University of Virginia Library

CANTO I.
TRADITIONARY GLEAMS OF THE CREATION. THE COUNCIL.

[Scene. A tent on the open shores of Lake Superior—a camp fire—canoes turned up on the beach—boatmen engaged in cooking. A conference at the tent door. Ethwald, a traveller. Oscar, a missionary. De la Joie, a trader. Mongazid (Azid), an Indian Prophet and hunter, with his retinue. The pipe is about to be lit. Time—sun set.]
ETHWALD.
Hoary hunter, stern and wild,
Nature's lone forsaken child!
Wand'ring born and wand'ring bred,
Forest school'd and forest fed—
Turn thy quick revolving glance,
O'er yon water's bright expanse.
See—along the purple sky,
See the billows looming high;
Not in rage as (if aright
Men report the wild affright,)
Oft with fear too sorely true,
Thy advent'rous kinsmen view,
But with long and lab'ring swells,
That of lulling tempest tells;
Seest thou? near the horizon dim,
Shadowy form upon its brim,
Dun and small—that closer scann'd,
Main and margin, should be land.
Tell!—for by thy lifted eye,
Well I ken thou read'st the sky—
Tell me!—in its shadowy forms
Is there sunshine—is there storms?
Seest thou there, a spirit mild,
Or the fiend of waters wild,
Who shall make to-morrow's wave,
Many a hapless hunter's grave,
And along the yellow strand,
Raise their mounds amid the sand?
Or to thy well-practised eye,
Is the god of south winds nigh,
With his soft, ethereal balms,
Whisp'ring peace and breathing calms?
Say, shall mortal blade essay,
O'er yon waves a tranquil way
On the morrow—spirit blest!
Shall it speed toward the west,
And the genii of the strand,
Waft the vent'rous bark from land,
With a breeze and with a smile,
To yon dim-discovered isle?

MONGAZID.
Listen, white man! go not there;
Unseen spirits stalk the air!
Though the sky be clear and calm,
And the south-west winnow balm—
Though each wave be smooth and fair,
Be thou cautioned—go not there!
Misty forms, that walk the wind,
Guard the treasures there enshrined;
Hungry birds their influence lend,
Snakes defy, and kites defend:
There, the star-eyed panther prowls,
And the wolf in hunger howls;
There, the speckled adder breeds,
And the mighty canieu feeds:
Spirits prompt them—fiends incite—
They are eager for the fight,
And are thirsting, night and day,
On the human heart to prey:
Be they gods, or be they not,
Touch not thou the sacred spot.

ETHWALD.
Tell me, red man! old and hoar,
Dweller on Igomee's shore!
Wherefore bound by spell or wile,
Spirit guarded, is yon isle?
Is there not embowelled there
Many a gem of lustre rare—
Glow there not, in hidden mine,
Jewel stones of ray divine—
Ore resplendent—crystal bright,
That illume the cavern-night?
Or, along the mystic strand,
Massy piles of golden sand?
Tell me, hunter! wilt thou not
Guide me to the treasur'd spot?
Arms, with Europe's skill prepared,
Shall the daring deed reward;
Bands shall deck thee, feathers bless,
And the pride of Albion dress,
With Columbia's banner wide,
And a chieftain's plate beside.

MONGAZID.

ETHWALD.
Man of the woods! thy fancies seem
Like some distemper'd midnight dream;
Wild and devoid of reason. Vain
Are all thy fears of gold or gain!
Not more vain the infant's call
To the starry skies to fall;
Or the fear this ocean-lake
O'er yon cliffs its way shall take,
If a single pebble-trace
Circles in its glassy face.

MONGAZID.
Wealth is a curse, our old men said,
[Their wisdom speaks, though they be dead,]
Wealth is a curse, and all its trust
A breath of wind—a heap of dust:
'T is here—'t is gone! told or untold—
And Mystery is my name for gold.
We have been pining, since we knew
The wonders ye could make it do—
But find with cavil, years, and time,
It is the white man's curse and crime.
Of old, our fathers held it good
To deal in shells, and rove the wood;
And had no fear of scaith or storm,
With food, and skins to keep them warm.
But ye, with your unhallowed gain,
Have burned our forests from the plain,
Causing our hope—our game—to fly,
And making life itself a lie.

