Alhalla, or the Lord of Talladega A tale of the Creek War |
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| 2. | CANTO II.
THE SACRED ISLAND. A DISCOVERY. |
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 | Alhalla, or the Lord of Talladega |  |
23
CANTO II.
THE SACRED ISLAND. A DISCOVERY.
[Scene. The broad expanse of the Lake. An assemblage of Indian canoes
on the water. One, in advance, bearing the national flag of the United
States. Time—morning.]
The golden sun with early ray,
Saw Ethwald on his ocean way,
With silent Azid for his guide,
And mission-father by his side:
His birchen vessel light and gay
Speeds swan-like o'er the liquid way—
The sky is calm—the morning air
Scarce stirs that mass, so vast, so fair—
That, like a sheet of waving gold,
The eye may not undimm'd behold;
Yet is there motion—bark and crew
Dance lightly on that ocean blue,
And ever, as up and down they ride
Upon that broad, eternal tide,
The strained sight descries the while,
Short glimpses of that holy isle,
Like dreams of bliss, that, fair and sheen,
Flit in the moment they are seen.
Nearer and nearer as they ply,
A gathering mist swells up the sky,
And every object, dun or fair,
Spreads wild distorted through the air—
The trees like shrouded spectres stand,
To guard that evil haunted land—
The pointed cliffs spread broad and square,
Like castles with their banners fair,
And motley shapes of monstrous size
Start up, and glare before the eyes.
To all but Azid's fearful view
The scene is glorious, grand, and new,
But wondrous not—they know and prize
The gay refractions of these skies;
But Azid—ghastly forms pursue,
All that he fears he sees in view!
At first he mutters—then he speaks,
Cold drops bedew his aged cheeks;
But ere he lifts th' imploring eye,
T' appease the spirit of the sky,
An offering meet of sacred things
Upon the misty wave he flings,
But chief that herb whose sacred fame
And power, the tribes Ussáma name.
Then with brief word and solemn air
Recites the simple hunter's prayer.
“'Tis now with Thee—Great Spirit free,
My rite is done—it is with Thee!”
Saw Ethwald on his ocean way,
With silent Azid for his guide,
And mission-father by his side:
His birchen vessel light and gay
Speeds swan-like o'er the liquid way—
The sky is calm—the morning air
Scarce stirs that mass, so vast, so fair—
That, like a sheet of waving gold,
The eye may not undimm'd behold;
Yet is there motion—bark and crew
Dance lightly on that ocean blue,
And ever, as up and down they ride
Upon that broad, eternal tide,
The strained sight descries the while,
Short glimpses of that holy isle,
Like dreams of bliss, that, fair and sheen,
Flit in the moment they are seen.
24
A gathering mist swells up the sky,
And every object, dun or fair,
Spreads wild distorted through the air—
The trees like shrouded spectres stand,
To guard that evil haunted land—
The pointed cliffs spread broad and square,
Like castles with their banners fair,
And motley shapes of monstrous size
Start up, and glare before the eyes.
To all but Azid's fearful view
The scene is glorious, grand, and new,
But wondrous not—they know and prize
The gay refractions of these skies;
But Azid—ghastly forms pursue,
All that he fears he sees in view!
At first he mutters—then he speaks,
Cold drops bedew his aged cheeks;
But ere he lifts th' imploring eye,
T' appease the spirit of the sky,
An offering meet of sacred things
Upon the misty wave he flings,
But chief that herb whose sacred fame
And power, the tribes Ussáma name.
Then with brief word and solemn air
Recites the simple hunter's prayer.
25
My rite is done—it is with Thee!”
Now western breezes briskly play,
And sweep those fleecy forms away;
In broken fields they wheel on high,
And show that treasur'd island nigh,
In all its loveliest verdure drest,
Like sanctuary of the blest,
Where peace hath rear'd her forest throne,
To man and all his works unknown.
With joy they reach the silver strand,
With joy they gaze—they leap to land,
Like beings from a higher sphere,
Dropt down to dwell and worship here.
And sweep those fleecy forms away;
In broken fields they wheel on high,
And show that treasur'd island nigh,
In all its loveliest verdure drest,
Like sanctuary of the blest,
Where peace hath rear'd her forest throne,
To man and all his works unknown.
With joy they reach the silver strand,
With joy they gaze—they leap to land,
Like beings from a higher sphere,
Dropt down to dwell and worship here.
