Ouâbi : or the virtues of nature | ||
OUÂBI:
OR THE VIRTUES OF NATURE.
AN INDIAN TALE. IN FOUR CANTOS.
BY PHILENIA, a Lady of Boston.
Spenser's Faerie Queene
TO THE Hon. JAMES BOWDOIN, Esq. L. L. D. F. R. S. PRESIDENT of the American Academy of Arts and Sciences, and late GOVERNOR of the Commonwealth of MASSACHUSETTS.
SIR,
THE veneration, which your literary and public character demands, and the esteem, which your private and domestic virtues universally receive, are a sufficient apology for the freedom, I now take in laying the following production, which is wholly American, at your feet; convinced, while from your judgment and taste I have much to apprehend, from your candor and benevolence I have every thing to hope.
I have the honor to be, with every sentiment of respect and esteem.
[_]
AS the Dedication was accepted, and approved, by the respectable
character, to whom it was addressed, and in the press, previous to the
unfortunate event, which deprived science and mankind of that ornament
to both, the author is induced, rather from a sentiment of propriety
than vanity, to insert the following Note, the last effort of a mind,
the faculties of which were never impaired.
“Mr. Bowdoin this morning had the pleasure of receiving Mrs.
---'s very polite billet, accompanied with a manuscript Poem,
entitled, “The Virtues of Nature.”
“Her intention of dedicating it to him does him great honor, and
as such he shall accept it, as coming from the well-directed pen of
the ingenious Philenia.
“In the Dedication, which he wishes as justly applied, as it is well
written, he begs leave to reverse one sentiment, that the volume
will be so far from needing the candor and benevolence of the
reader to recommend it, that it will stand the test of the most critical
judgment and taste.
“The volume would be enlarged by that Lady's adding to it from
her budget of poetry, such a number of pieces, as would make it
respectable, not only for the matter, but for its size.
“Mr. Bowdoin would propose that the manuscript should remain
where it is, for a day or two, to give Mrs. Bowdoin and
her daughter, Lady Temple, an opportunity of reading it. In
the mean time he begs leave to salute the amiable Philenia with
his best and most respectful compliments.
“In room of Philenia, he thinks it would be best the real name
of the fair author should be substituted.”
Boston, October 16th, 1790.
INTRODUCTION.
AS the Dedication was accepted, and approved, by the respectable character, to whom it was addressed, and in the press, previous to the unfortunate event, which deprived science and mankind of that ornament to both, the author is induced, rather from a sentiment of propriety than vanity, to insert the following Note, the last effort of a mind, the faculties of which were never impaired.
“Mr. Bowdoin this morning had the pleasure of receiving Mrs. ---'s very polite billet, accompanied with a manuscript Poem, entitled, “The Virtues of Nature.”
“Her intention of dedicating it to him does him great honor, and as such he shall accept it, as coming from the well-directed pen of the ingenious Philenia.
“In the Dedication, which he wishes as justly applied, as it is well written, he begs leave to reverse one sentiment, that the volume will be so far from needing the candor and benevolence of the reader to recommend it, that it will stand the test of the most critical judgment and taste.
“The volume would be enlarged by that Lady's adding to it from her budget of poetry, such a number of pieces, as would make it respectable, not only for the matter, but for its size.
“Mr. Bowdoin would propose that the manuscript should remain where it is, for a day or two, to give Mrs. Bowdoin and her daughter, Lady Temple, an opportunity of reading it. In the mean time he begs leave to salute the amiable Philenia with his best and most respectful compliments.
“In room of Philenia, he thinks it would be best the real name of the fair author should be substituted.”
Boston, October 16th, 1790.From an idea of being original in my subject, I was induced to undertake the following Tale. The manners and customs of the Aborigines of North America are so limited and simple, that they have scarcely engaged the attention either of the Philosopher or the Poet. Acquainted with some of their interesting ceremonies from tradition, I became desirous of gaining further intelligence, and gratefully acknowledge myself indebted to the obliging communications of General Lincoln, for most of the local rites and customs alluded to, where I have not quoted any other authority. The opportunity his public commission, in the late negociations between the United States and the Southern Indians, has afforded him to acquire the best information, added to the respectability of his character, will render his authority unquestioned.
As my principal design in attempting the Poem was to amuse my retired hours, and to gratify a few amiable friends, it is alone in compliance with the solicitations of those friends, that I have been prevailed upon to expose it to the public eye; but I am led to presume that, deficient as the Poetry really is, it will convey some information, from the collection of many particulars which are not generally known.
The grades of human nature, and the various propensities and avocations of mankind, in their different states and societies, must always be greatly interesting to the view of the philosopher; and even the most trifling production may become useful, if it serves to throw light on so important a subject.
It may perhaps be objected, that I have given my favourite Ouâbi, a degree of insensibility, with respect to the love of Celario, incompatible with the greatness and superiority of his character: To this I reply, that the mind, unpracticed in deception, can never be capable of suspicion; and that not having known the European vices, he could have no idea of their existence.
It may also be imagined, that, considering the exalted virtue and resolution of Azâkia, which could lead her even to death for the man, to whom she was contracted, her ready compliance with the proposition of Ouâbi, and the joy she evinces on that occasion, form an unpardonable contradiction; but it must be remembered, that from the customs and laws of every country its manners and morals are derived. Azâkia, bound to her husband by every tie, would not deceive him; but when he expressed a wish to resign her, she could have no idea of his insincerity; so much is truth the characteristic of a state of nature: It then became a duty, a virtue, to pursue the first wish of her heart.
I am aware it may be considered improbable, that an amiable and polished European should attach himself to the persons and manners of an uncivilized people; but there is now a living instance of a like propensity. A gentleman of fortune, born in America, and educated in all the refinements and luxuries of Great Britain, has lately attached himself to a female savage, in whom he finds every charm I have given my Azâkia; and in consequence of his inclination, has relinquished his own country and connections, incorporated himself into the society, and adopted the manners of the virtuous, though uncultivated Indian.
