University of Virginia Library

Act 1.

Scene 1.

The Margin of the Lake between the Oakmulgee and Flint was from which the river St. Mary has its source, near which a boat is lying on the water. Lamorah is discovered sitting on the ground close by underneath an Oak. Enter Count Julian, bearing his hoop, draped in the garments of Yanassa, Lamorah's son, whom he supposes to be dead, attended by Lamorah.
Count Julian
Beneath an aged Oak, whose hundred arms are
lifted up, as in mute prayer, to God, Silvered
with many hundred years, whose locks
Of Argent moss hang waving to the ground—
Alone on the silver sand, the last of all
His Tribe, Lamorah leans alone! But now
Upon his back the well-stored quiver hangs.
His great Herculean form is clad with skins
Fantastically fringed with down of Swans,
And ornamented with the rarest beads.
His feet are sandaled with red Moccassins;
His Wampun-belt is fastened round his waist;
An Eagle-plume, cresting his head, now waves
Aloft, swayed by the odorous winds which come
Laden with perfume from the Isle of Flowers—
An emblem of his mighty heart now free.
Close to his ear in his right hand, he holds
A rose-lipped shell which sings mysterious songs,
And soothes his weary soul to peace; for in
Its soft Aeolian cadences it seems
The soul of his Yanassa, his dead son,
Come back to lead him to the Land of Souls.
Rapt with the sense of its sweet melody,
He has forgotten all things in the world,
Remembering nothing but his own deep joy,
Born of his Memory of the Olden Time,
In days gone by when he was in his prime,
And Young Yanassa was his son on earth.

Lamorah rises from his seat, approaches Count Julian, and gives him his hand.
Lamorah
Let us sit down upon this log of wood,
Or on this mossy-mouthed Rock. My heart
Is full of sorrow! Look behold I see
An eagle sleeping on his wing half way
To Heaven!

Count Julian
Thine eyes are good to see so far!

Lamorah
Three Moons ago I lost three arrows at
That bird. They fell afar off in yon Lake.
Though he soars high, as if he scorned the earth,
Yet I will bring him down or lose the fourth.

Count Julian
Nay, it is vanity to shoot. He looks
No larger than thy hand. He pauses on
His wings as if he looked from his high world
With joy upon his image in the Lake.
I see the shadow of his wings stretched out
Upon its liquid mirror now.

Lamorah
My brave
Old locust bow! Can you not bring him down?
Thrice, with this arrow, hast thou pierced, as far,
The Roe-buck leaping on the Sunny Hills.

Count Julian
Tis vain to shoot. Your arrow will be lost,
For see! he has ascended higher still!
As if some unseen hand had lifted him
Half way to Heaven from mortal sight! His form
Has sunk up in the azure Sea of Space!
He is an emblem of thy soul, great Chief!
I now feel restless to be where he is.

Lamorah
I never knew him fly so high before.
I will not shoot—my arrow may be lost.

Count Julian
This attitude is fearful to the eye.
I wish I was where he is now.

Lamorah
Sit down,
And tell me of thy Dream. I, too, have dreams.

Count Julian
What is thine age?

Lamorah
It has been fifty years,
With four moons more, since I first came on earth.

Count Julian
Where are thy children? Hast thou any wife?

Lamorah
I have a son—the Eagle of his Tribe
Who dwells afar off with his mother on
An Island in the middle of this Lake.

Count Julian
Have you an Island in this Lake?

Lamorah
I have—
The bottom of whose streams are sands of gold.
More Swans are there than days in all your life.

Count Julian
But tell me how you came on it? Are there
No people there but yours?