On all its cliffs and arching bays,
They pour intent their ardent gaze—
Each airy, wild, fantastic sight,
They scan with ever new delight,
As if the very earth-clod there
Had something more than earthly fair,
And every rock that wall'd the shore
Were jewel set, or bright with ore;
Each pebble on the saffron sands,
They search with prying, chemic hands,
By glass or magnet, lest perchance
Aught should escape a grosser glance:
The fragile little helix shell
Along the shore their steps impel,
Intent each speck'd and striped whorl
To find a mass of orient pearl:
The fallen trunk they search with care,
For mark of ancient hatchet there;
Or scan the antler bleach'd and dry
With curious, searching, eager eye.
They pour intent their ardent gaze—
Each airy, wild, fantastic sight,
They scan with ever new delight,
As if the very earth-clod there
Had something more than earthly fair,
And every rock that wall'd the shore
Were jewel set, or bright with ore;
Each pebble on the saffron sands,
They search with prying, chemic hands,
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Aught should escape a grosser glance:
The fragile little helix shell
Along the shore their steps impel,
Intent each speck'd and striped whorl
To find a mass of orient pearl:
The fallen trunk they search with care,
For mark of ancient hatchet there;
Or scan the antler bleach'd and dry
With curious, searching, eager eye.
Hours thus elapse: and every hour
Is fraught with some expressive power;
But now a task must be essayed,
They seek the island's central shade;
And first they pass a thicket green,
Where birch and aspen intervene,
And next a grove of sombre hue,
Where spruce and fir arrest the view;
A hill succeeds, and then a wold,
With pines encumber'd, sere and old,
That stretch their branches dead and bare,
High forked amid the upper air—
Beyond, a beetling rock is seen,
Of massy granite—crown'd with green,
And from its clefts a limpid stream
Pours on the sight its silver gleam,
And murm'ring on its downward way
Speeds idly to a neighb'ring bay.
Is fraught with some expressive power;
But now a task must be essayed,
They seek the island's central shade;
And first they pass a thicket green,
Where birch and aspen intervene,
And next a grove of sombre hue,
Where spruce and fir arrest the view;
A hill succeeds, and then a wold,
With pines encumber'd, sere and old,
That stretch their branches dead and bare,
High forked amid the upper air—
Beyond, a beetling rock is seen,
Of massy granite—crown'd with green,
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Pours on the sight its silver gleam,
And murm'ring on its downward way
Speeds idly to a neighb'ring bay.
Here pause the travellers, joy'd to meet
Such lonely, wild, and still retreat;
And oft the streamlet's mossy side
They press, to taste the crystal tide,
Or lost in pleasing converse gay,
Review the devious, toilsome way.
But hark! a sound or voice is heard,
A human voice—perchance a bird?
Or, in some spiral cliff around,
Can rushing winds produce the sound?
Or is the gaunt hyena here?
To Azid—'tis a voice of fear!
But hark again—the softening sound
Reverb'rates as if cavern-bound.
They pause, they list—a strain is sung,
'Tis in the well-known Indian tongue.
They list—a female voice essays
This fond lament of other days.
Such lonely, wild, and still retreat;
And oft the streamlet's mossy side
They press, to taste the crystal tide,
Or lost in pleasing converse gay,
Review the devious, toilsome way.
But hark! a sound or voice is heard,
A human voice—perchance a bird?
Or, in some spiral cliff around,
Can rushing winds produce the sound?
Or is the gaunt hyena here?
To Azid—'tis a voice of fear!
But hark again—the softening sound
Reverb'rates as if cavern-bound.
They pause, they list—a strain is sung,
'Tis in the well-known Indian tongue.
They list—a female voice essays
This fond lament of other days.
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EDNEE'S SONG.
1.
To sunny vales—to balmy skies,My thought—a flowery arrow flies.
I see the wood—the bank—the glade,
Where first a wild-wood girl I played:
I think on scenes and faces dear;
They are not here—they are not here.
2.
In this cold sky—in this lone isleI meet no friend's—no mother's smile:
I list the wind—I list the wave,
They seem like songs around the grave,
And all my heart's young joys are gone;
It is alone—it is alone.
3.
Ah! can I ever cease recallMy father's cot, though it were small;
The stream where oft, in sun and shade,
I roved, a happy Indian maid,
Pleased with the wild flowers, pink and red,
A brave youth bound around my head.
4.
I love the land that gave me birth,Its woods and streams, its air and earth;
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Sweet woodland sounds—when life was new;
I love the garb my fathers had,
And my own bright Muscogee lad.