Many of the outlines of the Fable are taken from a prose story in Mr. Carey's entertaining and instructing Museum; but as the opening scene of that narrative was rather deficient in decency, and the conclusion, in my opinion, very little interesting, I have entirely changed it in those respects, and have introduced a variety of customs, the description of battles, and many other circumstances, which appeared essential to poetry, and necessary to the plot; still I acknowledge myself indebted to that production for many of the events, and for the names of the characters.
Should any be induced to think that I have given too many perfections to a rude uncultivated savage, let them read the following
“They are great concealers of their own resentment, but in liberality they excel; nothing is too good for their friend. Their government is by kings; every king has his council, and that consists of all the old and wise men of his nation; nothing of moment is undertaken without advising with them, and what is more, with the young men too. It is admirable to consider how powerful their kings are, and yet how they move by the breath of the people. I have
CANTO I.
Where soft luxuriance spreads her silken arms,
Where gairish fancy leads the soul astray,
And languid nature mourns her slighted charms:
Which lends my simple muse her artless theme;
But the black forest and uncultur'd vale,
The savage warrior, and the lonely stream.
With slope impetuous to the surgy main,
The desert's painted chiefs explore the wood,
Or with the thund'ring war-whoop shake the plain.
Or in the stream their active bodies lave,
Or midst the flames their fearless songs begin —
Pain has no terrors to the truly brave.
In hopeless exile mourn'd the tedious day;
Now wand'ring slowly o'er the oozy coast,
Now thro the wild woods urg'd his anxious way.
A piercing shriek assail'd his wounded ear;
Swift as the winged arrow speeds its flight,
He seeks the piteous harbinger of fear.
While round his knees a beauteous captive clung,
Striving to move him with her matchless form,
Or charm him by the magic of her tongue.
Quick from his vest the deathful tube he drew;
Its leaden vengeance thunder'd o'er the green,
While from the savage hand the ling'ring hatchet flew.
Still the soft captive sickens with alarms,
Calls on OUÂBI's name with streaming eyes,
While the young victor lives upon her charms.
Her hair far blacker than the raven's wing;
Beauty had lent her form the waving line,
Her breath gave fragrance to the balmy spring.
Her flowing garment wanton'd in the breeze,
Her slender feet the glitt'ring sandals grace,
Her look was dignity, her movement ease.
Her bending waist a modest girdle bound,
Her pearly teeth outvi'd the cygnet's down—
She spoke—and music follow'd in the sound.
Missisippi, an Indian name, signifying the great father of rivers. It is subject to no tides, but from its source in the north of the American Continent flows with rapid force, till it empties itself into the Gulph of Mexico.
The American Indians, after exhausting every species of cruelty and torture upon their most distinguished prisoners, burn them by a distant fire; who expire singing songs of glory and defiance.
The sandals are ornamented either with little glistening bells, or with a great variety of shining beads and feathers.
SHE.
Great ruler of the winged hour,AZÂKIA trembles at thy pow'r;
Thy charms with lightnings pierce the soul:
Ah! how unlike our sable race,
The snowy lustre of thy face!
That hair of beaming Cynthia's hue,
Those shining eyes of heav'nly blue!
Ah! didst thou leave thy blissful land,
To save me from the murd'rer's hand!
And is Ouâbi still thy care,
The dauntless chief, unknown to fear?
It is presumed that Azâkia had never before seen an European, or heard the report of a pistol, as she considers one a deity, and the other his thunder.
HE.
Cease to call Ouâbi's name,Give Celario all his claim.
No divinity is here:
Spare thy praises, quit thy fear:
Bend no more that beauteous knee,
For I am a slave to thee:
Let my griefs thy pity move,
Heal them with the balm of love.
Far beyond the orient main,
By my rage a youth was slain;
He this daring arm defied,
By this arm the ruffian died:
Exil'd from my native home,
Thro the desert wild I roam;
But if only blest by thee,
All the desert smiles on me.
SHE.
See a graceful form arise!Now it fills my ravish'd eyes,
Brighter than the morning star,
'Tis Ouâbi, fam'd in war:
Close before my bosom spread,
O'er thy presence casts a shade,
Full on him these eyes recline,
And his person shuts out thine.
Let us to his home retire,
Where he lights the social fire:
Do not thro the desert roam,
Find with me his gen'rous home;
There the Illinois obey
Great Ouâbi's chosen sway.
The Indian women of America are very chaste after marriage, and if any person makes love to them, they answer, “The Friend that is before my eyes, prevents my seeing you.”
Celario follows o'er the wid'ning plains,
Nor dares his hopeless passion to intrude,
Where constant truth, and blest Ouâbi reigns.
High as the clouds the curling spires ascend,
While warlike youths in circling orders
And midst the green with graceful silence bend.
With step majestic thro the boundless plain;
Thus tow'rs the cedar o'er the willow-groves,
Thus shines bright Cynthia midst her starry train.
And oft repeats the fear-embellish'd tale;
How pointed lightnings pierc'd her wond'ring eyes,
While the near thunder broke the trembling gale!
Whose naked limbs the sculptor's art defied,
Whose nervous strength and graceful charms combine,
Where dignity with fleetness was allied.
His sounding bow was o'er his shoulder flung,
The hatchet, dreadful to insulting foes,
On the low branch in peaceful caution hung.
His manly arms the clasping bracelets bind,
From his broad chest the vari'd beads depend,
And all the hero tow'r'd within his mind.
Inquir'd his sorrows with benignant air,
And, kind as pity, unreserv'd as truth,
Sooth'd ev'ry grief, and proffer'd ev'ry care.
