,
While the voice of Ou-wee-ne-you made
The wild beast in his lair afraid.
Though the fleeing maiden governed still
Her little craft with wondrous skill,
Bark that pursuing savage bore,
Fast gaining in the desperate race,
Beheld Chu-gah-gos from the shore,
And cover from his gun he tore,
But darkness in that moment dread,
The face of the waters overspread,
And blinded the hunter's aim—
Then, followed by an awful roar,
From the firmament-wall did downward pour
A sheet of lurid flame:—
It gave the lake a strange attire,
Wrapping each wave in a mantle of fire.
And the curtain of darkness was updrawn,
The chief looked out upon the lake—
Pursuer and pursued were gone:
The sun beamed kindly forth again,
And kindling up large drops of rain
That on each balmy leaflet hung,
The forest, with its columns tall,
Round which the grape and woodbine clung,
Changed to a green, enchanted hall
O'erspangled with a roof of gems,
Meet for celestial diadems,
Could they have hardened, and the light
Forever drank that made them bright.
Chu-gah-gos grasped with trembling hand;
And steered for the spot where last descried,
Through the blinding storm, was his beauteous bride.
Describing curve of matchless grace,
The scene bright Us-tu-an-da cheered,
And marked with radiant foot the place
Where the Seneca maiden disappeared.
With awe the youthful chief drew nigh—
He called—and a voice made low reply—
“Mourn for Con-yok-way-oo no more,
The joys and sorrows of time are o'er,
To reach happy isles on this tinted arch,
I am under obligations to D. S. Curtis, Esq., of Perry, Wyoming Co., for the following version of this legend:
For several pleasing characteristics, there are, perhaps, none among all the beautiful lakes of western New York, that surpass, if they equal, the one which mirrors forth the ever varying features of the heavens near our happy village—our own Silver Lake— emblem of the Christian's joy in humility; for, as he bows to its surface, his natural vision sees minutely the bright heavens above him; so by the eye of Faith the disciple of Jesus, as he meekly bends to the boundless streams of his Grace, discerns the unfading glories of the Heaven of Heavens. The crystal waters of this lake are deep and cool, abounding with a variety of sparkling fish; and surrounded by a fertile, elevated, and undulating surface of land which amply returns to the husbandman rich stores of nutritious products, to compensate his labor and expenditure. One peculiar feature in the conformation that bounds this lake, is, that its head and foot—inlet and outlet—are nearly at the same point, bending round in a crescent, with the convex side facing the sheet which pushes itself back three or four miles between the hills that confine it.
We learned from our ancestors a strange and thrilling, but romantic legend connected with this location, gathered by them from the natives; of which we briefly give the leading incidents below, leaving it for the poetic and imaginative to clothe and breathe it forth in such strains as it may inspire. It is well known that the Senecas once inhabited the heavy forests that skirt the borders of this lake; here were their hunting grounds; here by the rush-fringed beach they enjoyed their social festivities, and in sincerity and simplicity worshipped the Great Spirit, as the lightning gleams of his eye were sent back in broken flashes from its storm-lashed waters, or his voice of thunder made its placid surface tremble. But to the “Rainbow Legend:” A hostile band, when the chief and his braves were engaged in the hunt, stole upon their defenceless village, left in possession of old men, women, and children. Such as were not speedily destroyed sought escape in their canoes. Among them was the betrothed one of the chief. She was a prize to strive for, and escaped not the keen eye of the hostile leader.
Regardless of others, he wrested a paddle and canoe from a trembling gray head just launching for flight, and pursued the fugitive. The chase was desperate, the crack of a rifle reached her returning lover's ear, who saw from the opposite shore the peril of one who “was dearer than life to him.” Quick as thought his gun is at his cheek, but the lightning blinded his sight—the gathering storm is now breaking over them. A mightier avenger looks down in his wrath; the storm-god did his work. When the sun again beamed forth, the young chief launched his canoe, and steered for the spot where the maiden and her pursuer were last seen. Us-tu-an-da (the Rainbow) spans the canopy, and plants one foot on the fatal spot. In fancy, he sees the disembodied spirit of the drowned maiden in the brilliant hues of the tinted arch. Since the events here related the Rainbow has been deemed by the untutored Seneca, as the highway of the just to happy hunting-grounds. He believes that its bright colors are the happy souls of innocent and chaste females basking in sunshine, as they dance to and fro between this and the other world; and if the young warrior may but see this token during the first moon of his love-making, he feels assured that success will crown his wishes. Females, dying before marriage, if uncorrupted, are called “Su-qu-a-tuan-da” (Daughters of the Rainbow). In conversation with the late Captain Jones, he informed me that the Senecas combine, frequently, two or three words to constitute the name of an object—thus: “Su-gu-aw-uc (daughter), Us-tu-an-da (rainbow),—Su-qu-a-tuan-da (Daughter of the Rainbow).
And shifting hues, that point the way,
Are souls between heaven and earth that play:—
Mourn not!—to a cloudless clime I go,
And my pathway is this beauteous bow
That caught me up in its glittering fold
When burning shroud for my foe was unrolled.”
But music came on the wafting breeze,
And Chu-gah-gos deemed it the last adieu
Of his loved one, and lost one—Con-yok-way-oo.
| The poetical works of William H. C. Hosmer | |