 | Yamoyden, a tale of the wars of King Philip : in six cantos |  |
CANTO SECOND.
And aching heart with fond orisons greet:
The respite thou of toil; the balm of pain;
To thoughtful mind the hour for musing meet:
'Tis then the sage, from forth his lone retreat,
The rolling universe around espies;
'Tis then the bard may hold communion sweet
With lovely shapes, unkenned by grosser eyes,
And quick perception comes of finer mysteries.
Her argent cresset lights the star of love:—
The spiritual hour! when creatures blest
Unseen return o'er former haunts to rove;
While sleep his shadowy mantle spreads above,
Sleep, brother of forgetfulness and death,
Round well-known couch, with noiseless tread they rove,
In tones of heavenly music comfort breathe,
And tell what weal or bale shall chance the moon beneath.
The world's loud voices faintly murmuring die;
Responsive to the spheral harmony,
While grateful hymns are borne from earth on high.
O! who can gaze on yon unsullied sky,
And not grow purer from the heavenward view!
As those, the Virgin Mother's meek, full eye,
“Christ himself, and the Virgin Mary had most beautiful eys, as amiable eys as any persons, saith Barradius, that ever lived; but withall so modest, so chaste, that whosoever looked on them, was freed from that passion of burning lust; if we may believe Gerson and Bonaventure, there was no such antidote against it as the Virgin Marie's face.”—
Burton's Anat. Mel.Who met, if uninspired lore be true,
Felt a new birth within, and sin no longer knew.
O'er kindling hills unfurled with gorgeous dies!
O mild, blue Evening! still to thee I turn,
With holier thought, and with undazzled eyes;—
Where wealth and power with glare and splendour rise,
Let fools and slaves disgustful incense burn!
Still Memory's moonlight lustre let me prize;
The great, the good, whose course is o'er, discern,
And, from their glories past, time's mighty lessons learn!
I.
The sun is sinking from the skyIn calm and cloudless majesty;
And cooler hours, with gentle sway,
Succeed the fiery heat of day.
Confess the evening's influence wide,
Seen lovelier in that fading light,
That heralds the approaching night;—
That magic colouring nature throws,
To deck her beautiful repose;—
When floating on the breeze of even,
Long clouds of purple streak the heaven,
With brighter tints of glory blending,
And darker hues of night descending.
While hastening to its shady rest
Each weary songster seeks its nest,
Chanting a last, a farewell lay,
As gloomier falls the parting day.
II.
Broad Narraganset's bosom blueHas shone with every varying hue;
The mystic alchemy of even
Its rich delusions all has given.
The silvery sheet unbounded spread,
First melting from the waters fled;
Flashing with fiery sparkles rolled;—
As all its gorgeous glories died,
An amber tinge blushed o'er the tide;
Faint and more faint, as more remote,
The lessening ripples peaceful float;
And now, one ruby line alone
Trembles, is paler, and is gone,—
And from the blue wave fades away
The last life-tint of dying day!
In darkness veiled, was seen no more
Connanicut's extended shore;
Each little isle with bosom green,
Descending mists impervious screen;
One gloomy shade o'er all the woods
Of forest-fringed Aquetnet broods;
Where solemn oak was seen before
Beside the rival sycamore,
Or pine and cedar lined the height,
All in one livery brown were dight.
III.
But lo! with orb serene on high,The round moon climbs the eastern sky;
The stars all quench their feebler rays
Before her universal blaze.
Round moon! how sweetly dost thou smile,
Above that green reposing isle,—
Soft cradled in the illumined bay,
Where from its bank the shadows seem
Melting in filmy light away.
Far does thy tempered lustre stream,
Chequering the tufted groves on high,
While glens in gloom beneath them lie.
Oft sheeted with the ghostly beam,
Mid the thick forest's mass of shade,
The shingled roof is gleaming white,
Where labour, in the cultured glade,
Has all the wild a garden made.
And there with silvery tassels bright
The serried maize is waving slow,
While fitful shadows come and go,
As gently breathes the evening breeze.
IV.
Solemn it is, in greenwoods deep,That magic light o'er nature's sleep;
Where in long ranks the pillars gray
Aloft their mingling structures bear,—
Mingling, in gloom or tracery fair,
Where find the unbroken beams their way,—
Or through close trellis flickering stray,
While sheeny leaflets here and there
Flutter, with momentary glow.