Disclos'd the warring tumults of his breast,
Low on the ground reclin'd his pensive eye,
While his persuasive voice the chief address'd.
At their councils and war-feasts they seat themselves in semicircles or half moons: the King or Sachem stands, or fixes himself in the middle, with his counsellors on each side, according to their age and rank.
See William Penn's letters to his friends in England.CELARIO.
On these far-extended plains,Truth and godlike justice reigns!
In my childhood's happy prime,
A warrior from this western clime,
Oft the fleeting day improv'd,
Talking of the home he lov'd,
All thy glowing worth imprest
On my young enamour'd breast.
Banish'd from my native shore,
Here I turn'd the ready oar.
Tir'd of scenes, where crimes beguile,
Fond of virtue's honest smile,
From perfidious vice I flee,
And devote my life to thee.
Shelter'd in thy social cot,
All the glare of wealth forgot,
Let the hatchet grace my hand,
Let me bend to thy command:
May Celario claim thy care,
Lead him thro the din of war,
Think not of his early age,
Try him midst the battle's rage.
OUÂBI.
Parent of yon rapid flood,
Strike me with the pangs of fear,
Midst the glories of the war,
If Ouâbi does not prove
All a brother's tender love;
If his body cease to be.
Still a sure defence to thee;
If his life-destroying bow
Does not seek thy treach'rous foe.
Seated round the sacred fire,
Waiting for the warrior-feast,
Let them hail thee as their guest:
Music reigns with soft control,
Sable bev'rage fires the soul.
Here yon rising orb of flame
Finds each rolling hour the same;
And the star of ev'ning glows
On each bliss, that nature knows.
Do the natives shun the chase?
Do they fear to bend the bow?
Do they dread the threat'ning foe?
Yet, if courage dwells with thee,
Join the Huron war with me.
The day before battle the sachems and warriors meet together, and with great solemnity join in the war feast.
Sable beverage, which they call the black drink, is made by a decoction of certain herbs, and is similar in appearance to coffee: It is of an exhilarating nature, is prepared by their warriors or head men, and served round at their councils and war feasts, with great solemnity and devotion. The commissioners from the United States were presented with this liquor upon their introduction.
CELARIO.
Oft the active chase they dare,Oft they join the glorious war,
'Tis at home their vices grow,
There they yield to ev'ry foe;
There unnumber'd demons reign,
Led by TERROR, GUILT and PAIN;
Rash REVENGE, with eye-balls rolling,
Hateful MALICE, always scowling,
Base DUPLICITY deceiving,
Cruel SLANDER, still believing,
Insolence to wealth allied,
Rude, unfeeling, trampling PRIDE,
Prudish ENVY'S ready sneer,
Base NEGLECT and dastard FEAR,
Jealousy with bitter sigh,
Low SUSPICION'S jaundiced eye,
Lying FRAUD, with treach'rous smile,
Hard REPROACH, and MEANNESS vile,
Affectation's sick'ning form,
Passion, always in a storm;
These are foes I leave behind,
These the TRAITORS of the mind,
Fearful as the conq'ror's pow'r.
The jetty draught exhausts the gen'rous bowl,
And the fierce dance, fit emblem of the war,
Swells the great mind, and fires the kindling soul.
The peaceful calumet succeeds the feast,
Till livid glimmerings mark the sinking fire,
And the gem'd skies proclaim the hour of rest.
The chiefs, impatient for the battle, rise;
With warlike arms their colour'd limbs adorn,
While glowing valour sparkles in their eyes.
The young Celario with the painted train,
Like white narcissus mid the tulip-bed,
Or like a swan with peacocks on the plain.
Intwin'd with beads, the tow'ring feathers grace,
No longer floating to the am'rous air,
Nor mingling with the beauties of his face.
With careless ease reclin'd his gaudy bow,
Not bright Apollo boasts so fair a form,
Such ringlets never grac'd his iv'ry brow.
No dread artill'ry guards the coward side;
But dauntless strength, and courage half divine,
Command the war, and form the conq'ror's pride.
Her godlike Hector rais'd his crimson'd arm;
Thus great Atrides led the Grecian pow'rs,
And stern Achilles spread the loud alarm.
Eager to follow when Ouâbi leads,
His feather'd arrows glance along the skies,
And many a hero, many a sachem bleeds.
Now deathful show'rs of missive darts descend,
The echoing war-whoop drowns the dying groan,
And shouts of vict'ry ev'ry bosom rend.
Flew a swift arrow where Celario stood,
Its darting vengeance pierc'd his guardless side,
And drank the living current of his blood.
O'er his fair side the drops of crimson glow,
And seem lost rubies on a wint'ry lawn,
Adding new lustre to the silv'ry snow.
No more the foe his conq'ring arm defies;
O'er the blue mountain, thro the thorny vale,
The victor follows, as the vanquish'd flies.
To the lov'd solace of his native plain,
There still regardful of the sacred fires,
Till the loud war awakes his strength again.
Celario gains the sachem's distant home,
Where mourning warriors stop the purple flood,
And for each healing plant the weedy desert roam.
Her constant aid the strength'ning food prepares,
Her plaintive voice beguiles his closing eyes,
And sooths his slumbers with unceasing prayers.
And views the contrast with enamour'd boast,
Now o'er his features bends with accents bland,
'Till ev'ry swimming sense in wonder's lost.
Pursues the gleam which charms his lonely way,
Nor, 'till destruction whelms his hapless head,
Suspects the dangers of the treach'rous ray.
While kindling hopes his doting bosom move;
Yet still Ouâbi's worth his soul inspires,
And much his virtue struggles with his love.
And his brac'd limbs the limping staff resign,
His humid lip with roseate lustre glows,
His lucid eyes with wonted brightness shine.
