Читать книгу Indian Legends of Minnesota - Various - Страница 8

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The hazy gloaming gathers round,

The silence mellows every sound,

The gentle wind, through foliage nigh,

Begins to breathe its plaintive sigh;

While o'er the hill creeps silver light,

Where calm and chaste the queen of night,

Awaking from her daily trance,

Doth charm all nature with her glance.

Her virgin train sweeps down the glade,

Kissing the cavern's mouth of shade;

She smiles upon the singing brook,

With sparkles filling every nook

That lurks about its dimpled face,

Giving its deepest shadows grace,

And breathing on its grassy mane

A gloss it ne'er can hope to gain

Beneath the sun's more kingly ray.

Weirdly the purling waters play

In her embrace; then break away

To vanish under bending boughs,

But giving voice to gurgling vows

FOUNTAIN CAVE.

Of future tryst, of love again

Where meet the river banks and glen.

The moonlight vaults beyond the trees

To gain the river side, and sees

A dusky maiden sitting there,

Who twines her lovely raven hair,

And frequent lifts her melting eyes

To where the flashing ripple flies

Across the bosom of that glass

Where dancing stars nocturnal pass.

A princess of the wildwood she,

And graceful as the deer that flee

Till stricken by the light-winged shaft

So deadly from the hunter's craft.

The river sings beneath her feet;

It finds an echo in the sweet

And tender thought that throbs behind

The starry curtains of her mind.

And when the thrills that sweep her heart

Now from her tongue in music start,

The wavelets beating on the strand,

The murmuring leaves by zephyrs fanned,

The minor rhythms that wake the bowers

Of this fair glen when evening lowers,

And warbling birds' melodious throng,

All mingle with her low love song.

Her voice is all that's wild and sweet,

And slow must be that warrior's feet

Who would not speed with all his heart

To see her red lips meet and part.

Love moves her with his golden sway—

A young and stalwart Chippewa

Has gained her heart, and kindred ties And tribal feuds her love defies.

What cares she that her people hate

And his give back without abate?

What cares she that he is not Sioux?

If he but keep his promise true!

She sings an old song, passion-laden

By many a dead Dahkota maiden:

O where is my lodge—my love?

O where is the lord of my breast?

Reveal me, Great Spirit above,

The arms where my passion may rest!

Brave warriors are thick as the leaves

That follow the wind in the fall;

Each maiden may think she receives

The smile of the noblest of all;

But I know a chief who can slay

The panther and bear with his hand—

As warm and as proud as the day,

And braver than all in his band.

In his sinewy arms I shall rest,

And hear his voice call me "sweet dove!"

O he is the lord of my breast!

With him is my lodge and my love!

She stops! She turns with sudden start,

With troubled eyes and beating heart,

To the frowning bluffs, where warlike cries

And sound of savage revel rise.

The warriors of her tribe are there,

All dancing in the firelight glare. Their spears with reeking scalps are clad,

Their thoughts are blood, their brains are mad;

Each yelling brave now only knows

Fierce hatred for his ancient foes.

They boast of all their deeds of might,

Of secret slaughter, deadly fight,

And woe to him who comes to meet

The lonely maid, Wenonah sweet,

If they his paddle's dip shall hear

Or after learn his presence near.

When their wild revel, to her fright,

Rose wilder with the fall of night,

She stole away and gained this place

To see again her lover's face.

She gazes on the distant shore,

But all is quiet as before.

Again she sings, her flute-like tones

So low that were the very stones

On which she rests her feet possessed

With sense to hear, what she confessed

In tuneful cadence would be lost

To them, for well she knows the cost

For him who loves her, if her thought

Be told aloud, and so there naught

Breaks on the air but melody.

If sung in words, her song would be:

My love is strong, my love is brave,

His heart is warm and true;

He soon will come across the wave

And bear me in his light canoe,

To be his queen and slave.

To me he bowed his eagle plume,

He tamed his eagle eye,

And vowed his love would life consume

If I refused with him to fly,

His teepee to illume.

O come, my chief! I watch—I wait!

I give up all for thee;

If thou wilt have an alien mate,

Wenonah longs that one to be,

That she may share thy fate.

Come quickly, love, but make no sound,

My people are thy foes,

If thou shouldst here by them be found

A warrior's death thy life would close,

Thy soul be skyward bound.

What then would poor Wenonah do

If she were left alone?

She scarce would see the hand that slew

Ere she would raise her death-chant tone,

And with thee perish too!

She scans the echoing cliff once more,

Then turns to view the farther shore,

And bending low she strives to hear

Some sound to tell her he is near.