'Tis wayward life revealed below,
With chequered gleams of joy and wo!
And those, pure realms above that shine,
So chaste, so vivid, so divine,
Are the sole type that heaven has shown
Of those more lovely realms, its own!
V.
There is no sound amid the trees,Save the faint brush of rustling breeze;
Prolong their constant larum shrill,
And answer all, from tree to tree,
With one monotonous revelry.
And at this hushed and solemn hour,
As gradual thro' the tangled woods,
Mystery usurps her wonted power,
The spirit of the solitudes,—
Musing upon her lonely state,
As plains the dove her absent mate,
Sad Nora sits, and mournfully
Sings her dear infant's lullaby.
VI.
Sorrow had been her lot. She loved,As few have loved of earthly frame;
And misery but too well had proved
Her anguished heart was still the same.
Ere Areskoui's wild alarms
Called all the red men forth to arms,
A Nipnet chieftain wooed and won
Her virgin love;
I believe no example is on record, of a Christian woman, of any refinement, voluntarily leaving her friends, and going off with an Indian. There have been many instances, where they have been carried off by the savages; and, after having become used to their mode of life, refused to return to their connexions. La Hontan and Charlevoix are at issue, on a point respecting the taste of the French women. I quote from a poor translation of the former author, not having the original work. Speaking of the conduct of the savages, at the fair at Montreal, after they have intoxicated themselves a little, he says,—“'Tis a comical sight to see 'em running from shop to shop, stark naked, with their bow and arrow. The nicer sort of women are wont to hold their fans before their eyes, to prevent their being frighted with the view of their ugly parts. But these merry Companions, who know the brisk She-Merchants as well as we, are not wanting in making an offer, which is sometimes accepted of, when the present is tempting. If we may credit the common report, there are more than one or two of the Ladies of this country, whose Constancy and Vertue have held out against the attacks of several officers, and at the same time vouchsafed a free access to these homely paramours. 'Tis presum'd their Compliance was the effect of Curiosity, rather than of any nice Relish; for, in a word, the Savages are neither brisk nor constant. But whatever is the matter, the women are the more excusable upon this Head, that such opportunities are very unfrequent.”—
La Hontan's Voyage to N. America, Done into English, London, 1703.“Si par hazard, Madame, vous tombez sur le livre de la Hontan, où il est parlé de cette Foire, donnez vous bien de garde de prendre tout ce qu'il en dit pour des vérités. La vraisemblance n'y est pas même gardée. Les Femmes des Montreal n'ont jamais donné lieu à ce que cet Auteur y met sur leur compte, et il n'y a rien à craindre pour leur honneur de la part des Sauvages. Il est sans exemple qu'aucun d'eux ait jamais pris la moindre liberté avec les Françoises, lors même qu'elles ont été leurs Prisonnieres. Il's n'en sont pas même tentés, et il seroit a souhaiter que les Francois eussent le même dégout des Sauvagesses. La Hontan ne pouvoit pas ignorer ce qui est de notorieté publique en ce Pays; mais il vouloit égayer ses Mémoires, et pour y réussir, tout lui étoit bon,” &c.—
Charlevoix, III. pp. 142–3.Long screened her from the quest of war.
Night closed on Philip's victor day,
And hurrying in the desperate fray,
The Nipnet chieftain with his bride
Were borne near Haup's beleaguered side.
A home he found, that none could know,
So deemed the chief,—or friend, or foe;
He placed her in that island grove,
With one dear pledge of mutual love.
Deep in the forest's bosom green,
Their cot embowered arose;
Enveloped in its woven screen,
And wrapt in calm repose.
The fairy humming-bird could scarce
Amid the boughs its entrance pierce;
And practised Indian's hunter eye
Would fail to trace its mystery.
One eye alone its labyrinth knew,
One only heart to Nora true.
Here while her vigil sad she keeps,
And lists in vain Yamoyden's steps,
And lulled upon her heaving breast,
Or wove a passing strain to cheat
The tedious hours with music sweet.
VII.
“Sleep, child of my love! be thy slumber as lightAs the red bird's that nestles secure on the spray;
Be the visions that visit thee fairy and bright
As the dew drops that sparkle around with the ray!