The dance is rather an act of devotion, than of recreation, and constitutes a part of all their public ceremonies.
See William Penn's Letters.The calumet is a highly ornamented pipe, which the Indians smoke as a type of peace and harmony on all public occasions.
Their bows are stained with a great variety of glaring colours, and otherwise ornamented. For a specimen see the Museum of the University at Cambridge.
It is a point of religion with the American Indians never to suffer their fires to go out until the close of their year, when they are totally extinguished, and others are kindled by friction of certain wood. The policy of this act of devotion is evident, as it not only indicates to their youth the necessity of their being constantly ready for war, but serves as an annual school to instruct them (in all cases of emergency) in the method of raising this necessary element into action from the objects of nature, which surround them.
The prisoners of inferior rank, taken in battle, are retained as slaves by the rights of war; and this is the only kind of slavery known amongst them.
These people are perhaps the first botanists in the world; and from their knowledge of the properties of plants, according to William Penn, have a remedy for almost every disease, to which they are subject. They have certain antidotes to all venomous bites, and it is said an infallible cure for cancers.
CANTO II.
And fades the verdant beauties of the grove;
When thirsty plants droop for the cooling show'r,
And not a leaf the sleeping zephyrs move,
Amid the stream her languid limbs to lave,
Now on the sedgy banks delights to roam,
Now her light body curls the shining wave.
Celario mourns Azâkia's long delay,
Oft at her absence drops th' empassion'd tear,
Counting the tedious moments' leaden way.
The wand'rer seeks her lov'd abode again,
Nor thinks how sad existence lingers on,
Unsooth'd by love, and worn by anxious pain.
And sees new beauties grace her modest form,
Repeats his fond complaint, his late despair,
And dwells enraptur'd on each glowing charm:
His yielding soul to desp'rate love resign'd,
Urg'd with insidious voice his daring flame,
By ev'ry art assail'd her soften'd mind.
CELARIO.
To the love-lorn traveller,
Than those eyes, where beauty warms,
Than that voice, where softness charms,
Than that bosom's gentle swell,
And those lips, where raptures dwell,
To this faithful heart of mine,
Truly, only, wholly thine.
Love and bliss inhabit here;
Here the downy willows bend,
Elms their fringed arms extend,
While the sinking sun improves
Ev'ry scene, which fancy loves.
Let thy heart my refuge be,
And my hopes repose on thee;
Grant me all those matchless charms,
Yield the heav'n within thy arms.
AZÂKIA.
When her mate has left his home?
Will the bee forsake her hive?
In the peopled wigwam thrive?
Guardless of Ouâbi's love!
While the shivers from the tree,
Which the warrior broke with me,
Straight as honor, bright as fame,
Have not felt the wasting flame!
Think of all his guardian care,
How he train'd thy steps to war;
How, when press'd by ev'ry harm,
Stretch'd his life-protecting arm;
Rais'd thee from the trembling ground,
Drew the arrow from thy wound,
Brought thee to his peaceful plain,
Cloth'd thy cheek with health again!
Must I break that gen'rous heart?
Ev'ry pang, which kills thy rest,
Then will pierce his faithful breast,
His and thine I cannot be:
Must I break his heart for thee?
The marriage contract of the North American Indians is not necessarily during life, but while the parties continue agreeable to each other. The ceremony is performed by their mutually breaking small shivers or sticks of wood in the presence of their friends, which are carefully deposited in some safe place, till they wish a separation; when with like ceremony the sticks are thrown into the sacred fires, and the marriage consequently dissolved. Mrs. Brooks observes, that the greatest obstruction to the conversion of the Canadian Indians to christianity, was their reluctance at forming marriages for life.
CELARIO.
All her constant love is mine;
Ev'ry sweet, the bee bestows,
On thy fragrant bosom grows:
May each bliss descend on thee,
Be thy griefs reserv'd for me.
Give Ouâbi all thy love;
But with thee I cannot stay,
Soon, ah! soon I must away,
Where Scioto's waters flow,
Or the fiery Chactaws glow,
Or the snowy mountains rise,
Frozen by Canadian skies:
There for refuge will I fly
From the ruin of that eye;
Yet this heart with love will glow
Mid the northern mountains' snow,
On the Chactaws' southern plain
Feel the chill of cold disdain.
AZÂKIA.
Why, ungrateful youth, ah! whyMust the poor Azâkia die!
If you leave this blissful plain,
Never shall we meet again.
Tho' to great Ouâbi true,
Yet this soul resides with you;
While the body wastes to air.
Not the golden source of light,
Not the silver queen of night,
Not the placid morning dream,
Not the tree-reflecting stream,
Ever can a charm display,
When thy heav'nly form's away.
Celario's cheek betrays the conscious glow;
But chaste Azâkia, pure from ev'ry shame,
Nor checks her tears, nor hides her blameless woe.
The faultless chief regards her quiv'ring fear,
His gentle voice repels the swelling sigh,
His fond endearment stops the rolling tear.
Struck to the soul, by secret guilt oppress'd,
In sullen silence wanders round the green,
While the soft sorrower all her grief express'd.
AZÂKIA.
Far from Azâkia's kindly eyesThe lov'd, the lost Celario flies:
For other friends desires to roam,
And scorns Ouâbi's lib'ral home!
OUÂBI.
Thou chosen brother of my breast,
What other friends can claim thy care,
For who can hold thee half so dear!
Does not the chain of friendship bind
Thy virtues with Ouâbi's mind!
And this warm heart's expanding flame,
Still kindle at Celario's name!
My faithful warriors all are thine,
And all thy treach'rous foes are mine.
Perhaps some wrong, thy soul disdains,
Disgusts thee to these hated plains;
By yon bright ruler of the skies,
The wretch, who wrong'd thee, surely dies.