O'er all there seems to fall a hush

As tender as her cheek's warm blush.

So firmly rooted to the spot—

As if she had all things forgot— She looks like some wild, charm-bound elf,

As lifeless as the moon itself.

But no! the parted lip and eye

Of flashing fire such thoughts belie,

And well and eloquent avow

The soul beneath that rigid brow.

O virgin heart! O passion bright!

That fills a glance with beauty's light.

O Wenijishid, happy thou,

Who surely will not tarry now!

A moment thus—then up she springs,

And now the song she softly sings

Floats o'er the water from her lip

To meet the constant, noiseless dip

Of Wenijishid's paddle blade.

How swift to greet the faithful maid

He comes! She waits, 'tween joy and fear,

While on he glides, each stroke more near.

Love gives him more than wonted strength,

And on the beach he leaps at length.

With trembling joy, with artless grace,

She springs into his glad embrace.

Within her brave young hero's arms

Forgot are all her past alarms.

One rapturous kiss with quick impress—

His burning hands her locks caress—

And then they gaze, at love's sweet will,

Eye into eye with answering thrill!

"Wenonah, darling, since we met,

Not once could I that smile forget

Which told me (more than words could tell)

The hopes that made this bosom swell

Were fair in our great Spirit's sight. He, ere another moon's swift flight,

Shall bid me take thee to my home

And joy in thee, no more to roam."

Her trustful voice is low and clear,

And sweetest music in his ear:

"No chief is braver, none more bold

Than he whose neck my arms enfold.

He dares the light the moonbeams make

And danger courts for my poor sake.

Hark! Wenijishid, hearest thou not

Those yells of warning? Though this spot

Rests now beneath a peaceful spell,

How long 'twill so we cannot tell.

Thy heart is big, and like a rock

Will meet the blood-storm's awful shock;

But I am weaker—and I fear

For thee each moment thou art here.

Behold how now the moonlight meets

And with a kiss each ripple greets;

Wenonah's heart, o'erflowed with bliss,

Is wholly thine, and thine her kiss."

The radiance mingled with the shade—

The murmur low by night winds made—

The rune, harmonious and complete,

Of wavelets in their ceaseless beat—

The fragrance given of sleeping flower—

The brooding hush that fits the hour—

With this fair scene all these are met

To make the scene more lovely yet.

Wenonah's kiss would all confess,

It gives to beauty holiness;

The moments passing seem to be

Endowed with all eternity, And in this lonely spot, love found

Brings the whole universe in bound!

But, hark! what sound the breezes bear

Turning her gladness to despair?

Wenonah trembles like a reed,

With hunted look she turns to plead:

"O Wenijishid, leave me, quick!

For dangers gather round thee thick.

We are discovered, and thy death

May hang upon each wasted breath.

Fly for thy life! Too late! too late!

Together we must meet our fate."

He smiles, and there with dauntless front

Would meet the coming foemen's brunt;

But she who will not leave his side

Bears in her hand his warrior pride,

And hopes of joyous life with her

Are sweeter than the battle's stir.

His war-whoop's taunt rings through the glen,

While answering come the cries of ten.

Wenonah clasps his brawny arm,

And lest his love might come to harm

He turns to where his birchen boat

Seems chafing to be set afloat;

And, ere their foes have gained the strand,

The light canoe beneath his hand

Leaps off before a foaming track.

He flings a yell of triumph back,

And grimly smiles as on he flies

To hear their disappointed cries;

Yet lest they may too soon pursue,

He urges on the flight anew.

He plies the paddle with a will, They skim the waves—but swifter still

A vengeful arrow cleaves the air,

To sink between his shoulders bare.

The shock is cruel, and the blade

Falls from his hand; his powers all fade

Like thought, and plunging on his face,

Deathlike he lies. Now to his place

Wenonah springs; with bloodless lip,

With gleaming eye and nervous grip,

She works the paddle with a force

Of which but love could be the source.

Beyond the range of bow, she flings

The blade aside and fiercely brings

Her wounded hero to her breast.

Now sadly called, now wildly pressed,

He breathes at last a feeble sigh,

And, feeling sure he will not die,

She labors strongly, full of hope

And nerved with any fate to cope.

She gains the shore, and stoutly bears

Her chief through brush and wild beast lairs.

All through the night she speeds her flight.

To where his people's fires burn bright.

When friendly, helping hands are found,

And she has given him to their care,

She sinks upon the leafy ground,

Panting like a hunted hare.

Her faithful powers have filled their task,

Their sacred trust no more need ask,

And now the goal is gained, they bind

Oblivion's charm around her mind.