That voice is mute: with care they seek,
By winding rock and fallen peak,
For rift or path that foot may tread,
To gain the crag's o'erhanging head.
At length a rugged path they spy,
That seems nor light, nor safe to try;
But still with patience, skill and might
Suffices to attain that height.
A faintly beaten path succeeds;
This through a cedar coppice leads,
Then by a rock, when turning short,
A cave displays its ample port;—
An Indian maid of stature fair,
And forehead high and flowing hair,
Sits pensively, secure and lone,
Beside that rustic hall of stone;
A string of shining shells she prest
Upon her slender chisell'd breast;
Unmoved her air,—and now again
She raised the half unfinished strain,
When that priz'd guardian of the night,
The hunter's dog, and fond delight,
Darts forth instinctive, and defies
Their near approach with doubling cries.
Instant she starts, as with a shock,
And flies within the cavern'd rock.
By winding rock and fallen peak,
For rift or path that foot may tread,
To gain the crag's o'erhanging head.
At length a rugged path they spy,
That seems nor light, nor safe to try;
But still with patience, skill and might
Suffices to attain that height.
A faintly beaten path succeeds;
This through a cedar coppice leads,
Then by a rock, when turning short,
A cave displays its ample port;—
An Indian maid of stature fair,
And forehead high and flowing hair,
Sits pensively, secure and lone,
Beside that rustic hall of stone;
A string of shining shells she prest
Upon her slender chisell'd breast;
Unmoved her air,—and now again
She raised the half unfinished strain,
30
The hunter's dog, and fond delight,
Darts forth instinctive, and defies
Their near approach with doubling cries.
Instant she starts, as with a shock,
And flies within the cavern'd rock.
Soon from within a man of years,
The warrior father, slow appears;
Tall, rigid—firm of step and eye,
That speaks of sage, or prophecy;
A head, by nature bald, or shorn,
A look of care, but not forlorn—
A simple spear is in his hand;
With brow upraised, and gesture bland,
He stands beside the cavern way,
With silent gaze, that seems to say,
Come friend—come foe—ye still shall find
A proud, resolved, unbroken mind,
That oft hath tried the battle blade,
Or set the deadly ambuscade;
That neither shuns, nor seeks to die,
That will not stoop, and will not fly.
OSCAR.The warrior father, slow appears;
Tall, rigid—firm of step and eye,
That speaks of sage, or prophecy;
A head, by nature bald, or shorn,
A look of care, but not forlorn—
A simple spear is in his hand;
With brow upraised, and gesture bland,
He stands beside the cavern way,
With silent gaze, that seems to say,
Come friend—come foe—ye still shall find
A proud, resolved, unbroken mind,
That oft hath tried the battle blade,
Or set the deadly ambuscade;
That neither shuns, nor seeks to die,
That will not stoop, and will not fly.
Holy hermit—not in ire
Press we on thy cavern fire;
Travellers we, from distant shores,
Where the loud Atlantic roars,
And the sun its earliest light
Pours on valley, plain and height.
By the Erie's fretted shore,
Plied we fast the cedar oar,
And the Huron's placid sea
Swept with spirits light and free:
Northward still we held our way,
Glancing on by isle and bay,
Bank and river, rift and wall,
To St. Mary's sounding fall—
Foamy pass of waters wild!
Islet green and rock up-piled,
Where the torrent silver-crown'd,
Dances on with murm'ring sound,
Deep and mellow—while the eye
Glows with thrilling ecstasy!
Press we on thy cavern fire;
31
Where the loud Atlantic roars,
And the sun its earliest light
Pours on valley, plain and height.
By the Erie's fretted shore,
Plied we fast the cedar oar,
And the Huron's placid sea
Swept with spirits light and free:
Northward still we held our way,
Glancing on by isle and bay,
Bank and river, rift and wall,
To St. Mary's sounding fall—
Foamy pass of waters wild!
Islet green and rock up-piled,
Where the torrent silver-crown'd,
Dances on with murm'ring sound,
Deep and mellow—while the eye
Glows with thrilling ecstasy!
There we paus'd, and gazed, and felt
Nature's potent power to melt;
But with ever brief delay
Urged again our watery way,
Till we felt the dizzy swell,
As it rose, and as it fell,
Of this vasty sheet and breeze,
Sire of continental seas!
And with joy unfelt before,
Gazed upon its ocean shore.
Nature's potent power to melt;
But with ever brief delay
Urged again our watery way,
Till we felt the dizzy swell,
As it rose, and as it fell,
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Sire of continental seas!