Tomorrow leads me to the war;
This night we claim thee, as a guest,
To join the sacred warrior-feast.
While danger all my steps attend,
Let mild Azâkia find a friend.
CELARIO.
Native reason's piercing eye,Melting pity's tender sigh,
Changeless virtue's living flame,
Meek contentment, free from blame,
Open friendship's gen'rous care,
Ev'ry boon of life is here!
Loaths the morning's purple ray,
And the azure hour of rest
Plants a scorpion in my breast;
But I'll with thee to the war,
Only solace for my care:
Tho' I cannot heave the blow,
Yet will bend the supple bow,
Fatal to the flying foe.
OUÂBI.
Yes! and that great, undaunted mind,With equal strength and vigor join'd,
Would lead thee with regardless haste
Thro' yon illimitable waste;
But yet thy wounded body spare,
Unfit to meet the toils of war;
Unfit the ambush'd chiefs to find,
To follow swifter than the wind,
Or, if by num'rous foes subdued,
To fly within the tangling wood:
With my Azâkia then remain,
'Till her lov'd warrior comes again.
The guilty anguish of Celario's breast,
Dissuades his purpose from the coming war,
And calms his stormy passions into rest.
And leads his warriors with unequall'd grace,
Adorn'd with paint their martial bodies glow,
A firm, unconquer'd, unforgiving race.
With fearless step approach'd her pensile shore,
Whose naked limbs the varying colours stain,
Who dare the war, and scorn the conq'ror's pow'r.
Her troubled heart to ceaseless pangs resign'd;
Now to Celario's ardent love returns,
Now native virtue brightens in her mind.
Forms the resolve to guard his fatal charms,
To seek some nymph with radiant beauty blest,
To win his love, and grace his envi'd arms.
Who next herself adorn'd the peopled glade;
Like the green bud beneath the op'ning rose,
With bright Azâkia shone the rising maid.
Prevents each wish, each luxury prepares,
Dwells on his beauties with unweari'd eyes,
And lures with siren voice his froward cares.
But when was love by frigid prudence sway'd!
In the torn breast, which burning passion moves,
Can the cold law of reason be obey'd!
Her slender form, her love-exciting face,
Her gentle voice, each tremb'ling nerve inspire,
And ev'ry smile robs Zisma of a grace.
Oft rays of hope thro' dark'ning sorrows beam,
Now at her feet the subject of her will,
Now wild as loud Ontario's rushing stream.
Revenge is a principle, in which they are very careful to educate their young warriors, considering it one of their first virtues; yet this revenge is rather a deliberate sentiment of the mind, than a rash ebullition of passion; for they suppose that a man who always feels a disposition to punish injuries, will not be readily inclined to commit them.
See Wm. Penn's Letters.Azâkia is supposed to be still in extreme youth, as among the Indians the women contract marriage at the age of fourteen, and the men at seventeen.
Wm. Penn's Letters.CANTO III.
And rose resplendent from his wat'ry bed,
When vari'd tints the heav'nly arch adorn,
And o'er the meads enamell'd radiance spread,
A ghastly figure issued from the wood,
Writhing with anguish, like the wounded fawn,
Cover'd with darts, and stain'd with clotted blood.
Yet to his aid the sweet consoler flies,
On his parch'd lips the cooling draught bestows,
Binds his deep wounds, and sooths his labour'd sighs.
Oft he attempts, oft quits the fearful tale,
'Till the sad list'ner all her sorrow learns,
Whelm'd in dumb grief, with chilling terrors pale.
How the great chief approach'd the fatal plain,
Tho' nations fell beneath his nervous blow,
O'erpow'r'd by numbers sunk amidst the slain.
For the pure town in vain the vanquish'd bend,
The vengeful tomahawk, and hurtling dart,
Down to the shades the hapless heroes send.
From purple heaps, where dying sachems lay,
To seek the lov'd Azâkia's peaceful plain,
Had turn'd his sad, dark, solitary way.
Breathless and low amid the glorious dead,
No friendly hand to close the warrior's eyes,
And shield the plumy honours of his head,
He scorns his wounds, forgets the nymph he loves;
Revenge is all his swelling breast desires,
Revenge alone his furious soul approves.
The widow'd mourner courts the murd'rous dream,
Shuns the red splendor of the rising day,
The moon's pale radiance, and the shaded stream.
If death relentless lifts his ebon dart,
And tears her youthful lover from her side,
Just when hope warm'd, and pleasure fir'd the heart.
Who raise new pow'rs, and neighb'ring tribes obtain,
Along the darken'd green the host extends,
Breathing revenge, and undismay'd by pain.
He can alone their glorious chief succeed,
Who erst, beneath that matchless sachem's eyes,
Could greatly conquer, and could nobly bleed.
The youthful Zisma at her side he found,
While plung'd in grief, the victim of despair,
The lovely suff'rer press'd the turfy ground.
Of deadly Cytron's pois'nous root compos'd,
While many a tear, and many a lengthen'd groan,
The purpose of her steady soul disclos'd.
The pure or white towns are places of refuge, in which no blood is ever permitted to be spilt; even criminals are there protected.
The tomahawk is a small hatchet, with a long handle, which is thrown at the enemy with success at a great distance; it is particularly fatal in a pursuit.
It is said to have been anciently a custom among the Indians, if in the space of forty days, a woman, who had lost her husband, saw and conversed with him twice in a dream, to infer from thence, that he required her presence in the land of spirits; and nothing could dispense with her putting herself to death.
The root of the North-American cytron tree, commonly called the candle wood, produces a juice of a most deadly poison.
AZÂKIA.
And 'gainst the good the bad arise,
Withdraws its clear refulgent ray,
'Till GOODNESS gains his native throne,
And hurls the pow'r of darkness down.
