 | The hireling and the slave, Chicora, and other poems |  |
102
III.
Harsh is the tale the victor tells
Of conquered foes: success has charms
In every field, and still excels
In worth and wisdom as in arms;
So they who seize the Indian's land,
Drive him in distant wilds to roam
From all he ever loved, a band
Of exiled poor without a home;
When, with relentless hand, they stain
His native land with Indian gore,
Till not a wandering tribe remain
Their fallen fortunes to deplore;
Then scorn the race as fierce and rude,
With no soft sympathies imbued,
No gentle sense of joy or woe
Like those our happier people know,
But cruel, treacherous, and base,
A bloody and detested race,
And on their name, as on their life,
Still wage the long unceasing strife.
Of conquered foes: success has charms
In every field, and still excels
In worth and wisdom as in arms;
So they who seize the Indian's land,
Drive him in distant wilds to roam
From all he ever loved, a band
Of exiled poor without a home;
When, with relentless hand, they stain
His native land with Indian gore,
Till not a wandering tribe remain
Their fallen fortunes to deplore;
Then scorn the race as fierce and rude,
With no soft sympathies imbued,
No gentle sense of joy or woe
Like those our happier people know,
But cruel, treacherous, and base,
A bloody and detested race,
And on their name, as on their life,
Still wage the long unceasing strife.
Unjust the charge! when wronged alone,
His bow, in wrath, the warrior drew,
All gentler joys to others known,
The husband and the parent knew:
Guarded and cold—the Saxon nigh—
They closed the heart and veiled the eye,
And left no passion's lightest trace
To mark the stern, impassive face,
But in their woods, not yet afraid
Of evil eye and grasping hand,
Where yet no friendly white has strayed
To seize and keep their father-land,
The red tribes spend their summer day
In morning sport and evening tale,
And dance, and song, and jest, and play,
In every hamlet home prevail.
The Indian loved no needless strife
With kindred tribes or border friends,
Till the white trader cursed his life,
And changed its course for crafty ends;
When in the forest blood was shed,
If fierce avengers never slept,
But, unrelenting for the dead,
Long, patient weeks of vigil kept
To lay the tribe's assailant low,
Nature's rude justice struck the blow:
Not justice like the white man's, dress'd
With solemn forms and glossing pleas,
In courts where juggling tongues arrest,
Pervert, cajole for tempting fees;
Not halting, blind and lame, along,
But, like the lightning, swift and strong,
Justice with them avenges wrong.
His bow, in wrath, the warrior drew,
All gentler joys to others known,
The husband and the parent knew:
Guarded and cold—the Saxon nigh—
They closed the heart and veiled the eye,
And left no passion's lightest trace
To mark the stern, impassive face,
But in their woods, not yet afraid
Of evil eye and grasping hand,
103
To seize and keep their father-land,
The red tribes spend their summer day
In morning sport and evening tale,
And dance, and song, and jest, and play,
In every hamlet home prevail.
The Indian loved no needless strife
With kindred tribes or border friends,
Till the white trader cursed his life,
And changed its course for crafty ends;
When in the forest blood was shed,
If fierce avengers never slept,
But, unrelenting for the dead,
Long, patient weeks of vigil kept
To lay the tribe's assailant low,
Nature's rude justice struck the blow:
Not justice like the white man's, dress'd
With solemn forms and glossing pleas,
In courts where juggling tongues arrest,
Pervert, cajole for tempting fees;
Not halting, blind and lame, along,
But, like the lightning, swift and strong,
Justice with them avenges wrong.
The wrong avenged, the dead at rest,
Appeased the kindred warrior's breast,
The calm of peace again was spread
From ocean shore to river head;
Far o'er the land of Yemassee
To where the Appalachians rise,
Where the brave tribes of Cherokee
See purer streams and brighter skies;
Beyond the mystic spring, that sends
Eastward and west diverging streams,
With Mississippi's current blends,
With ocean's morning radiance gleams;
The magic spring, that whoso tastes,
Around its banks of shade and flowers
For seven long years the taster wastes
In slothful ease his joyous hours;
Beyond the fount whose deeper spell
Gives youth and beauty never ending,
Hid in its dark mysterious dell,
With leafy arches o'er it bending:
No eye can trace its waters there,
The tangled boughs no hand can sever
But his whose life, serene and clear,
Is, like the fountain, stainless ever;
Vainly De Leon's warriors came,
And Soto's bands of loftier fame,
On fiery coursers breathing flame,
Of Arab breed, in stately ships;
Still undisturbed, and clear, and deep,
In their dark fount the waters sleep,
Unsullied by unhallowed lips;
Nor since has mortal foot or mind
So kept the narrow path of duty,
As in the forest maze to find
The secret spring of youth and beauty;
Never shall mortal footstep trace,
Shall mortal eye the fount discover,
Till spirits, to the sacred place
Like doves to guide, around them hover;
Winged messengers, like those of yore,
That guided, on Hesperia's shore,
The hero's steps through forest glades
Where, hidden in the maze of green,
The sacred bough of gold was seen—
An offering for the Elysian shades.