O soft flows the breath from thine innocent breast;
In the wild wood, sleep cradles in roses thy head;
But her who protects thee, a wanderer unblest,
He forsakes, or surrounds with his phantoms of dread.
I fear for thy father! why stays he so long
On the shores where the wife of the giant was thrown,
There is a tradition, preserved in the Collections of the Mass. Hist. Society, Vol. I. p. 137, of the Indians on one of the Islands near Narraganset bay. They say that a giant, called Moshup, one of their ancestors, getting in a passion with his wife, hurled her through the air, and she dropped on Seaconet point. There she beguiled those who were passing on the water, with a melancholy song, which drew them to the shore, where she made them pay her tribute. She finally turned into stone.
And the sailor oft lingered to hearken her song,
So sad o'er the wave, e'er she hardened to stone.
He skims the blue tide in his birchen canoe,
Where the foe in the moon-beams his path may descry;
And lost in the wave be thy father's death cry!
The POWER that is round us,—whose presence is near,
In the gloom and the solitude felt by the soul,
Protect that frail bark in its lonely career,
And shield thee, when roughly life's billows shall roll.”
VIII.
The noise of parting boughs was heard,Within the wood a footstep stirred;
The partner of her griefs appears,
To kiss away her falling tears.
“And oh!” Yamoyden said, “that thou
This sad reverse of life should'st know!
Wretch that I was, with hand unblest,
To snatch this nursling from her nest,
And bear her with me darkly on,
Through horror's tide and misery's moan!
Alone, though wild the tempest raved,
The roar, the flash, I might have braved;—
A wanderer's restless lot to share—”
“Mourn not for me,” she calm replied,
“With thee, the worst I can abide;
And hope and joy are present here
Mid tenfold gloom, if thou art near.
And in the hour of darkest ill,
There is a hope, a refuge still—
Lift we our thoughts, our prayers on high,—
There's comfort in eternity!”
IX.
In rapt delight the chieftain gazed,—Her pale, fair brow was upward raised;
In her blue eye devotion shone,
With that mild radiance, all its own,
Such as might mark, with purer light,
O'er heaven a passing seraph's flight.
“Nora, thou cam'st, mid dreary strife,
To bless and cheer a wayward life;—
O! thou wast borne upon my sight,
In blessedness and beauty given,
As floating thro' the azure air,
The Wakon bird descends from heaven,
“The Wakon bird, as it is termed by the Indians, appears to be of the same species as the birds of paradise. The name they have given it is expressive of its superior excellence and the veneration they have for it; the Wakon bird being in their language the bird of the Great Spirit. It is nearly the size of a swallow, of a brown colour, shaded about the neck with a bright green; the wings are of a darker brown than the body; its tail is composed of four or five feathers, which are three times as long as its body, and which are beautifully shaded with green and purple. It carries this fine length of plumage in the same manner as a peacock does,” &c.— Carver, p. 814. Wakon, however, is the term for God, or the Great Spirit, in the Naudowessie dialect. In the Language of the Algonquins, Chippewyans, &c. which is radically the same with that of the New-England Indians, the name of the Deity, or Good Spirit, is Kitchi Manitou; as that of bad Spirits is Matchi Manitou. The term used in the text is therefore improper, as is also, (though less objectionable, as it is applied,) the phrase Wakon cave, employed in the Fourth Canto.
Poised on his fleet and equal wings,
And from his glittering train far flings,
Marking his pathway from above,
The rainbow hues of peace and love!
Not vain hath been thy care to teach
The great, good Spirit's belovëd speech;
And not in vain thy words have shown
The prophet who from high came down,
The Priest and Offering. I have sought
His ear, with prayers thy lips have taught,
When clouds above were deep and dread,
And brightness seemed around them shed,
Till, like yon snow-wreaths of the sky,
They passed in fading lustre by.
When lone I crost the silent wave,
While its soft light the moon-beam gave,
And all above, and all below,
Was kindling with the heavenly glow,
My heart was full of prayer; and then,
I felt the Comforter appear,
And every doubt and every fear
Depart; the cheering presence stole
With sweeter influence on my soul,
Than the mild breeze around my frame,
That o'er the tranquil waters came.
