The poems and prose writings of Sumner Lincoln Fairfield In two volumes |
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THE TREASURE OF THE FOREST. |
 | The poems and prose writings of Sumner Lincoln Fairfield |  |
232
THE TREASURE OF THE FOREST.
His (the Pequod's) first step towards taking possession of his valuable inheritance was in direct violation of the injunctions of the Indian; and so far did he disregard the fidelity of his ancestors as to consent that a white man should accompany him and share in his discoveries.
Puritan Tradition.
Their path grows dark through the wildwood dell,
And the wolf's long howl and the panther's yell,
And the dusky owlet's crooning cry,
With the wild dove's wail of melody,
And the serpent's hiss in his peopled den,
Alone are heard in the rentrock glen:
And on in silent fear
The wanderers thread their way,
And their daring steps draw near
Where the Forest Treasures lay.
And the wolf's long howl and the panther's yell,
And the dusky owlet's crooning cry,
With the wild dove's wail of melody,
And the serpent's hiss in his peopled den,
Alone are heard in the rentrock glen:
And on in silent fear
The wanderers thread their way,
And their daring steps draw near
Where the Forest Treasures lay.
'T is morn on the skycrown'd hills, but dun
And dusk the light of the orient sun;
Night's shadows float o'er the mountain's brow,
And the mist's gray folds still roll below,
And bird and beast from their sleepless lair
In amaze look forth on the strange dim air,
Then quick shrink back again
In trembling awe and dread,
And on the Travellers twain
With hurried footfalls tread.
And dusk the light of the orient sun;
Night's shadows float o'er the mountain's brow,
And the mist's gray folds still roll below,
And bird and beast from their sleepless lair
In amaze look forth on the strange dim air,
Then quick shrink back again
In trembling awe and dread,
And on the Travellers twain
With hurried footfalls tread.
Their path grows dark through the forest shade,
And the hues of morn begin to fade,
And the lurid light on the stormclouds lies
Like hell in the dying murderer's eyes,
While the thunder's voice peals loud and high
O'er the darkening earth and the lightning sky.
In the pauses of the roar
Long lonesome yells arise,
And from mountain, wood and shore,
Ascend unearthly cries.
And the hues of morn begin to fade,
And the lurid light on the stormclouds lies
Like hell in the dying murderer's eyes,
While the thunder's voice peals loud and high
O'er the darkening earth and the lightning sky.
In the pauses of the roar
Long lonesome yells arise,
And from mountain, wood and shore,
Ascend unearthly cries.
233
Look well to thy path, false Oulamar!
Hearst thou those voices that wail afar?
Pale son of white clay! beware—beware!
The bow is bent and the arrow there,
And a stern arm wield's in this dark hour
The deathman's axe with a fearful power!
Pause in thy daring quest
Ere ruthless wrath awake!
Seest thou that dragon crest?
Hearest thou that bickering snake?
Hearst thou those voices that wail afar?
Pale son of white clay! beware—beware!
The bow is bent and the arrow there,
And a stern arm wield's in this dark hour
The deathman's axe with a fearful power!
Pause in thy daring quest
Ere ruthless wrath awake!
Seest thou that dragon crest?
Hearest thou that bickering snake?
The rifted rocks, where the hazel grows,
Whose mystic power will the mine disclose,
They reach unscathed—but the white man there
Is chained in his motionless, mute despair.—
The Chief hath pass'd, and the mountain 's still
As the lucid lapse of a landscape rill;
The white man's heart throbs sound
Like the tramp of many men,
And his brain whirls round and round
As he gazes down the glen.
Whose mystic power will the mine disclose,
They reach unscathed—but the white man there
Is chained in his motionless, mute despair.—
The Chief hath pass'd, and the mountain 's still
As the lucid lapse of a landscape rill;
The white man's heart throbs sound
Like the tramp of many men,
And his brain whirls round and round
As he gazes down the glen.
There 's a rush of wings in the dusky air,
And a lengthening shriek of last despair,
And strange dark forms in a host pass by,
Like midnight shades o'er the fairbrow'd sky,
And a demon laugh from the gloom bursts out,
And a wail of woe and a mournful shout.
The stranger heard no more—
Fear froze his curdling blood;
And the thunder ceased to roar
Through the lone and moaning wood.
And a lengthening shriek of last despair,
And strange dark forms in a host pass by,
Like midnight shades o'er the fairbrow'd sky,
And a demon laugh from the gloom bursts out,
And a wail of woe and a mournful shout.
The stranger heard no more—
Fear froze his curdling blood;
And the thunder ceased to roar
Through the lone and moaning wood.
Who passes there like the samiel wind,
Or the arrowy flash of the electric mind?
His feathery crest and his quivered bow
And his mantle lie in the dell below,
But where, oh, where hath the Pequod gone
Through the pathless woods, like a birdbolt flown?
Hark! 't is the Indian's foot
O'er the rock and chasm bounding?
Or is 't the far owl's hoot
Through mountain passes sounding?
Or the arrowy flash of the electric mind?
His feathery crest and his quivered bow
And his mantle lie in the dell below,
234
Through the pathless woods, like a birdbolt flown?
Hark! 't is the Indian's foot
O'er the rock and chasm bounding?
Or is 't the far owl's hoot
Through mountain passes sounding?
No! 't was a voice like the trumpet's blast,
And thus o'er the hills its wild notes pass'd:
“Woe to the traitor! his days are done!
“His glory 's ended—his race is run!
“His bow 's unbent and his arrows lost,
“And his name struck from the warrior host!
“Woe to the traitor, woe!
“The huntsman's pride is o'er!”
A shout pealed from the mountain's brow—
“Amen! for evermore!”
And thus o'er the hills its wild notes pass'd:
“Woe to the traitor! his days are done!
“His glory 's ended—his race is run!
“His bow 's unbent and his arrows lost,
“And his name struck from the warrior host!
“Woe to the traitor, woe!
“The huntsman's pride is o'er!”
A shout pealed from the mountain's brow—
“Amen! for evermore!”
“On the secret cave where the Treasure lies
“The Pequod looked with a white man's eyes,
“And his soul was seared by the mystic fire
“That withers the heart of curs'd desire,
“And in fear he fled from the holy place,
“The last, the worst of his warrior race.
“Woe to the traitor, woe!
“The Indian's glory 's o'er!”
A wail rolled o'er the mountain's brow,
“Alas! for evermore!”
“The Pequod looked with a white man's eyes,
“And his soul was seared by the mystic fire
“That withers the heart of curs'd desire,
“And in fear he fled from the holy place,
“The last, the worst of his warrior race.
“Woe to the traitor, woe!
“The Indian's glory 's o'er!”
A wail rolled o'er the mountain's brow,
“Alas! for evermore!”
“Where now is the traitor, Oulamar?”
“His deathsong rolls on the winds afar—
“The Pequod dies, and his bones shall lie
“'Neath the storm and blast of the northern sky,
“And the white man's quest in vain shall be
“For the Forest Gems and the Treasure Tree!
“Woe to the white man, woe!”
Bursts forth the darkened sun—
The mountain woods like magic glow—
And the holy work is done!
“His deathsong rolls on the winds afar—
“The Pequod dies, and his bones shall lie
“'Neath the storm and blast of the northern sky,
“And the white man's quest in vain shall be
“For the Forest Gems and the Treasure Tree!
“Woe to the white man, woe!”
Bursts forth the darkened sun—
The mountain woods like magic glow—
And the holy work is done!
| The poems and prose writings of Sumner Lincoln Fairfield | |