ETHWALD.
Know! thou man of suff'ring proud,
Ills that press, and woes that cloud!
Know, that gold doth hold a charm
Want to banish, care disarm—
To dispel the father's fears,
And suppress kind woman's tears.
Gold ensures the ready meal,
And the joys the lib'ral feel,
In the palace, or the cot,
Fam'd, applauded, or forgot.
Oft its peace-inspiring power
Gilds fair virtue's evening hour—
Oft, at stern-eyed power's command,
Renovates a drooping land—
Opening, by a blest employ,
Founts of noble, lasting joy:
From its toil-impelling springs,
Commerce spreads her daring wings;
Art uprears the public dome,
Agriculture treads her loom,
And a thousand pleasures stand
To obey its potent wand.
It is not wealth that ills produce—
So sages write—but its abuse.

MONGAZID.
Yet, is the sweet with bitter blent,
And all without that boon—content!
Else hadst thou not quit friend and home,
In these unmeasured wilds to roam;
Or boldly dared this forest-sea
For gains, that still thy grasp shall flee—
Or proffered me thy valued pelf
To sell my gods—my peace—myself!

ETHWALD.
Thou wouldst shun the white man's joy,
Lest there should be slight alloy:
Know, to mortal is not given
Joy unmixed, by righteous heaven:
Death and sorrow, toil and woe,
All must dread, and all must know.
But methinks thy purpose stern,
That would neither teach nor learn,
Give nor guide, remit or feel,
Doth some secret power reveal—
Power that doth thy being sway,
And thou must, perforce, obey!
Is it pride of hunter fame,
Azid's art, or Azid's name?
Is it dread of fate severe,
Is it hope, or is it fear?

MONGAZID.
Fear of mortal shaft or ill,
Foeman's ire or foeman's skill—
Dread of pain or dread of woe,
Azid's heart can never know!
It hath breasted famine drear,
And the jagged flinty spear,
Warrior's wrath, or wizard's sign,
Nor doth dread the force of thine!

ETHWALD.
Wizard am I not, nor part,
Read or know of such foul art,
False and visionary. There,
Wrapt in his robes of holy care,
Behold you pilgrim, early gray,
Companion of my toilsome way,
As now along the desert strand,
With sober tread, he marks the sand—
E'en now his lips the skies implore,
Thy long-lost people to restore;
To lead their steps where joys invite,
And love, and truth, and life, and light!
Disciple he, severe and high,
Of the great ruler of the sky,
To thee but known by thunders loud,
The rushing wind, the fire-lit cloud;
But to our fathers, sage and eld,
By holy word and book revealed.
If aught from fiend, or spirit's wile
Thou fearest on the desert isle,
His simple, solemn, sacred pray'r
Shall guard and guide and bless thee there.

OSCAR.
The fear from which you fly, is this—
You would not make but find your bliss.
But so God ruleth not his people. He
Hath so hewn out our destiny,
And linked it with our own free will,
That means with ends must tally still.
The bliss for which you chase and roam,
You might more truly find at home,
If but one tittle of the time
You give to hunting, war, and crime,
Were turned, with simple, peaceful hand,
To stocks or grain upon the land.
Besides, in every good man's view,
You worship now—ye know not who;
The very Power, which, dark of eye,
If seen, ye would most swiftly fly.

MONGAZID.
'T is well! Thy god will list to thee,
And think'st thou mine shall turn from me?
More may be vain: thee and thy crew
Fair skies o'ershadow—friend, adieu!

DE LA JOIE.

ETHWALD.
[An attendant here introduces the pipe of peace.]
Accept my pledge of purpose high,
That calls me to your northern sky.
Much have I heard, and longed to view
These spreading coasts, and waters blue,
These rosy skies, and beaming shores,
Replete with all their sylvan stores.
Nor less my interest in that race
Who poise the dart, and lead the chase;
And, with a pride of kin and sire,
Still light up here their council fire.
Tradition hath informed me well
Of deeds in which ye yet excel:
Your skill by water, rift and rock,
The war-path and the battle's shock;
And all those arts, through which ye sing,
“I am the wild-wood's subtle king.”
Take of my proffered pledge: we stand
Thus heart in heart, as hand in hand.

MONGAZID.
So be it, sire: the heavens turn black
On all who from this pledge draw back.