University of Virginia Library

Dawn breaking. Thro' his dew-veil smiles the sun,
And under him doth run
On the green grass and in the forest brake
Bright beast and speckled snake;
Birds on the bough and insects in the ray
Gladden; and it is day.

What is this lying on the thymy steep,
Where yellow bees hum deep,
And the rich air is warm as living breath?
What soft shape slumbereth
Naked and dark, and glows in a green nest,
Low-breathing in bright rest?
Is it the spotted panther, lying there
Lissome and light and fair?
Is it the snake, with glittering skin coil'd round
And gleaming on the ground?
Is it some wondrous bird whose eyrie lies
Between the earth and skies?
'Tis none of these, but something stranger far—
Strange as a fallen star!
A mortal birth, a marvel heavenly-eyed,
With dark pink breast and side!
And as she lies the wild deer comes most meek
To smell her scented cheek,
And creeps away; the yeanling ounce lies near,
And watches with no fear;
The serpent rustles past, with touch as light
As rose-leaves, rippling bright
Into the grass beyond; while yonder, on high,
A black speck in the sky,
The crested eagle hovers, with sharp sight
Facing the flood of light.

What living shape is this who sleeping lies
Watch'd by all wondering eyes
Of beast and speckled snake and flying bird?
Softly she sleeps, unstirr'd
By wind or sun; and since she first fell there
Her raven locks of hair
Have loosen'd, shaken round her in a shower,
Whence, like a poppy flower
With dark leaves and a tongue to brightness tipt,
She lies vermilion-lipt.
Bare to the waist, her head upon her arm,
Coil'd on a couch most warm
Of balsam and of hemlock, whose soft scent
With her warm breath is blent.
Around her brow a circlet of pure gold,
With antique letters scroll'd,
Burns in the sun-ray, and with gold also
Her wrists and ankles glow.
Around her neck the threaded wild cat's teeth
Hang white as pearl; beneath
Her bosoms heave, and in the space between,
Duskly tattoo'd, is seen
A figure small as of a pine-bark brand
Held blazing in a hand.
Her skirt of azure, wrought with braid and thread
In quaint signs yellow and red,
Scarce reaches to her dark and dimpled knee,
Leaving it bare and free.
Below, mocassins red as blood are wound,
With gold and purple bound;—
So that red-footed like the stork she lies,
With softly shrouded eyes,
Whose brightness seems with heavy lustrous dew
To pierce the dark lids thro'.
Her eyelids closed, her poppied lips apart,
And her quick eager heart
Stirring her warm frame, as a bird unseen
Stirs the warm lilac-sheen,
She slumbers,—and of all beneath the skies
Seemeth the last to rise.

She stirs—she wakens—now, O birds, sing loud
Under the golden cloud!
She stirs—she wakens—now, O wild beast, spring,
Blooms grow, breeze blow, birds sing!
She wakens in her nest and looks around,
And listens to the sound;
Her eyelids blink against the heavens' bright beam,
Still dim and dark with dream,
Her breathing quickens, and her cheek gleams red,
And round her shining head
Glossy her black hair glistens. Now she stands,
And with her little hands
Shades her soft orbs and upward at the sky
She gazeth quietly;
Then at one bound springs with a sudden song
The forest-track along.

Thro' the transparent roof of twining leaves,
Where the deep sunlight weaves
Threads like a spider's-web of silvern white,
Faint falls the dreamy light
Down the gray bolls and boughs that intervene,
On to the carpet green
Prinkt with all wondrous flowers, on emerald brakes
Where the still speckled snakes
Crawl shaded; and above the shaded ground,
Amid the deep-sea sound
Of the high branches, bright birds scream and fly
And chattering parrots cry;
And everywhere beneath them in the bowers
Float things like living flowers,
Hovering and settling; and here and there
The blue gleams deep and fair
Thro' the high parted boughs, while serpent-bright
Slips thro' the golden light,
Startling the cool deep shades that brood around,
And floating to the ground,
With multitudinous living motes at play
Like dust in the rich ray.

Hither for shelter from the burning sun
Hath stolen the beauteous one,
And thro' the ferns and flowers she runs, and plucks
Berries blue-black, and sucks
The fallen orange. Where the sunbeams blink
She lieth down to drink
Out of the deep pool, and her image sweet
Floats dim below her feet,
Up-peering thro' the lilies yellow and white
And green leaves where the bright
Great Dragon-fly doth pause. With burning breath
She looks and gladdeneth.
She holds her hands, the shape holds out hands too;
She stoops more near to view,
And it too stoopeth looking wild and sly;
Whereat, with merry cry,
She staretth up, and fluttering onward flies
With gladness in her eyes.

But who is this who all alone lies deep
In heavy-lidded sleep?
A dark smile hovering on his bearded lips,
His hunter's gun he grips,
And snores aloud where snakes and lizards run,
His mighty limbs i' the sun
And his fair face within the shadow. See!
His breath comes heavily
Like one's tired out with toil; and when in fear
The Indian maid comes near,
And bendeth over him most wondering,
The bright birds scream and sing,
The motes are madder in the ray, the snake
Glides luminous in the brake,
The sunlight flashes fiery overhead,
The wood-cat with eyes red
Crawleth close by, with her lithe crimson tongue
Licking her clumsy young,
And, deep within the open prairie nigh,
Hawks swoop and struck birds cry!

Dark maiden, what is he thou lookest on?
O ask not, but begone!
Go! for his eyes are blue, his skin is white,
And giant-like his height.
To him thou wouldst appear a tiny thing,
Some small bird on the wing,
Some small deer to be kill'd ere it could fly,
Or to be tamed, and die!—
O look not, look not, in the hunter's face,
Thou maid of the red race,
He is a tame thing, thou art weak and wild,
Thou lovely forest-child!
How should the deer by the great deerhound walk,
The wood-dove seek the hawk?—
Away! away! lest he should wake from rest,
Fly, sun-bird, to thy nest!
Why doth she start, and backward softly creep?
He stirreth in his sleep—
Why doth she steal away with wondering eyes?
He stretches limbs, and sighs.
Peace! she hath fled—and he is all alone,
While, with a yawn and groan,
The man sits up, rubs eyelids, grips his gun,
Stares heavenward at the sun,
And cries aloud, stretching himself anew:
‘Broad day,—by all that's blue!’