Oh! on the bare and wintry ground,
When utter darkness reigned around,
Oft have I watched the morning star
Break thro' the eastern mists afar;
But never yet upon my view
It came in such immortal hue,
As that glad beam of hope that stole
Above the darkness of my soul.”
X.
Entranced in sudden bliss they sate,Forgetful of the storms of fate;
With thoughts by favoured minstrels sung
Amid their happiest numbers,
While o'er her child the mother hung
And marked its innocent slumbers;
Where mingling love and rapture blaze:—
The hawk's wild scream the silence broke,
Again the sense of pain awoke.
XI.
“And I must go,” the chieftain cried,“To join the children of despair;—
The eagle may fly to his mountain side,
And the panther from toils and death may hide,
In his wood-circled lair;
But they, the lords of earth and sea,
May to no home of refuge flee!”
“O why forsake thy child and me?
Thou art not summoned there—
Where thou, a Christian, may'st again
Thy hands with Christian slaughter stain!”
“Nora, if recreant thought were here,
For us what hope, what home is near?
The base Mohegan's hand would sink
The treacherous axe within my brain;—
I have not learnt from death to shrink,
Or the vile foe's exulting strain,
It were, upon thy woes to think;—
For thou, thy kinsmen's scorn, would'st live
Unpitied and alone to grieve.
And this my boy—it cannot be!
I would, when I am dead, that he
Should be the Indian's friend,—should bear
Glad tidings to our tribes dispersed;
Should plant the vine and olive there,
And deep beneath the foliage fair
Bury the tomahawk accurst.
But friend and foe alike would shun
The traitor's child, the coward's son!
They shall not say that when the fire
Circled the hunted herd, his sire
Wept like the roebuck when he flies,
And died as warrior never dies.
XII.
“I sought Seaconet's queen to tryHer faith once plighted to the brave;
Received the axe the white men gave;
Her tribe has joined their battle cry;
Alone, unaided, we must fly,
Break through our toils, the hunter bands,
To find a home in happier lands.
O haply yet, our dangers past,
Some blest retreat may rise at last.
Yet may we find some lovely plain,
A world within itself our own;
Encircled by a mountain chain,
Whose crests eternal forests crown;
While through the midst, serene and slow,
A gently winding stream shall flow.
Those woods, whose undisputed sway
The buskined hunter genii keep,—
That stream, whose banks, in guileful play,
Behold the wily red fox leap,
To snare the sportive birds, whose fate
“Les Renards donnent la chasse aux oiseaux de Riviere, d'une maniere fort ingénieuse. Ils s'avancent un peu dans l'Eau, puis se retirent et font cent cabrioles sur le Rivage. Les Canards, les Outards, et d'autres Oiseaux semblables, que ce jeu divertit, s'approchent du Renard; quand il les voit à sa portée, il se tient fort tranquile d'abord, pour ne les point effaroucher, il renmuë seulement sa Queuë, comme pour les attirer de plus près, et ces sots Animaux donnent dans le piége, jusqu'a becquetter cette Queuë. Alors le Renard saute dessus, et manque rarement son coup.”— Charlevoix, III. p. 133.
Those treacherous gambols proves too late,—
Those scenes no war-whoop shall assail:
The vines untrod shall clothe the vale,
And clustering with their purple store;
From the full bark the honeyed juice
Its gushing treasures round shall pour;
There melons with their varying die
Shall bask beneath a milder sky;
The plumed maize, with shapely blade,
Shall stand like marshalled host arrayed.
Oh! there the tranquil hours shall flow,
Calm as the glassy wave below;
Remembrance of past griefs shall cease
In the sweet bosom of that peace,
Yielding rich streams of comfort blest,
Like balmy fountains of the west,
Which Spirits gift by healing charm,
With unction meet for every harm!”
XIII.
“Yamoyden, 'tis a blissful dream,—A glimpse of heaven thro' thunder-clouds;
Despair forbids such light to beam
O'er the deep gloom our fate that shrouds.
Thou followest; yet for reason pause;
Pause, ere that heart of guilt and guile
Entrap thee in its latest wile!”
“Fear not; his wasted power forbids
The secret hope of hostile deeds.
