FOOTNOTES:

FOOTNOTES:[A]Hudson.[B]Or Ho-de-no-son-ne.[C]The corresponding word in the Seneca dialect is Tod-o-dah-hoh.[D]Indian Picture Writing.[E]Onondaga.

[A]Hudson.

[B]Or Ho-de-no-son-ne.

[C]The corresponding word in the Seneca dialect is Tod-o-dah-hoh.

[D]Indian Picture Writing.

[E]Onondaga.

In Indian mythology may be found the richest poetic materials. An American Author is unworthy of the land that gave him birth if he passes by with indifference this well-spring of inspiration, sending liberally forth a thousand enchanted streams. It has given spiritual inhabitants to our valleys, rivers, hills and inland seas; it has peopled the dim and awful depths of our forests with spectres, and, by the power of association, given our scenery a charm that will make it attractive forever. The material eye is gratified by a passing glimpse of nature's external features, but a beauty, unseen, unknown before, invests them if linked to stories of the past, in the creation of which fabling fancy has been a diligent co-worker with memory.

The red man was a being who delighted in the mystical and the wild—it was a part of his woodland inheritance. Good and evil genii performed for him their allotted tasks. Joyous tidings, freedom from disease and disaster—success in the chase, and on the war path were traceable to the Master of Life and his subordinate ministers:—blight that fell upon the corn was attributed, on the contrary, to demoniac agency, and the shaft that missed its mark was turned aside by the invisible hand of some mischievous sprite. Deities presided over the elements. The Chippewas have their little wild men of the woods, that remind us of Puck and his frolicsome brotherhood, and the dark son of the wilderness, like our first parents

—"from the steepOf echoing hill or thicket often heardCelestial voices."

My tent is pitched on the hunting grounds of the Senecas, (or So-non-ton-ons) and I deem it not inappropriate to select for my theme the Legend of their origin.

Different versions of the story are in circulation, but I have been guided mainly, in the narrative part of my poem, by notes taken down after an interview with the late Captain Horatio Jones, the Indian Interpreter of the Six Nations.

The great hill at the head of Canandaigua Lake, from whence the Senecas sprung, is called Genundewah. Tradition says that it was crowned by a fort to which the braves of the tribe resorted at night-fall, afterwaging war with a race of giants. These giants were worshippers of Ut-co, or the Evil Spirit, who sent, after their extermination, a great serpent to destroy the conquerors. Quitting its watery lair in Canandaigua Lake, the monster encircled their fortification. The head and tail completed a horridringat the gateway, and, when half famished, the wretched inmates vainly attempted to escape. All were destroyed with the exception of a pair, whose miraculous preservation is related in the poem that follows. Ever after Genundewah was a chosen seat of Iroquois Council, and wrinkled seers were in the habit of climbing its sides for the purpose of offering up prayers to the Great Spirit.

BY WILLIAM H. C. HOSMER.

WRITTEN AT THE REQUEST OF THE "NEW CONFEDERATION OF THE IROQUOIS," AND PRONOUNCED BEFORE THEM IN GENERAL COUNCIL, AT AURORA, AUGUST15th, 1845.

