Ouâbi : or the virtues of nature :: :: University of Virginia Library

Azâkia hears the changeless chief's reply,
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.

Tho' the fam'd warrior rul'd her faithful mind,
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.

While the soft Zisma learns the fix'd decree,
In modest silence and in pleas'd surprise,
To the great sachem bends her willing knee
With grateful smiles, and rapture-glancing eyes.

In vain Celario pleads his alter'd breast,
No Illinois his sacred word recals;
'Tis fix'd—the young deliv'rer shall be blest—
The flames ascend—the branching cedar falls.

Ere the day close the solemn rites begin,
The broken shivers feed the hungry blaze;
While the new spires adorn the social green,
And the wild music joins the song of praise.

To his wrapt soul Celario clasps his bride,
Thinks it a dream, some sweet delusive charm;
Wonder and joy his beating breast divide,
Dart from his eyes, and ev'ry accent warm.

Thus the young hero from victorious war,
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.

Ouâbi, still in matchless worth array'd,
Betrays no grief, no soft, repentant sigh;
But like a parent guards the timid maid,
And claims her friendship with his asking eye.

Her slender limbs the matron-garb adorn,
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.

Joy reigns, and pleasure lights the smiling scene,
The graceful feet in mazy circles rove,
While music warbles o'er the peopled green,
And wafts the fond impassion'd breath of love.

Swift flies the sunny morn, that gilds the spring,
Short is the show'r, which bathes the summer day,
But swifter still gay pleasure's transient wing,
With fleeter haste contentment, glides away!

E'en while delight expands each winning charm,
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!

Oh thou, whose feeling heart, and ready sigh,
On ev'ry grief soft sympathy bestow,
Here turn thy blest, benignant, melting eye,
Here let the tears of full compassion flow!

Down at his feet the lost Azâkia lies,
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.