Yet if Revenge the spirit be
That holds the Sachem company,
How shall his foes the outlaw blame,
Or marvel whence the dæmon came?
Can he forget, while heaves his breath,
An outraged brother's captive death?
Can he forget the lurid light
Of Narraganset's bloody night?
The forests broad his fathers swayed,
O'errun beneath the oppressor's tread;—
The bones that bleach in every fen,
The perished race of warrior men;—
The limbs once cast in freedom's mould,
Fettered in slavery's iron hold;—
The wanderer of the lonely place
Waylaid, and tortured to confess;—
“They soon captivated the Numponsets, and brought them in, not one escaping. This stroke he [Church] held several weeks, never returning empty handed. When he wanted intelligence of their kennelling places, he would march to some place likely to meet with some travellers or ramblers, and scattering his company, would lie close, and seldom lay above a day or two, at the most, before some of them would fall into his hands, whom he would compel to inform where their company was; and so, by his method of secret and sudden surprises, took great numbers of them prisoners.”— Church. E.
A price upon his homeless head;—
O! his are wrongs that but with death
From burning memory can depart;
All the pure waters of thy faith
Could wash them ne'er from human heart!
XIV.
“Farewell! the sound is as the wailThat rises o'er the closing grave!
While yet the shades of night prevail,
My boat must cross once more the wave.
I go to speed our brethren's flight,
And with the morrow's closing light,
Return to bear thee hence, and far
For ever fly from sounds of war.”
“Farewell! I will not weep;”—she said,
Tho' stealing from its liquid bed
There fell the unbidden tear;—
I will not weep;—a warrior's wife
Must learn the moods of wayward life,
Nor know the form of fear.
Which sadly says, we meet no more.
But let it pass;—farewell! and God
Preserve thee, on the path of blood!”
XV.
Mute was their last embrace, and sad,Forth fared the chief thro' forest shade;
And still, like statue of despair
His lonely bride stood fixëd there,
Gazing entranced on vacant air;
Sense, feeling, wrapt in this alone,
The cherished theme of love was gone.
One throb remained;—the spell it broke,
When her unconscious infant woke;
Maternal cares recalled her thought,
And soothed her labouring breast o'erfraught,
While thus again her accents flow
In deep accordance with her wo.
XVI.
1.
“They say that afar in the land of the west,Where the bright golden sun sinks in glory to rest,
Mid fens where the hunter ne'er ventured to tread,
A fair lake unruffled and sparkling is spread;
“The river St. Mary has its source from a vast lake, or marsh, called Ouaquaphenogan, which lies between Flint and Oukmulge rivers, and occupies a space of near three hundred miles in circuit. This vast accumulation of waters, in the wet season, appears as a lake, and contains some large islands, or knolls, of rich high land; one of which the present generation of the Creeks represent to be a most blissful spot of the earth: they say it is inhabited by a peculiar race of Indians, whose women are incomparably beautiful; they also tell you that this terrestrial paradise has been seen by some of their enterprising hunters, when in pursuit of game, who, being lost in inextricable swamps and bogs, and on the point of perishing, were unexpectedly relieved by a company of beautiful women, whom they call daughters of the sun, who kindly gave them such provisions as they had with them, which were chiefly fruit, oranges, dates, &c. and some corn cakes, and then enjoined them to fly for safety to their own country; for that their husbands were fierce men, and cruel to strangers: they further say that these hunters had a view of their settlements, situated on the elevated banks of an island, or promontory, in a beautiful lake; but that in their endeavours to approach it, they were involved in perpetual labyrinths, and, like enchanted land, still as they imagined they had just gained it, it seemed to fly before them, alternately appearing and disappearing. They resolved, at length, to leave the delusive pursuit, and to return; which, after a number of inexpressible difficulties, they effected. When they reported their adventures to their countrymen, their young warriors were inflamed with an irresistible desire to invade, and make a conquest of, so charming a country; but all their attempts hitherto have proved abortive, never having been able again to find that enchanting spot, nor even any road or pathway to it; yet they say that they frequently meet with certain signs of its being inhabited, as the building of canoes, footsteps of men, &c. They tell another story concerning the inhabitants of this sequestered country, which seems probable enough, which is, that they are the posterity of a fugitive remnant of the ancient Yameses, who escaped massacre after a bloody and decisive conflict between them and the Creek nation, (who, it is certain, conquered, and nearly exterminated, that once powerful people,) and here found an asylum, remote and secure from the fury of their proud conquerors.”— Bartram's travels through North and South Carolina, &c. London, 1792, pp. 25, 26.