Lamorah
None but my own.
When I was young—about your age—I heard
My father talk about this Blessed Isle,
Where there was Springtime all the year—as bright
As is Manitoline—that Spirit-land—
Where Souls reside soon after death—where rests
My young Yanassa, Eagle of my heart!
Whose bright Inhabitants are just as much
More beautiful than any of our race,
As spirits are more beautiful than men.
For three long years I sought this Blessed Isle.
One morning when I rowed out from the shore—
Just as the Big Lights fired the Hills of Heaven
I saw it rise up from the peaceful Lake,
Greened with the freshness of immortal Spring.
Ah! Then my heart beat loud within my breast!
A sound as swift as runs the Roe-buck on
The Hills, until I reached the Blessed Spot;
When, leaping from my Boat upon the shore,
I made the forest woodlands ring with my
Ferocious yell, until the frightened birds
Fled screaming to the Inland Hills! Then did
I walk on it, free as that Bird now soars
Through Heaven!

Count Julian
How far is it from this?

Lamorah
It takes
All night to reach to it.

Count Julian
But did you find
The lovely beings there of whom you spoke?

Lamorah
I saw nothing but birds, and speckled Fawns,
And Roe-bucks leaping on the Sunny Hills.

Count Julian
How long till you returned?

Lamorah
Three days. Sad days!
When I returned, the White-Man had destroyed
My Wigwam—driven my wife away
To seek her shelter on the ground! Hell burned
Within my heart to be revenged! So, from
That fatal hour I swore never again
To smoke the Calumets of Peace with Man!
The Tommahawk, that had been in his grave
A hundred years, was now dug up again,
To rest no more beneath the Tree of Peace!
So, on to Cuscovilla's Vale we went
Against great Simighan, my father's foe,
Panting, like Hell-hounds, for the White-Man's blood.
We fought—our Tribe was slain—slain only
Except my son Yanassa—he alone
Escaped—was taken captive in the fight—
Bound fast in chains—borne from the field
Back to the White-Man's tents, where he had slain
The innocent children—where he lay confined
In heavy chains, waiting his awful doom!

Count Julian
So, old Lamorah, to avenge his death—

Lamorah
Went at the midnight hour, with torch in hand,
And fired the old man's house—

Count Julian
That good old Man!

Lamorah
And as he fled, escaping from the flames,
I caught his young Moon-daughter in my arms,
And bore her swift away with me!

Count Julian
Away
To some far distant land unknown to Man—
For never tidings came of where she went—
Leaving young Julian mourning for her loss—
Mourning that he could never more behold
The beauty of her Angel-face, nor drink
Delight again out of her heavenly smiles,
Wherein his soul had sunned itself to peace.

Lamorah
She was the Virgin of the First Fond Love
Who lay upon his bosom like the Swan
Upon clear water, while his soul grew white
To image back her form—the very first
That made him see the young Hind in his dreams.

Count Julian
This old Lamorah had two sons—both brave—
But his Yanessa, Eagle of his heart
The elder loved he better of the two
Because he was the White-Man's bitter foe;
For many times, Lamorah in his ire,
Would fling the White-Man's children in the air,
And catch them, falling, on his pointed knife.
One day, when he was doing this, he saw one smile,
With his blue laughing eyes, right in his face;
And from that fatal hour he never smiled!

Lamorah,
much astonished
How know you this? What is thy name?

Count Julian
And now,
At early falling of the leaf, the old man comes
From some far distant land unknown to Man,
Like Spirit from the dead to those they love,
To strew rich Coral on his fathers' graves,
And pray beside them while he weeps—for long
Has he been waiting here today to see
Some stranger in the person of his son.

Lamorah,
still more surprised
How know you this? Tell me thy name? Thy name?
I know thee not—yet, thou hast told me all.

Count Julian
But she, the Virgin of the First Fond Love,
You took away with you—how old was she?

Lamorah
Just fifteen fallings of the leaf, with four
Moons more.

Count Julian
Her name?

Lamorah
Celuta is her name.

Count Julian
The fairest Maid in all the sunny South—
The Summer South—where there are many fair—
The only Damsel of her father's house—
A Farmer's daughter, beautiful as pure,
Living in all the rich simplicity
Of cottage life alone among the flowers—
A fairer Flower herself—called by her Sire,
Ianthe, Lily of the Land of Love.
For she was milder than the new-born Moon
Sitting, in Silence, on the Hills of Heaven,
When, some cloudless night, when all is clear.—
Her father's name?

