The Downing legends : Stories in Rhyme :: :: University of Virginia Library

Our hero, careful lest a ball
Might find him from the other shore,
Descended creeping, reached the yawl
And laid his length upon its floor.
Recumbent there, with visage darkened,
His heavy pistols cocked for strife,
His breath suppressed, he slyly harkened
And peeped for signs of hostile life.

Betimes a drowsy drone he heard
Of plunging waters, far below;
Or was it but a thrumming bird
In dozing terror? Who can know?
For hours he listened thus; and then
Perhaps he slept; he never told.
There come awearied moments when
The sentry nods, though good as gold.

At last he roused himself—perchance
From revery—perchance from dream;
He raised his head and threw a glance
About him; then across the stream.
Diana, hunting high in night,
Sent arrows through the forest ranks
That feathered half the flood with light
And filigreed the curving banks;
And there, amid the elfin sheen,
He spied an Indian maiden kneel,
Who plied a paddle, dimly seen,

And urged along a spectral keel.
He rubbed his eyes and looked again;
He thought to see her fade away;
But soon a glorious argent vein
Of moonlight showed her clear as day.

The birch-bark canoe is paddled kneeling.