Where, lost in his course, the rapt Indian discovers,
In distance seen dimly, the green isle of lovers.
2.
“There verdure fades never; immortal in bloom,Soft waves the magnolia its groves of perfume;
And low bends the branch with rich fruitage deprest,
All glowing like gems in the crowns of the east;
There the bright eye of Nature, in mild glory hovers:
'Tis the land of the sunbeam,—the green isle of lovers!
3.
“Sweet strains wildly float on the breezes that kissThe calm-flowing lake round that region of bliss;
Where, wreathing their garlands of amaranth, fair choirs
Glad measures still weave to the sound that inspires
On high with their shade the green isle of the lover.
4.
“But fierce as the snake with his eyeballs of fire,When his scales are all brilliant and glowing with ire,
Are the warriors to all, save the maids of their isle,
Whose law is their will, and whose life is their smile;
From beauty there valour and strength are not rovers,
And peace reigns supreme in the green isle of lovers.
5.
“And he who has sought to set foot on its shore,In mazes perplext, has beheld it no more;
It fleets on the vision, deluding the view,
Its banks still retire as the hunters pursue;
O! who in this vain world of wo shall discover,
The home undisturbed, the green isle of the lover!”
XVII.
What sound was that, so wildly sad,As by prophetic spirit made?
Breaking on nature's death-like sleep?
'Twas but the lonely We-ko-lis,
Who oft, at such an hour as this,
Had from the woven boughs around
Prolonged her melancholy sound.
But now she perched upon the roof,
And from her wonted spray aloof,
In interrupted notes of wo
Poured forth her solemn music slow,
With tremulous and mournful note,
Now nearer heard, and now remote.—
And she had heard an Indian tell,
Such sound foreboded sudden bale.
“As soon as night comes on, these birds will place themselves on the fences, stumps, or stones that lie near some house, and repeat their melancholy notes without any variation till midnight. The Indians, and some of the inhabitants of the back settlements, think if this bird perches upon any house, that it betokens some mishap to the inhabitants of it.”— Carver, 311.
It was the soul of a lovelorn maid,
Who mourned her warrior slain, he said.—
But little faith, I ween, had she,
A Christian bred, in augury;
Yet strove, alternate fear and shame,
Till all the woman's terrors came.
XVIII.
There is a trampling in the wood;—The mat, the cabin's entrance rude,
Shakes;—it was no dream of fear,—
Behold an Indian's face appear;—
He stands within the cot,—and three
Come scowling in his company.
Ask not what terrors o'er her past,
As fixed as stood the patriarch's wife,
When the forbidden glance she cast,
And lightning rooted her aghast,
Leaving a mock of life,—
Gazing she sate, in silent dread,
Till sight was gone, and thought was dead:
Yet close and closer still, she prest
The sleeping infant on her breast;
A mother's instinct quick was left,
Of other sign of life bereft.
XIX.
But when she felt an iron graspTearing that infant from her clasp,
And all despair's high strength was sent
Gathering around her heart;
“O mercy, Jesus! save my child!”
She cried in tones so sadly wild,
The Wampanoag, fierce and bold,
Shrunk from his purpose, and his hold
Relaxed with sudden start.
Her spoiler's dusky brow she scanned,—
Yet struggling from his ruthless hand
Her wailing child to tear,—
As one would mark the madman's eye,
When a fearful precipice was nigh,
And he had grasped him there.
She met his glances, stern and keen,
Such might the hungry wolf's have been,—
Whose spoils now swathed him round;—
And in his front all bare and bleak,
And in his high, scar-riven cheek,
No line of mercy found.
A rapid look surveyed the rest;—
In vain to them despair may cling!
On the bald thundercliff shall spring!
XX.
The mother from her child is torn,—A cry that rent her heart forlorn,
Their murderous triumph told;
Then kind oblivion came to save
From madness; dark, as is the grave,
Dreamless and void and cold.