Lamorah
Was Gordon.

Count Julian
Brave old Chief!
My dream is told.

Lamorah
Thy dream? What is thy dream?
Thy name? I know thee not!

Count Julian
I am thy son—
Yanassa from the Land of Souls.

Lamorah,
much astonished
My son?
My son? Yanassa? Is it thou, my son?
Art thou returned from death—the Land of Souls?
Thy face is pale! Thou hast the White-Man's face!
Yanassa! is it thou? can Death do this?
Or has Manito sent thee here to mock
My soul by giving thee the White-Man's face?
I hate thy face—hate it as I do hell!
Speak to my soul, Yanassa, speak, my son!

Count Julian
Father! I am thy son—thy only son!
All souls are paleface in the Land of Souls!
Where is my mother? brother Ostenee?
Celuta! that young Dove! the White-Man's child?
The Lily that Yanassa loves so well?

Lamorah,
with much tenderness
Art thou my son? This is his Wampum-belt!
This is his Bow! This is his quiver here!
These are the garments he wore when slain!

Count Julian
Father! I am thy son—thy very son!
All souls are pale-face in the Land of Souls.

Lamorah,
falling on his breast
This is my son! my Eagle-boy! my Dove!
Yanassa from the Land of Souls! Come home!

They enter the boat when Lamorah rows off from the shore.

Scene II

(A beautiful flower-gemmed Bower on the Island. Ianthe is discovered playing with her fawns. Enter Ostenee, bearing in his hand flowers, shells and Swan Down, unobserved by her.)
Ostenee
Celuta!

Celuta
How you frightened me!

Ostenee
Here are
Some shells, my love! I found them on the shore
Beside the Lake. Just put this to your ears
Does it not sing?

Celuta
Just like my Dreams last night.

Ostenee
Its breath is like your sighs, Celuta! Songs
Of birds are sweet, but this is sweeter far.
It speaks as you did when you spoke to me
The White-Man's speech. Oh, speak to me again!
I think my brother's soul lives in this Shell!

Celuta,
offering it to him
Here—there is magic in the sound! Its sound
Is like the memory of departed joys!
Here—take it, Ostenee—it makes me sad!

Ostenee
No, it is thine, Celuta. Here's some fruit,
As yellow as the White-Man's gold. See how
The honey-drops ooze from its pores, like dew
Upon fresh flowers. Its sweetness makes me think
Of thee!

Celuta,
offering it again
Here—take the Shell—I cannot have
It any more! It makes me think of home—
Of one I dreamed about last night.

Ostenee
Will you
Not keep the cradle of my brother's soul,
While it is rocked to peace?

Celuta
No, take it back—
I cannot keep it now. Nay, do not frown;
But take it back. Take back the Shell—the flowers—
And be not angry with your friend.

Ostenee
My friend?
Are you my friend? Then keep the Shell—the flowers—
And take the Swan-Down that I bring to thee.

Celuta
But if I take them you will call me yours.

Ostenee
I will—you are my love—my life—my Heaven!
Then take them all. I love you as my soul!

Celuta
No, Ostenee! You keep them all for me—
Keep them yourself.

Ostenee
Then you are not my friend?
Celuta! Can you lie?

Celuta
I cannot lie;
But would, were I to take your Shells. So, keep
Them all to prove Celuta cannot lie.

Ostenee
By Hell! You love me not! You hate me now!
My father gave you unto me!

Celuta
I dreamed
Last night your brother's soul came down from Heaven!

Ostenee
What! from the Land of Souls?

Celuta
The Land of Souls!
His face was white as snow!

Ostenee
As snow? His face
Was dark. He would not have the White-Man's face!
I have been looking for Yanassa long.
What said he in thy dream? spoke he of me?
Was he not happy with his friends, the dead?

Celuta
He was not happy with his friends, the dead—
But bade me tell you he must come again,
Lest Ostenee should do me wrong.