Appeased the kindred warrior's breast,
The calm of peace again was spread
From ocean shore to river head;
Far o'er the land of Yemassee
To where the Appalachians rise,
Where the brave tribes of Cherokee
See purer streams and brighter skies;
104
Eastward and west diverging streams,
With Mississippi's current blends,
With ocean's morning radiance gleams;
The magic spring, that whoso tastes,
Around its banks of shade and flowers
For seven long years the taster wastes
In slothful ease his joyous hours;
Beyond the fount whose deeper spell
Gives youth and beauty never ending,
Hid in its dark mysterious dell,
With leafy arches o'er it bending:
No eye can trace its waters there,
The tangled boughs no hand can sever
But his whose life, serene and clear,
Is, like the fountain, stainless ever;
Vainly De Leon's warriors came,
And Soto's bands of loftier fame,
On fiery coursers breathing flame,
Of Arab breed, in stately ships;
Still undisturbed, and clear, and deep,
In their dark fount the waters sleep,
Unsullied by unhallowed lips;
Nor since has mortal foot or mind
So kept the narrow path of duty,
As in the forest maze to find
The secret spring of youth and beauty;
Never shall mortal footstep trace,
Shall mortal eye the fount discover,
Till spirits, to the sacred place
Like doves to guide, around them hover;
105
That guided, on Hesperia's shore,
The hero's steps through forest glades
Where, hidden in the maze of green,
The sacred bough of gold was seen—
An offering for the Elysian shades.
Beyond Toccoa's fairy dell,
From brow of rock with mosses gray,
Where waving falls the sparkling veil
Of pearl showers dipped in silver spray—
Light mists of spray, that ever rise
From the deep, breezy pool below,
Tinged with the many-colored dyes
That rainbow showers at evening show;
Onward the restless waters go,
Through rocky ledges brightly gushing,
By groves of pine and chestnut rushing,
And with the river as they flow,
Dark, like its flood, and turbid grow;
So gentle heart and stainless mind,
That leave their native vales and hills,
In the foul city's concourse find
The taint of its polluting ills;
Nor the pure life that knows no stain
Can ever brook or heart regain,
Till in the deep they slumbering lie,
And, raised by Heaven's blessed influence, fly
From earth and ocean to the sky.
From brow of rock with mosses gray,
Where waving falls the sparkling veil
Of pearl showers dipped in silver spray—
Light mists of spray, that ever rise
From the deep, breezy pool below,
Tinged with the many-colored dyes
That rainbow showers at evening show;
Onward the restless waters go,
Through rocky ledges brightly gushing,
By groves of pine and chestnut rushing,
And with the river as they flow,
Dark, like its flood, and turbid grow;
So gentle heart and stainless mind,
That leave their native vales and hills,
In the foul city's concourse find
The taint of its polluting ills;
Nor the pure life that knows no stain
Can ever brook or heart regain,
Till in the deep they slumbering lie,
And, raised by Heaven's blessed influence, fly
From earth and ocean to the sky.
Beyond Tallulah's giant den,
A mountain rent by Nature's throes,
Where, roaring down the rocky glen,
The stormy torrent falls or flows;
Its waters now a quiet stream,
Now plunging from the giddy steep,
Down rapids now they foam and gleam,
In gloomy pools unfathomed sleep;
From the rent rock you gaze below,
The heart with awe and terror stirred,
You hardly see the torrent flow,
Its fearful voice is faintly heard;
Half down, the hovering crow appears
A moving speck; from rifted beams
Of granite grown, the pine, that rears
Its towering trunk, a sapling seems.
A mountain rent by Nature's throes,
106
The stormy torrent falls or flows;
Its waters now a quiet stream,
Now plunging from the giddy steep,
Down rapids now they foam and gleam,
In gloomy pools unfathomed sleep;
From the rent rock you gaze below,
The heart with awe and terror stirred,
You hardly see the torrent flow,
Its fearful voice is faintly heard;
Half down, the hovering crow appears
A moving speck; from rifted beams
Of granite grown, the pine, that rears
Its towering trunk, a sapling seems.
Turn from the din; a calmer scene,
More soft and still, invites your sight;
Beneath your feet, a sea of green
Fills the charmed heart with new delight;
Down from the mountain top you gaze;
Far, deep below, the verdant maze
Of forest still unbroken lies;
And farther yet, a line of blue
Catches at last the gazer's view,
The ocean seems to meet his eyes;
With ecstasy beyond control
He sees, while Fancy's magic power
With witching influence rules the hour,
The surges break, the billows roll.
Far over hill and hunting-ground,
Chatuga's stream, Jocassee's vale,
Hushed every sterner martial sound,
With merry song and mournful tale,
By fountain, stream, and sacred grove,
They kept spring festivals to Love;
From kindred nations, youth and maid,
In rival parties danced and played,
And feasted in the forest shade.
More soft and still, invites your sight;
Beneath your feet, a sea of green
Fills the charmed heart with new delight;
Down from the mountain top you gaze;
Far, deep below, the verdant maze
Of forest still unbroken lies;
And farther yet, a line of blue
Catches at last the gazer's view,
The ocean seems to meet his eyes;
With ecstasy beyond control
He sees, while Fancy's magic power
With witching influence rules the hour,
The surges break, the billows roll.
107
Chatuga's stream, Jocassee's vale,
Hushed every sterner martial sound,
With merry song and mournful tale,
By fountain, stream, and sacred grove,
They kept spring festivals to Love;
From kindred nations, youth and maid,
In rival parties danced and played,
And feasted in the forest shade.
So on the shore, each voice suppressed,
The shades of evening deepening round,
By Ocean's side, in grateful rest,
Stretched carelessly along the ground,
Expectant listeners wait to hear
The promised tale with eager ear.
The shades of evening deepening round,
By Ocean's side, in grateful rest,
Stretched carelessly along the ground,
Expectant listeners wait to hear
The promised tale with eager ear.
| The hireling and the slave, Chicora, and other poems | |