 | [Poems by Sargent in] The token and Atlantic souvenir, a Christmas and New Year's present |  |
79
THE LIGHT CANOE.
Beside Missouri's swelling waves
An Indian maiden knelt,
And gazed across the shadowed stream,
And through the forest's belt;
And while the leaves about her fell,
And birds all nestward flew,
“Oh, that I might but see,” she cried,
“My lover's light canoe!”
An Indian maiden knelt,
And gazed across the shadowed stream,
And through the forest's belt;
And while the leaves about her fell,
And birds all nestward flew,
“Oh, that I might but see,” she cried,
“My lover's light canoe!”
The lurid air, the brassy sky,
Await the throbbing gale;
And o'er the pathway of the sun
The loosened vapors sail;
And, spreading east and west, they smirch
Each speck of heavenly blue;
But still the lonely watcher sighs,
“Where is his light canoe?”
Await the throbbing gale;
And o'er the pathway of the sun
The loosened vapors sail;
And, spreading east and west, they smirch
Each speck of heavenly blue;
But still the lonely watcher sighs,
“Where is his light canoe?”
A black duck lighted on a wave,
And pecked its oily breast;
“I see,” the Indian maiden said,
“My lover's eagle crest!”
But soon the bird its cradle spurned,
And cloudward swiftly flew;
“Ah no! 't is not my lover's crest,
'T is not his light canoe.”
And pecked its oily breast;
“I see,” the Indian maiden said,
“My lover's eagle crest!”
80
And cloudward swiftly flew;
“Ah no! 't is not my lover's crest,
'T is not his light canoe.”
A fish leaped from the river's brim;
“I see his paddle dart!”
It sank into the waves again,
And like it sank her heart.
“Ah, woe is me! the storm comes down,
I hear its rushing sugh,
Great Spirit! bring, oh bring him back,
Safe in his light canoe!”
“I see his paddle dart!”
It sank into the waves again,
And like it sank her heart.
“Ah, woe is me! the storm comes down,
I hear its rushing sugh,
Great Spirit! bring, oh bring him back,
Safe in his light canoe!”
She heeded not the arrowy rain,
The swelling flood, the blast;
She gazed across the smoking tide,
Until the storm had past:
The purple clouds coiled o'er the west,
The red sun shimmered through;
It flushed the wave, but did not show
The Indian's light canoe.
The swelling flood, the blast;
She gazed across the smoking tide,
Until the storm had past:
The purple clouds coiled o'er the west,
The red sun shimmered through;
It flushed the wave, but did not show
The Indian's light canoe.
Ah, Indian maiden! watch no more
Beside Missouri's stream;
In vain thou strain'st thine eyes to see
Thy lover's paddle gleam!
The white men's guns have laid him low!
Long, long did they pursue;
And now the intrepid warrior lies
Stiff in his light canoe!
Beside Missouri's stream;
In vain thou strain'st thine eyes to see
Thy lover's paddle gleam!
The white men's guns have laid him low!
Long, long did they pursue;
And now the intrepid warrior lies
Stiff in his light canoe!
114
TO S. D.
Had bards as many realms as rhymes,
Thy charms might raise new Antonies.
Byron.
Thy charms might raise new Antonies.
Byron.
Not for thy Phidian shape, O lady fair!
Not for thy cheek, with roseate lustre bright,
Where “York and Lancaster” for empire fight;
Not for the richness of thine auburn hair,
Thine eyes, which so unconsciously ensnare,
And all the charms that in thy smile unite
To lure, yet dazzle, the “rash gazer's” sight,
Do I, the humblest of thy votaries, dare,
This fragile offering at thy feet to lay;—
But for thy spirit's more divine array!
Thy heart retaining, through the world's alloy,
Its vernal freshness, its pure springs of joy!
Dear child of Nature!—so would Wordsworth call thee,—
Smooth seas, blue skies, and prospering gales befall thee!
115
THE TOKEN.
“Brave son of a Chieftain! beloved Cherokee!
This token of wampum is woven for thee;
A token to flutter and shine on thy breast,—
My bravest and brightest, my wisest and best!
This token of wampum is woven for thee;
A token to flutter and shine on thy breast,—
My bravest and brightest, my wisest and best!
“'Tis woven with coral, with beads, and with shells;
It shall be on thy breast the most potent of spells,
To save thee from ambush, to shield thee from harm,
To quicken thy sight, and give strength to thine arm.
It shall be on thy breast the most potent of spells,
To save thee from ambush, to shield thee from harm,
To quicken thy sight, and give strength to thine arm.
“Rejoicer in battle! what forest or stream
Sees thy heron-plume wave, and thy tomahawk gleam?
Does the Father of Waters sweep on thy sharp prow?
Sure threader of dark woods! Oh, where art thou now?
Sees thy heron-plume wave, and thy tomahawk gleam?
Does the Father of Waters sweep on thy sharp prow?
Sure threader of dark woods! Oh, where art thou now?
“Dost hunt the fierce bison, or shoot the fleet deer?
O'er the prairie's wide level dost bend thy career?
Or, worn with the heat and the toil of the chase,
Does the mist of the cataract moisten thy face?”
O'er the prairie's wide level dost bend thy career?
Or, worn with the heat and the toil of the chase,
Does the mist of the cataract moisten thy face?”
116
While thus spake the maiden, an eagle, who beat
The clouds with his pinions, fell dead at her feet!
And the arrow, which reached him, while mounting so free,
Was sped from the bow of the young Cherokee.
The clouds with his pinions, fell dead at her feet!
And the arrow, which reached him, while mounting so free,
Was sped from the bow of the young Cherokee.
| [Poems by Sargent in] The token and Atlantic souvenir, a Christmas and New Year's present | |