 | Poems descriptive, dramatic, legendary and contemplative |  |
304
THE TRYST OF ACAYMA.
I.
Fair 'fall the Indian maiden, who sits by yonder stream,For, though her eyes are full of tears, she dreams a happy dream;
She waits Panaco's coming,—he left her for the shore,
Where, bursting through the Darien rocks, Atrato's waters roar;
A poison'd javelin fill'd his hand, a knife was by his side,
And countless were the valiant chiefs beneath his arm that died;—
A brave among the bravest, the first to lead was he,
When down the mountain warriors sped to meet the Caribbee.
II.
A fear is in Acayma's heart, and yet that heart is glad,For, bless'd with brave Panaco's love, it could not well be sad;
Three moons ago he sought her tent,—“Where is the maid?” said he,
“I seek but one of all the tribe that wanders by the sea.”—
His eye is on Acayma,—she dares not look on high,
Though well she knows, that happy hour, she stands beneath his eye,—
His hand is on the maiden's hand,—she felt her bosom heave;—
He kept the willing heart and hand, she had no power to give.
III.
'Twas by the rapids of the stream that down the mountain fell,Just where Biloxi's iron head looks o'er Senonee's dell;
“I'll watch these babbling waters, and they shall speak for thee;”
The maiden cried,—“and tell me why thou lingerest by the sea;—
305
And, sprinkling with the falling drops, he stay'd her idle speech;
Then laughing long, and looking back, he bounded down the steep,
And, in her very joy of heart, the maiden could but weep.
IV.
But weary grow the lengthening hours, and shadows of distressNow haunt the heart, that, in its love, still finds its loneliness;
The tears of joy that fill'd her eye when first Panaco went,
Are dry—but down the silent rocks her gloomy glance is sent;
A thousand fears are in her thought—she plucks and rends the flowers,
And anxious looks, where, in the sky, a heavy tempest lowers;
Though none may better guide the bark or trim the sail than he,
Still swells within her heart the hope he be not on the sea.
V.
Too rash and too resolved his soul, too prone to rove afar,To launch the boat, to lead the hunt, to urge the tribe to war;
She weeps to think, to meet her wish, and win her love, he speeds
Where yellow waters boil in rage among the cavern weeds:
He promised ere he left her, to bring for her that day,
The brightest pearl that ever slept 'neath the gulf of Urabay;
To rob the sea-maid of her shells, and from the snake-god's home,
Tear the green gem that lights his crest, and rend his crystal foam.
VI.
The noontide hour is going fast,—she lingers still and sighs,For thicker yet the shadows crowd, and gather on her eyes;
306
Than that which closes now in storm above the mountain's head;
Yet watches she the falling wave, and, to her trembling ears,
A murmur, like an omen comes—what is it that she hears?
'Tis sure Panaco's voice,—but no!—ah, sweet, delusive dream,
'Twas but some loosen'd rock above that tumbled down the stream.
VII.
She knows not of her sorrow yet,—she chides at his delay;Oh! would she thus reproach him, if she knew what made him stay?—
Could she dream that while she blamed him, he battled for his life,—
Could she see the Spanish foeman, and Panaco 'neath his knife?
Alas! for thee, Acayma,—what though thy lover swore,
He will not come to bless thee now,—he lies by yonder shore;
And though thy tears were torrents, like those adown yon glen,
They cannot move Panaco,—he will never come again.
The tradition is, that there is a great sea-snake of the Gulf, which the Indians call the king-snake, or god-snake, whose head is one entire emerald which lights the ocean for many leagues; that he sleeps in a cavern of the purest crystal, which is beautiful, in fantastic forms, like the combing foam of the sea when petrified.
| Poems descriptive, dramatic, legendary and contemplative | |