Then shines the FLAMING ORB more clear,
More ardent splendors gild the year.
Thus would this sensual form control
The glory of th' immortal soul;
Would all the charms of light forego,
And chain it to the gloom of woe;
But soon th' unequal contest ends,
Soon the pure soul to bliss ascends,
While thro' the realms of endless day
Ouâbi spreads his brighten'd ray.
Envelop'd in surrounding flame,
Stretch'd his heroic arms to me,
And rais'd this loit'ring heart from thee;
If once again he greets my sight,
And calls me to the realms of light,
This killing draught will waft me o'er
The terrors of the win'try shore,
To wander midst the blissful train,
And meet the fearless chief again.
The American Indians believe, that an eclipse of the sun is occasioned by a contention between the good and evil spirit; and as light finally prevails, they suppose the good spirit is always victorious.
CELARIO.
How can the dead approach thy sight!Who guides them thro' the shades of night!
Would that bright soul its bliss resign,
To give a lasting stab to mine!
Know when the glorious chief was slain?
Perhaps, the victors' triumph made,
He mourns beneath the silent shade,
Or the flow tortures strive in vain
His great, unconquer'd ruind to gain:
This daring arm shall set him free,
Pledge but thy sacred oath to me,
By all the shining pow'rs above,
By thy Celario's constant love,
'Till great Ouâbi's fate is known,
Thou wilt not dare to touch thy own.
The foe an easy prey will be,
Now lull'd to calm security:
Surprize will seize the guardless train,
And snatch the warrior-chief from pain.
AZÂKIA.
Then by the ruler of the skies,By young Celario's heav'nly eyes,
By the soft love, those eyes express,
By all his vari'd pow'rs to bless,
His hopeless tear, impassion'd sigh,
And look of speechless sympathy,
Witness ye spirits of the dead,
That hover round this widow'd head,
The fatal bowl I will not drain,
'Till the young warrior comes again,
Or 'till to great Ouâbi's shade
The sad sepulchral rites are paid.
Swift as the falcon darting on the prey,
With the red train in eager haste proceeds,
And fires their courage, as he leads their way.
Some he directs the ambush'd path to guide,
Some with strong force to heave the sudden blow,
And some to bear the captur'd chiefs aside.
Th' invaded tribe their hasty arms regain,
In ev'ry step an instant death to find,
Or the sad prospect of a life of pain.
The helpless mother with her infant dies,
Revenge inspires his unforgiving band,
'Till all one heap of desolation lies.
With equal speed the routed foe retires,
There in the midst a tortur'd warrior lay,
Daring the fury of the raging fires.
His changeless voice the song of death had sung,
No tear of pain pollutes his steady eyes,
No cry of mercy trembles on his tongue.
These people make it a principle to spare neither the wives nor children of their enemies; but, like the patriarchs of old, endeavour to extirpate the whole race.
DEATH SONG.
What Illinois submits to PAIN!
How can the glory-darting fire
The coward chill of death inspire!
The moon midst pensive ev'ning glows,
The stars in sparkling beauty shine,
And own their FLAMING SOURCE divine.
And in the sacred flames expire;
Nor yet those Huron hands restrain;
This bosom scorns the throbs of pain.
No pangs contract this even brow;
Not all your threats excite a fear,
Not all your force can start a tear.
More glorious chiefs the hatchet raise;
Not unreveng'd their sachem dies,
Not unattended greets the skies.
His sinking limbs their wonted aid refuse,
He calls his warriors with distracted air,
Whose ready hands the suff'ring victim loose.
It is Ouâbi! greatest! first of men!
The song of death the dauntless sachem sings,
Yet clasps his lov'd Celario once agen.
Weep on his hand, or at his feet deplore;
Ah! how unlike Ouâbi's glorious form!
Now gash'd with wounds, and bath'd in streams of gore!
Subjected to the victor's hard decree,
Struck by his form, their iron bosoms yield,
They grant a life depriv'd of liberty.
Defies their rage, and scorns their threat'ning ire,
Demands the tortures, and their rending pains,
The ling'ring anguish of the tardy fire.
Just when Celario led his warrior-train,
Th' affrighted foe discard the work of blood,
And fly impetuous o'er the arid plain.
And birds of prey in prowling circles throng,
If some fierce hound approach the tainted gale,
He drives the wild relentless brood along.
Carnage and death pollute the ruin'd glade,
'Till nature's weari'd arm a respite gains,
When night pacific spreads her sable shade.
CANTO IV.
And frozen Huron chills the shorten'd day,
'Till the young spring restor'd the blossom'd year,
Rack'd by disease the patient sachem lay.
Celario binds the health-restoring leaf,
And guards his slumbers from surrounding harm,
With all the silent eloquence of grief.
Revive each nerve, each weaken'd fibre brace,
And ev'ry charm, that health and youth impart,
Glows in his veins, and brightens in his face.
Full oft he mourns her life-oppressing woe,
'Till great Ouâbi all his soul discerns,
And views the source, from whence his sorrows flow.
While for his native home they bend their way,
Light as the air each hurried step proceeds,
Thro' the slow moments of the ling'ring day:
To his own plains the matchless chief restores;
Around his neck the wild Azâkia clings,
Now weeps, now joys, now blesses, now deplores.
Where the great hero chid her long delay,
While all her tortur'd breast, to death resign'd,
Reproach'd the European's faithless stay.
Tho' mark'd with wounds, and sear'd with many a scar,
Yet manly charms adorn his open face,
Still form'd to lead and guide the glorious war.
While down his cheek the tears of rapture flow,
His melting bosom heaves the breathing sigh,
And rising cares contract his polish'd brow.
Nor yet in vain the tears of fondness roll,
With soften'd look the gen'rous sachem bends,
While heav'nly music speaks his yielding soul.