I.Why, Chieftain, linger on this barren hillThat overbrows yon azure sheet below?Red sunset glimmers on the leaping rill,Dark night is near, and we have far to go.This scene—replied he leaning on big bow—Is hallowed by tradition—wondrous birthHere to my Tribe was given long ago;We stand where rose they from disparting earthTo light a deathless blaze on Fame's unmouldering hearth.II.A fort they reared upon this summit bleakGuided by counsel from the Spirit Land,And clad in dart-proof panoply would seekThe plains beneath each morn, a valiant band,And warfare wage with giants hand to hand:They conquered in the struggle, and the bonesOf their dead foemen on the echoing strandOf the clear lake lay blent with wave-washed stones,And pale, unbodied ghosts filled air with hollow moans.III.Ut-co, the scowling King of Evil, heardThe voice of lamentation, and wild ireThe depths of his remorseless bosom stirr'd;Of that gigantic brood he was the sire,And flying from his cavern, arched with fire,He hovered o'er these, waters—at his callUp rushed a hideous monster, spire on spire;—Callso astounding that the rocky wallOf this blue chain of hills seemed tott'ring to its fall!IV.With his infernal parent for a guide,The hungry serpent left his watery lair,Dragging his scaly terrors up the sideOf this tall hill, now desolate and bare:Filled with alarm the Senecas espiedHis dread approach, and launched a whizzing showerOf arrows on the foe, whose iron hideRepelled their flinty points—and in that hourThe boldest warrior fled from strife with fiendish power.V.The loathsome messenger of wo and deathTrue to his dark and awful mission wound,Polluting air with his envenom'd breath,Huge folds the palisadoed camp around:Crouched at his master's feet the faithful hound,And raised a piteous and despairing cry;No outlet of escape the mother foundFor her imploring infants, and on highLifted her trembling hands in voiceless agony.VI.Forming a hideous circle at the gateThe reptile's head and tail together lay;Distended were the fang-set jaws in waitFor victims, thus beleaguered, night and day;And not unlike the red and angry rayShot by the bearded comet was the lightOf his unslumbering eye that watched for prey;His burnished mail flashed back the sunshine bright,And round him pale the woods grew with untimely blight.VII.When famine raged within their guarded hold,And wan distemper thinn'd their numbers fast,Crowding the narrow gateway young and oldWith the fixed look of desperation passedFrom life to dreadful death—a charnel vast—The reptile's yawning throat entombed the strong,And lovely of the Tribe:—remained at lastTwo lovers only of that mighty throngTo chaunt with feeble voice a nation's funeral song.VIII.Comely to look on was the youthful pair:—One, like the mountain pine erect and tall,Was of imposing presence;—his dark hairHad caught its hue from night's descending pall;Light was his tread—his port majestical,And well his kingly brow became a formOf matchless beauty:—like the rise and fallOf a strong billow in the hour of stormBeat his undaunted heart with glory's impulse warm.IX.Graced was his belt by beads of dazzling sheenAnd painted quills—the handiwork of oneDearer than life to him;—though he had seenFrom the gray hills, beneath a wasting sun,Only the snows of twenty winters run,The warrior's right his scalp lock to adornWith eagle plumes in battle he had won:O'erjoyed were prophets old when he was born,And hailed him with one voice "First Sunbeam of the Morn."X.The other!—what of her?—bright shapes beyondThis darkened earth wear looks like those she wore;Graceful her mien as lilly of the pondThat nods to every wind that passes o'erIts fragrant head a welcome:—never moreBy loveliness so rare will earth be blest;Softer than ripple breaking on the shoreBy moonlight was her voice, and in her breastPure thought a dwelling found—the Bird of Love a nest.XI.Round her would hop unscared the sinless bird,And court the lustre of her gentle glance,Hushing each wood-note wild whene'er it heardHer song of joy:—her countenanceInspired beholders with a thought that chanceHad borne her hither from some better land:—To deck her tresses for the festive danceGirls of the tribe would bring, with liberal hand,Blossoms and rose-lipped shells from bower and reedy strand.XII.A thing of beauty is the slender vineThat wreaths its verdant arm around the oakAs if it there could safely intertwineShielded from ringing axe—the lightning stroke—And like that vine the girl of whom I spokeClung to her companion:—scalding tearsRained from her elk-like eyes, and sobs outbrokeFrom her o'er-labored bosom, while her earsWere filled with soothing tones that did not hush her fears.XIII.Mourner! the hour of rescue is at hand!This hill will tremble to its rocky baseWhen Ou-wee ne-you utters stern command;Joy ere another fleeting moon the traceOf clouding sorrow from thy brow will chase:—Fear not!