Poems :: :: University of Virginia Library

The crescent through the liquid air,
That breathed in fragrance o'er the grove,
Was sailing, and her vestments fair
Unfurled in mild and tranquil love;
And o'er the wold, enamelled bright,
The fairy woodnymphs seem to glide,
The phantom queens of noiseless night,
In all their lucent pygmean pride;
The beech was nodding from the cliff,
The moss-wreathed oak was sadly sighing,
And, on the cove afar, the skiff
O'er the light blue wave was flying;
The mountain hoar arose on high,
The visual pillar of the sky,
And down its shaggy sides, embrowned
By tropic suns, with rapid bound,
The lion, panther, fierce jackal,
Rushed to their midnight festival;
The hour was lone and sad, I ween,
But, voiceless was the desert scene?

II.

Clad in the garb of deepest wo,
A tenant of the airy height,
Her bosom heaved by mis'ry's throe,
And marked with grief her visage bright,

100

Why moans Manan in wailings deep,
Why loves lone Echo to respond
The bitter cry along the steep,
In notes of deep affection fond?
Oh! she has ceased to win the meed,
The olive sons of the cane-girt wood
In battle fierce, and fell, did bleed
To crown her with, the fair, the good;
Her sire, the chief of all the braves,
Who reigned the lords of wave and weald,
No more the fiend of havoc raves;
And rules by prowess firmly held;
And dark-haired Manan's sunny bower,
Upon the emerald, sloping hill,
Is tenantless at vesper hour,
And untrod dews around distil;
The eagle spirit of her race
Has flown away with rapid pace,
The congar makes his gory lair
In the royal weekwam—ay—and there
The night-wind bears the embers warm
Of all, that wore the living form,
And none, amid the dark despair,
Is left a boon to crave, or share.
Why flash the eyes, that beamed with mildness,
Around the wood in maniac wildness?

III.

Why are her arms clasped round her breast,
And why that heartless smile through tears?
Her dulcet song will hush to rest
The infant now the mother bears.

101

It slumbers in its bough-rocked cradle,
And mutely to the fountain-spring
Lone Manan treads, with cocoa-ladle,
The cold, pure beverage to bring.
In dreamless wo she pressed the knoll,
And sat upon the moss-grown seat—
“Dread grief seems rushing on thy soul,
And art thou—art thou desolate?
Why lov'st thou this dark wilderness,
If ought can be to win and bless”
“Stranger! thy mien appals my sight,
And adds a pang unto my heart,
The north-wind, oh! has sent a blight
O'er all that could a hope impart;
My garden in you wild was growing,
And vernal rays just oped the bud,
Then flew the fires of vengeance glowing,
Quenched only by my father's blood.
I was a chieftain's pride and glory,
The flower, that bloomed around his path,
O veil, ye Powers, the awful story!
Areouski's thundering wrath
Slept, moveless, in yon darkling cave.
And here is now my princely grave
Amid the marsh—no Indian eye
Will e'er the unknown spot espy,
Nor wandering footstep press the sod,
Save the cursed white-man's sole, O God!”

IV.

“As shadows flit before the dawn,
Perchance thy woes will find a balm,

102

And yet remain a martial train
Of warriors, who will bear the palm.”
“The Spirit, of the red right-hand,
Will hear proud Kolacusta's daughter,
And wield in wrath the gore-dyed brand
O'er the murderers' ruthless slaughter!
By my tombless father's name,
By all the glory he had won,
They shall hear 'mid death and flame,
My last—my dying malison!
Lesang—accursed for ever be
The man, who robbed me of my glory,
Yet O! his name is dear to me,
I love him, e'en in garments gory—
Lesang entwined my heart in love,
We looked—and vowed by him above,
To live in one—our bosoms prest,
An infant hung upon my breast,
And I in love and hope was blest.

V.

“Taught by my sire, he bounded o'er
The pathless forest, like a roe,
And slew the crocodile on the shore,
Or bayed the rapid buffalo;
And sure, unerring was his arrow,
As the flaming bolt of heaven,
In wide savannas, ravine narrow,
The victim fell by morn, or even!
And dauntless was his fiery soul,
As the firm rock 'mid cataracts,

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Each scene of terror would unroll,
Ere death did mark his gory tracks;
We spread the bear-skin, and we slept
I woke, and base Lesang had fled,
Years rolled away, and still I wept,
And classed him with the unknown dead.
'Twas when the autumnal jubilee
Had filled each heart with joyous glee,
And dimmed the eye of the Cherokee,
Around lay buskined warriors, dead
To glory's whoop, or danger's dread,
On arid sands the feathery plume,
The bow, and battle's rich costume,
Were strewn, and soul impassive slept,
And deadly still was the cloud-wrapt hill,
Like lioness, ere burns her eye,
When nought is left but to shriek and die.

VI.

“Swathed in its bands, yon orphan child,
(O! sweet the thought, it knows not grief,)
Hung on my breast, and we sought the wild,
But oft gazed on the warrior-chief,
Who lay, unknown, unseen, unheeding
Guile, or ambush, bow or brand;
But on the prairie war is breeding,
And death is winged from the white man's hand;
Through the dun gloom a vivid flash,
A barbed bolt, the signal rung,
An hundred desperadoes dash—
Our warriors to the battle sprung,

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But reeled and fell, and not a bow
Their nerveless arms in terror drew;
O'er marsh and glen I frantic flew,
Lesang, Lesang, and is it you?
Spare, spare him—Oh! my hoary sire!
'Twas vain; their hands had lit the pyre.
His blood is reeking on the turf,
His embers rest upon the surf.

VII.

“My frenzied eye, in burning wrath,
Surveyed the basilisk of night,
In reckless ire I crossed his path,
And spoke in fell despair's dread might;
'Nay—seek not thus to 'scape the doom
The Manitou prepares for thee,
Beneath yon thicket's rayless gloom
Thou shalt enjoy thy revelry;
Say, demon, say is this the pledge
Of deathless hope, and ceaseless love;
Is that his couch—yon craggy hedge,
Where thou hast doomed thy spouse to rove?
Go—thou shalt sleep in shroudless dust,
The crow shall weave thy funeral pall,
Thy name by every tongue be curst
And round thy fleshless form shall all
The serpent brood agree to coil;
Now take my malison to foil
Thy exploits, and thy feats of glory;
Go—thou shalt sleep in vestures gory;

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Thy banner, dyed in human slaughter,
The wrathful Ioconda's daughter
Shall wrest from thy ignoble hand,
And furies round thy torture stand.

VIII.

“He turned in scorn—I sought yon height,
With fury merged in dark despair,
My shriek rung on the ear of night,
And sprung the lion from his lair;
A death-scene rushed upon my view,
And screams of horror shook the glen,
The poisoned arrow fiercely flew,
A flash arrayed the gloom, and then
The pierced heart's last convulsive throb
Sent a faint shriek—I could not sob,
The fountain of my tears had dried,
And love, and hope, and passion died,
But Lesang fell—and all was o'er—
My voice is hushed for evermore.”

IX.

Dark Manan sunk upon the knoll,
Her flashing eye has lost its fire,
Her noble mind and guileless soul
No more the tale of death inspire;
The wanderer scooped a shallow grave,
And there he laid the forest flower,
The last of all the savage brave,
To whom their spirit, as a dower,

106

Gave all this noble hemisphere;
He took the boy, devoid of fear,
And trained him, in a Christian land,
To deeds of mercy, pure and bland;
And oft the bard, at eventide,
When nature veils her scenes of pride,
Has heard him chant, along the dale,
His mother's wild, and dreadful tale.