OUÂBI.
In freedom born, to glory bred,Yet like a dastard captive led,
When sunk in blest oblivious night,
Rais'd to the sorrows of the light,
And dar'd to claim me as a slave,
To threat me with the darts of pain,
Tho born o'er glorious chiefs to reign;
But, taught Ouâbi's soul to know,
They sought to bend that soul with woe,
By vari'd tortures vainly strove
This heav'n-directed eye to move,
When like a God Celario came,
And snatch'd me from the piercing flame.
From thee this arm its strength receives,
By thee this form in freedom lives;
By thee was bright Azâkia's breath,
Twice rescu'd from the blast of death;
Each time a greater blessing gave
Than twice Ouâbi's life to save;
As he alone her love deserves,
Whose pow'r her matchless charms preserves,
That love, those charms, I now resign,
With ev'ry bliss, that once was mine.
Since all her mind thy worth approves,
And all thy soul her beauty loves,
This grateful heart that hand bestows,
Which not to shun a life of woes,
To save me from the Hurons' flame,
Would this fond bleeding breast resign,
Or yield to any worth but thine.
Ouâbi does not simply mean to compliment Azâkia in this expression, but alludes to a custom of his country, which in most cases admits the payment of a fine, as an expiation for murder. If the deceased be a woman, the fine is double; and the reason they give for this partiality for that sex, is, that they are capable of bringing warriors to the nation.
See Wm. Penn's Letters.This law of expiating murder by pecuniary compensation has, I believe, been observed by every uncivilized nation upon earth.
CELARIO.
His bright beams in the red'ning wave,
The Pleiades shall forsake their sphere,
And midst the blaze of noon appear,
Or cold Böotes' car shall roll
In sultry splendor round the pole,
Ere thy Celario hails the day,
In which he tears thy soul away.
And own my black'ning crimes to thee.
When torn by woes, by cares oppress'd,
You clasp'd me to that shelt'ring breast,
Forbade my exil'd steps to roam,
And led me to this gen'rous home:
Regardless of thy sacred fame,
I dar'd to urge my guilty flame;
Tho' to that arm my life was due,
And ev'ry bliss deriv'd from you,
To win the bright Azâkia's love,
With ceaseless passion sought to gain
Her heav'nly charms—but sought in vain.
Yet will the wand'ring traitor go
To distant plains, to realms of woe,
'Till absence from his breast remove
The tortures of his impious love,
'Till time with healing on his wing
Shall peace and soft oblivion bring.
Celario will not be considered as addressing the savage in too philosophical language, when it is remembered that people in a hunting state are necessarily acquainted with the different stars and planets, to aid their course in their excursions from, and returns to, their places of residence. As no images can with propriety be taken from culture or civil society in the dialogues, I am under the necessity of frequently repeating the most striking objects of nature.
OUÂBI.
The crimes which still thy realms disgrace;
But my Celario, yet I find
Each native worth adorns thy mind;
For heav'nly beaming TRUTH is there,
Of open brow and heart sincere!
Azâkia's unpolluted soul.
Born amidst virtue's favor'd race,
Her mind as faultless as her face,
Vain must each daring effort prove,
That uncorrupted breast to move;
For on the pure translucid stream
In vain the midnight lightnings beam,
It lifts its bosom to the day,
Unsullied as the solar ray.
And by this cloud-envelop'd wood,
Ne'er in these war-devoted arms
To clasp again her matchless charms,
Nor yet these eyes to sleep resign,
'Till all those matchless charms are thine.
Will ev'ry rising grief beguile.
The shivers from the lofty tree,
The gentle maid will break with me:
In time her rip'ning form and face
Will bloom with all Azâkia's grace.
I scorn the peace-encircled shade:
Revenge recals me to the plain,
To meet the Huron foe again.
No friendly calumet shall glow,
No snow-white plume pass o'er the brow,
'Till in one blaze of ruin hurl'd,
I sink them to the nether world:
Revenge shall every torment ease,
And e'en the parted soul appease.
Their mode of making peace is, previous to smoking the friendly calumet, for the sachem or head-warrior to advance with a white plume, in the form of a fan, towards the ambassadors of the rival nation, and to draw it lightly over their foreheads; meaning to indicate, that from that moment all former animosities are wiped away, and all passed injuries consigned to oblivion. The whiteness of the plume being emblematical of the purity of their intentions in the treaty they are forming.
Now warm'd with hope, now chill'd with icy fear,
Nor dares to meet him with her swimming eye,
Her lab'ring breath, and soul-entrancing care.
The young Celario ev'ry passion mov'd;
E'en to his faults her doting heart inclin'd—
Ouâbi was too godlike to be lov'd.
In modest silence and in pleas'd surprise,
To the great sachem bends her willing knee
With grateful smiles, and rapture-glancing eyes.
No Illinois his sacred word recals;
'Tis fix'd—the young deliv'rer shall be blest—
The flames ascend—the branching cedar falls.
The broken shivers feed the hungry blaze;
While the new spires adorn the social green,
And the wild music joins the song of praise.
Thinks it a dream, some sweet delusive charm;
Wonder and joy his beating breast divide,
Dart from his eyes, and ev'ry accent warm.
While the throng'd city swells the full acclaim,
Forgets each bleeding friend, each ghastly scar,
And ev'ry breeze wafts pleasure, wealth and fame.
Betrays no grief, no soft, repentant sigh;
But like a parent guards the timid maid,
And claims her friendship with his asking eye.
Her locks no more in bright luxuriance flow,
From her smooth brow the maiden veil is drawn,
And glist'ning beads in rainbow-beauty glow.
The graceful feet in mazy circles rove,
While music warbles o'er the peopled green,
And wafts the fond impassion'd breath of love.