Ostenee
What! said he so?
When he will come again to claim my love!
Thou art my wife, Celuta! but take not
The Shell! It was soul that spoke to thee!
For often have the souls of mighty men
Come back at midnight to their native land,
To rest by moonlight in the Ruby-bells.
It was no dream! Was he not beautiful,
If he had thus the White-Man's face?

Celuta
His soul
Was brighter than the Morning Star!

Ostenee
As bright
As thine?

Celuta
More beautiful than aught on earth!

Ostenee
If thou canst bring my brother's soul from Heaven;
Canst thou not bring my father back from death?

Celuta
I can—he will be here tomorrow morn.
I think thy brother will return with him.

Ostenee
My soul will love thee then as it does now.
The Shell I brought thee in my love has broke
My heart! How knew the Shell of this? I hear—
It speaks not so to me. There—lie on earth!
I—though I love Yanassa as my life,
Yet, he shall never have Celuta's love.
No—he must go back home again without
That heavenly being's love—ay, that he must!
For none but spirits should with spirits dwell.
Celuta! will you be Yanassa's wife?

Celuta
The Great High Spirit says it must be so!

Ostenee,
in rage
Then, by deep Hell! though he be white as snow—
Swifter than Roe-buck on the Sunny Hills—
Stronger than mighty thunder—he shall die!

Celuta
Brave Ostenee! his spirit cannot die.
A spirit has the strength of many men!
Yanassa's arm could kill a thousand such!

Ostenee
Then he must kill! Where is my locust-bow?
My quiver? knife? It must be ground. I have
A Spirit from the Land of Souls to fight!
I knew his strength before he died. He was
The mightiest warriour of my father's tribe!
He comes tomorrow morn! My father comes
With him. I must be ready for him then.
Celuta! Thou art mine! You know you are!
And, by yon Big Light in the sky I swear
Never shalt thou be made Yanassa's wife
(Exit Ostenee)

Scene III

(The shore of the Beautiful Island. Lamorah's cottage in the distance. He and Count Julian discovered in the boat approaching the shore. Canondah, Lamorah's wife, runs from the cottage to meet them. They land.
Canondah,
embracing Lamorah.
Brave Eagle of my heart! I looked for thee!
Celuta said some one would come with you.
Come to my arms, my love! hear how the birds
Sing but to welcome you on shore again!
My heart is full!

Lamorah
Fond dove! Know you this boy?
Bride of Lamorah's soul! this is our son—
Yanassa from the Land of Souls.

Canondah,
much astonished
My son?

Lamorah
Thy Spirit-Son come from the Land of Souls.
Welcome him home again! Kiss him my love!

Canondah
The White-Man's son, you mean?

Lamorah
He is thy son.

Canondah
You mock me, brave Lamorah! he was dark.
Yanassa was not born the White-Man's child.
These features are not his. I know my son.

Count Julian
I see, dear mother! that you know me not.
I am thy son—come from the Land of Souls.
All souls are pale-face in the Land of Souls.

Canondah
Ah! it is so? the Indian made the White-Man's child?
Why did the Great High Spirit change thy face?
But, if thou art my son, come to my arms!
Thou art my Eagle-boy! Here on this Isle,
Where White Man's foot shall never come—here, will
We spend our days in peace. Celuta said
Some one would come with you.

Count Julian
She did?
Then our two souls have been together, though
Our bodies have been far apart! Bright Soul!
But where is Ostenee?

Canondah
At home. Alas!
Our Eagle-Boy has seen some Evil-One!
Last night he saw a Star fall down from Heaven,
And kiss Celuta while she slept!

Lamorah
Fond dove!
It was Yanassa from the Land of Souls
She must not see Yanassa's spirit-face
Nor Morning Star of love—as white as hers—
For she would love him from her very soul—
And Ostenee would take his life! So, you
Must keep her far away from him, until
I paint his face, when he may call her sister—
Until we send him far away from us,
When she can leap into his arms with joy,
And be his wife.—Now kiss our Spirit-Boy.

(They enter the Cottage)
Curtain falls