Читать книгу Poetical Works of William Cullen Bryant - Bryant William Cullen, William Cullen Bryant - Страница 18

An Indian girl was sitting where

Her lover, slain in battle, slept;

Her maiden veil, her own black hair,4

Came down o'er eyes that wept;

And wildly, in her woodland tongue,

This sad and simple lay she sung:

"I've pulled away the shrubs that grew

Too close above thy sleeping head,

And broke the forest-boughs that threw

Their shadows o'er thy bed,

That, shining from the sweet southwest,

The sunbeams might rejoice thy rest.

"It was a weary, weary road

That led thee to the pleasant coast,

Where thou, in his serene abode,

Hast met thy father's ghost;

Where everlasting autumn lies

On yellow woods and sunny skies.

"'Twas I the broidered mocsen made,

That shod thee for that distant land;

'Twas I thy bow and arrows laid

Beside thy still cold hand;

Thy bow in many a battle bent,

Thy arrows never vainly sent.

"With wampum-belts I crossed thy breast,

And wrapped thee in the bison's hide,

And laid the food that pleased thee best,

In plenty, by thy side,

And decked thee bravely, as became

A warrior of illustrious name.

"Thou'rt happy now, for thou hast passed

The long dark journey of the grave,

And in the land of light, at last,

Hast joined the good and brave;

Amid the flushed and balmy air,

The bravest and the loveliest there.

"Yet, oft to thine own Indian maid

Even there thy thoughts will earthward stray —

To her who sits where thou wert laid,

And weeps the hours away,

Yet almost can her grief forget,

To think that thou dost love her yet.

"And thou, by one of those still lakes

That in a shining cluster lie,

On which the south wind scarcely breaks

The image of the sky,

A bower for thee and me hast made

Beneath the many-colored shade.

"And thou dost wait and watch to meet

My spirit sent to join the blessed,

And, wondering what detains my feet

From that bright land of rest,

Dost seem, in every sound, to hear

The rustling of my footsteps near."