Short is the show'r, which bathes the summer day,
But swifter still gay pleasure's transient wing,
With fleeter haste contentment, glides away!
Thro' the wide plain the shrieks of fright arise;
The gentle Zisma swells the loud alarm,
Her great, her lov'd Ouâbi falls—he dies!
On ev'ry grief soft sympathy bestow,
Here turn thy blest, benignant, melting eye,
Here let the tears of full compassion flow!
Her pale Celario parts the pressing throng,
Th' immortal warrior lifts his darken'd eyes,
And the chok'd words fall quiv'ring from his tongue.
The music of the Indians, tho' of a wild and inharmonius kind, is introduced at all their public festivals and solemnities.
The unmarried women wear a kind of cap, or veil, on their heads, which is taken off at the marriage ceremony. [William Penn's Letters.] To this, it is said, succeeds a circle of beads of various colours.
OUÂBI.
Exempt from ills, and freed from pains,
Where this unconquer'd soul will shine,
And all the victor's prize be mine,
I go—nor vainly shed the tear,
Ouâbi has no glory here;
Unfit the Illinois to guide,
No more the dauntless warriors' pride—
Since as a hapless captive led,
Rack'd like a slave, he basely bled,
No haughty Huron e'er shall boast,
He deign'd to live, when fame was lost.
The chiefs expect thee on the plain.
Ah! ne'er in earth the hatchet lay,
'Till thou hast swept my foes away.
Hard, and with pain, the loit'ring blood retires;
Thus sinks the oak, when loud tornados storm,
The kingly lion with such pangs expires.
No heav'nly pow'rs the fleeting breath restrain,
No human aid his parted soul recals,
Whose life was VIRTUE, and whose fate was PAIN.
While to the tomb, where sleep his glorious race,
Erect, as when a subject tribe obey'd,
The mourn'd Ouâbi's sacred form they place.
Down at his feet the conq'ring hatchet stands,
O'er his high head the spreading bow extends,
The lustral coin adorns his lifeless hands!
His faithful tribe with annual care return
And, as the solemn obsequies are paid,
In pious love, and humble rev'rence mourn.
Will with the hero's fame his way beguile,
In fond devotion bend the suppliant eye,
And add one pillar to the sacred pile.
The GOOD, the BRAVE, diffuse a light divine,
Redoubled splendor gilds the brighten'd ray,
Which bids Ouâbi's NATIVE VIRTUES shine!
Their tombs, or rather cemetaries, are of great extent, and of curious construction, and to which the living pay the utmost veneration.
Governor Jefferson's Notes on Virginia.The posture in which they bury their dead is either sitting or standing upright, believing that when they rise, they must inhabit heaven in the same posture in which they are buried.
They not only believe in the immortality of the soul, but also of the bodies of men and animals, and even of their warlike arms, and other inanimate things; and for this reason it is a custom with them to bury with their chiefs, his hatchet at his feet, with the handle perpendicular, his bow unstrung over his head, and a coin (made, according to William Penn, of a fish's bone highly polished) in his hand.
They not only believe in the immortality of the soul, but also of the bodies of men and animals, and even of their warlike arms, and other inanimate things; and for this reason it is a custom with them to bury with their chiefs, his hatchet at his feet, with the handle perpendicular, his bow unstrung over his head, and a coin (made, according to William Penn, of a fish's bone highly polished) in his hand.
They not only believe in the immortality of the soul, but also of the bodies of men and animals, and even of their warlike arms, and other inanimate things; and for this reason it is a custom with them to bury with their chiefs, his hatchet at his feet, with the handle perpendicular, his bow unstrung over his head, and a coin (made, according to William Penn, of a fish's bone highly polished) in his hand.
At stated periods the Indians revisit the sepulchres or cemetaries of their chiefs, and perform certain rites and ceremonies not precisely known to the Anglo-Americans. Governor Jefferson, in his Notes, gives one instance of this custom.
These sepulchres or cemetaries are raised to a very great heighth above the surface of the earth, by immense piles of stones. [See Gov. Jefferson's Notes.] And to prevent their being levelled by time, it is a religious duty for every one of the same nation, who accidentally passes it, to add one stone in reverence to the pile. [See Mr. Noah Webster's Letters to the Rev. Ezra Stiles]—who says, “Rowland remarks that this custom exists among the vulgar Welsh to this day, the same kind of mounts being scattered over the west of England and Wales.”
In the weak verse condemn the novel plan;
But own, that VIRTUE beams in ev'ry sky.
Tho wayward frailty is the lot of man.
To tread the path, which INNATE LIGHT inspires,
To guard our country's rites, her soil defend,
Is all that NATURE, all that HEAV'N requires.
LINES,
Addressed to the inimitable Author of the Poems under the Signature of DELLA CRUSCA.
Down Apalachia's grassy side,
What echoing sounds the soul beguile,
And lend the lip of grief a smile!
'Tis Della Crusca's heav'nly song,
Which floats the western shores along,
Breathing as sweet, as soft a strain,
As kindness to the ear of pain,
Splendid as noon, as morning clear,
And chaste as ev'ning's pearly tear;
Where cold despair in music flows,
While all the FIRE OF GENIUS glows.
Still charm me with the magic lay!
The Muses all thy soul inspire,
Apollo tunes thy matchless lyre!
O strike the lustral string again,
And o'er Columbia waft the strain.
One ray from thy unequall'd blaze,
Might thro my dark'ning fortunes shine,
And grace me with a note like thine!
But no, BRIGHT BARD, for thee alone
The Muses weave the LAUREL CROWN:
Ne'er can the timid, plaintive dove,
Soar with the DAUNTLESS BIRD OF JOVE;
Nor silv'ry Hesper's dewy ray
Beam like the GOLDEN ORB OF DAY.
Ouâbi : or the virtues of nature | ||