And with joy unfelt before,
Gazed upon its ocean shore.
Nor upon that border hoarse,
Bent we many days our course,
When a hunter, old and hoar,
Spied we joyous on the shore.
Him we urged, and by his skill
Reached this storm-indented isle:
Yet in all our lengthened way,
Nought of wondrous, grave or gay,
Have we met in joy or fear,
Strange as thy existence here,
Deemed by men a sacred shore,
Mortal never trod before.
Bent we many days our course,
When a hunter, old and hoar,
Spied we joyous on the shore.
Him we urged, and by his skill
Reached this storm-indented isle:
Yet in all our lengthened way,
Nought of wondrous, grave or gay,
Have we met in joy or fear,
Strange as thy existence here,
Deemed by men a sacred shore,
Mortal never trod before.
ALHALLA.
Hear me! of thy race severe,
Nought I hope and nought I fear,
Steel'd in heart, and steel'd in mind,
To the ills of human kind;
Yet, if in fate's thorny round,
Woes that press, and pains that wound,
There were still a pang unblest,
Deeper, keener than the rest,
'Twould be, in this secret place,
To behold the white-man's face—
Fatal race! to whom I owe
Bitter, lasting streams of woe—
Hunted from my native plains,
By wild war's horrific strains—
From my nation's council-fire,
By the plunderer's reckless ire—
From my lov'd, paternal streams,
By the cannon's battle-gleams—
Driven from all I valued most,
Kindred, country, fortune lost!
I resolved apace to flee
To some valley lone and free,
Friendly wood or sheltering cave,
Or some wild and distant wave,
All too frigid, poor and dread,
E'er to tempt the white-man's tread;
There unknown to pass my life,
Free from rapine—free from strife—
Happy in th' unpeopled wild,
With my loved, my only child!
And full happy, freed from cares,
Envy breeds, or hate prepares!
Here in numbers brief and low,
All unseen to vent my woe—
Dream o'er scenes of early peace,
And, as life's pulsations cease,
Sink to earth without a groan,
Calm, unnoticed, and alone.
Nought I hope and nought I fear,
Steel'd in heart, and steel'd in mind,
To the ills of human kind;
Yet, if in fate's thorny round,
Woes that press, and pains that wound,
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Deeper, keener than the rest,
'Twould be, in this secret place,
To behold the white-man's face—
Fatal race! to whom I owe
Bitter, lasting streams of woe—
Hunted from my native plains,
By wild war's horrific strains—
From my nation's council-fire,
By the plunderer's reckless ire—
From my lov'd, paternal streams,
By the cannon's battle-gleams—
Driven from all I valued most,
Kindred, country, fortune lost!
I resolved apace to flee
To some valley lone and free,
Friendly wood or sheltering cave,
Or some wild and distant wave,
All too frigid, poor and dread,
E'er to tempt the white-man's tread;
There unknown to pass my life,
Free from rapine—free from strife—
Happy in th' unpeopled wild,
With my loved, my only child!
And full happy, freed from cares,
Envy breeds, or hate prepares!
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All unseen to vent my woe—
Dream o'er scenes of early peace,
And, as life's pulsations cease,
Sink to earth without a groan,
Calm, unnoticed, and alone.
But e'en this may not be so,
Fresh the springs of sorrow flow!
And the fiat black and drear
Still pursues its victim here;
As if 'twere a boon too high
Thus to live and thus to die!
To declare thy presence here
Doth inspire a joy sincere,
Or with gladness fills my eye,
Were most base, unseemly lie!
Yet, to wayward mortal feet,
Is my roof a safe retreat;
Be ye foes, or be ye friends,
If impelled by noble ends,
Chance, or circumstance severe,
Chilly blast, or famine drear,
Welcome is my stony cot,
Welcome is my forest lot;
Freely enter—freely share
Cottage fire and cottage fare.
Fresh the springs of sorrow flow!
And the fiat black and drear
Still pursues its victim here;
As if 'twere a boon too high
Thus to live and thus to die!
To declare thy presence here
Doth inspire a joy sincere,
Or with gladness fills my eye,
Were most base, unseemly lie!
Yet, to wayward mortal feet,
Is my roof a safe retreat;
Be ye foes, or be ye friends,
If impelled by noble ends,
Chance, or circumstance severe,
Chilly blast, or famine drear,
Welcome is my stony cot,
Welcome is my forest lot;
Freely enter—freely share
Cottage fire and cottage fare.
| Alhalla, or the Lord of Talladega | |