One bears her senseless in his arms,
Another stills the babe's alarms;
Then through the forest's tangled way,
Swift and straight, toward the bay
Their path the Indians hold.
Each stepping where the first had gone,
'Twas but as the mark of one.
So noiseless was their cautious tread,
The wakeful squirrel overhead
Knew not that aught beneath him sped.
No bough recoiled as on they broke,
Scarce rustling leaf their impress spoke.
XXI.
From the first blush who judges man,Must ill his Maker's image scan:
The traveller in the boundless lands,
Where the fair west its stores expands,
Oft marks, with cheerful green unblent,
High piled to heaven the bleak ascent,
As scathed and blasted by the fire,
That fell from the Almighty's ire.
But as along the vale he sweeps,
More gently swell the fir-clad steeps,
Till all the sunny mountain rise,
With golden crown amid the skies.
Not the swarth skin, nor rude address
Bespeak the bosom's dreariness;—
Happy, if thus the evil brain
Bore stampt the outward curse of Cain!
XXII.
Slowly from Nora's wandering soul,Oblivion's mists of midnight roll,
Uncertain horror's spectral train,
Dashing waves were murmuring near,
Rode the bright moon high and clear:
The plunderers crost a shelving glade;
Around the forest's mass of shade
Rose darkling; and before, the bay
Was quivering with the silver ray.
Dim memory rose; an Indian eye
Watched its first dawning earnestly.
Strange was the face that, frank and bold,
Spoke a heart cast in gentler mould.
He bore the waking lady up
And lingered last of all the group;
Nor e'er at superstition's shrine,
Did votary mark the fire divine,
When wavering in its golden vase,
With feeling more intense,
Than o'er her wan and death-like face,—
Like morning blushing o'er the snow,—
The warrior watched the beaming glow
Of lost intelligence.
XXIII.
He pointed, where his comrade boreHer infant in his arms, before.
His gaze with melting ruth was fraught,
And that uncertain peril taught
A language to his look:
Of needful silence in that hour,
Of rescue near from saviour power
And faithful aid it spoke.
But still they sped toward the wave,
And he whose glance had sworn to save,
Yet often eyed the circling wood
Where only gloom and mystery brood.
The rippling tides, the insects shrill,
At times the plaining whip-poor-will,
In melancholy concord wake;
But other sound was none, to break
The wild suspense of hope and fear;
There was no sign of rescue near.
Fair shone the moon; but there gleamed no ray
Of hope in her calm and pearly way;
But there shone no promise in their flow;
The hues serene of nature's rest
But agonized her anxious breast.
XXIV.
Nearer and nearer to the shore,Their prize the hurrying party bore;—
The bank is gained; its brake amid,
Their light canoe was closely hid.
While cautious its descent they guide,
To the calm bosom of the tide,
Their comrade, lingering yet above,
Gazed anxiously around to prove
His silent promise true;—
But not a sound is heard, nor sign
Is there of aid; the giant pine
Its gloomy limbs unmoving bears,
And still the silent forest wears
Its sad and solemn hue.
XXV.
'Tis launched,—they beckon him to haste;One glance he threw, and hope has past,
No more could Nora brook to wait,
In passiveness, uncertain fate.
She shrieked,—far rung the loud alarm,—
And as she struggled from his arm
To break, whose faint resistance made
A moment's brief delay,
An Indian leapt to lend his aid;
But, ere he touched the trembling maid,
Even in his middle way,—
Loud from the wood a gunshot rung,
Straight from earth the Nipnet sprung,
Then, with but one mortal pain,
Dead he sunk upon the plain.
Again, again the volleys pour,
And Nora saw and heard no more.
XXVI.
She woke; the ground was wet with blood,—Her Indian saviour o'er her stood;
The faces of her countrymen.
“Where is my child?” they answer not;—
Her dusky guardian's eye she sought;—
O'er his high cheek of rugged mould,
The moon-beam glistened, clear and cold;
A crystal tear was starting bright,
And glittering with the pale, pure light;—
“Where is my child? in mercy, say?”
He pointed to the expanding bay;—
There was no speck on its azure sheet,
No trace in the waters smooth and fleet,—
As if furrowing keel had ploughed them never,—
And she knew her child was gone for ever.
| Yamoyden, a tale of the wars of King Philip : in six cantos | |