—for I am left to guard thee yetLast of the daughters of a luckless race!We must not in the time of grief forgetThat light breaks forth anew from orbs that darkly set.XIV.Thus, day by day, would O-wen-do-skah striveTo cheer the drooping spirits of the maid,And keep one glimmering spark of hope alive;In the deep midnight for celestial aid,While cowered the trembler at his knee, he prayedIn tones that might have touched a heart of rock:One morn exclaimed he—"be no more afraidBright, peerless scion of a broken stock,For Heaven the monster's coil is arming to unlock.XV."Reserved for some high destiny despiteThe downfall of our people we live on—My dreams were of deliverance last night,And peril of impending death withdrawn:A light, my weeping one, begins to dawnOn the thick gloom by sorrow round us cast;The lead-like pressure of despair is gone,And rides a viewless courier on the blastWho whispers—Lo! the hour of vengeance comes at last.XVI."Gorged with his meal of gore unstirring sleepsIn his tremendous ring our mortal foe:Film-veiled his savage eye no longer keepsGrim watch for victims—warily and slow!Follow thy lover arrived with bended bowOf timber shaped, in many a battle tried—Some guardian spirit will before me throwA shield by human vision undescriedShould he awake in wrath, and hence our footsteps guide."XVII.It was I ween a sight to freeze each veinThat courses through our perishable clayWhen sallied forth with muffled tread the twain;A look of wild, unutterable dismayConvulsed Te-yos-yu's[F]visage while the way,A spear-length in advance, her lover led:Reaching the portal paused he to surveyThe dangerous pass through which a grisly headDeprest to earth he saw, its mouth with murder red.XVIII."On! On!"—he whispered—"and the sightless moleOur footfall must not hear, or we are lost:"Nerved to high purpose was his war-like soulAs the dark threshold of the gate he cross'd;But fear that instant chilled his limbs with frost,For high its swollen neck the monster raisedGore dripping from its jaws with foam embossed,And rimmed with fire, and circling eye-ball blazedAs light unwounding dart its horrid armor grazed.XIX.Sick by a foul and fetid odor madeRecoiled the champion from unequal fray;Cut off all hope of rescue, he surveyedFiercely the danger like a stag at bay:Where was Te-yos-yu?—she had swooned away,And hoof-crushed wild-flower of the forest brownResembled her as soiled with mould she lay;Long on theseeming corpsethe chief looked down,For 'twas a sight the cup of his despair to crown.XX.Kneeling at length, upheld he with strong armHer beauteous head, but in the temples beatNo pulse of life:—tears gushing fast and warmRefresh a heart, of transcient ill the seat,As raindrops cool the summer's midday heat;But when descends some desolating blowThat makes this world a desert, how unmeetIs outward symbol!—and far, far belowThe water-mark of grief was Oh-wen-do-skah's wo!XXI.In broken tones he murmured—"must the nameOf a great people be revived no more,And like an echo pass away their fame,Or moccasin's faint impress on the shoreOf the salt lake when billows foam and roar?Black night enwraps my soul, for she is deadWho was its light—desire to live is o'er!"Scarce were these words in mournful accent said,When peals of thunder shook low vale and mountain-head.XXII.Up sprang the Chief;—and on a throne of cloud,Robed in a snowy mantle fringed with light,The Lord of life beheld:—the forest bowedIts head in awe before that presence bright,And a wild shudder at the dazzling sightRan through the mighty monster's knotted ringShaking the hill from base to rocky height;Rose from her trance the maid with fawn-like spring,And balanced in mid-air the bird on trembling wing.XXIII."Notch on the twisted sinew of thy bowThis fatal weapon"—Ou-wee-ne-you[G]cried,Dropping a golden shaft—"and pierce the foeUnder the rounded scale that wall his side!"Then vanished, while again the valley wideAnd mountain quaked with thunder:—from the groundThe warrior raised the gift of Heaven, and hiedOn his heroic mission while aroundThe hill with closer clasp his train the serpent wound.XXIV.Flame-hued and hissing played its nimble tongueBetween thick, ghastly rows of pointed boneRound which commingled gore and venom clung:Raging its flattened head like copper shone,And flinty earth returned a heavy groanLashed by quick strokes of its resounding tail;Heard is like uproar when the hills bleak coneIs wildly beat by winter's icy flail,But in that moment dire the archer did not quail.XXV.Firm in one hand his trusty bow he held,And with the other to its glittering headDrew the long shaft while full each muscle swell'd;A twanging sound!—and on its errand spedThe messenger of vengeance:—warm and redGushed from a gaping wound the vital tide—Wrenched was the granite from its ancient bed,And pines were broken in their leafy pride,When throes of mortal pain the monster's coil untied.XXVI.Down the steep hill outstretched and dead he rolledDisgorging human heads in his descent;Oaks that in earth had deeply fixed their holdLike reeds by that revolving mass were bent,Splintered their boughs as if by thunder rent:High flung the troubled lake its glittering spray,And far the beach with flakes of foam besprent,When the huge carcass disappeared for ayeIn depths from whence it rose to curse the beams of day.XXVII.When winds its murmuring bosom cease to wakeThrough bright transparent waves you may discernOn the hard, pebbled bottom of the lakeSkulls changed to stone:—when fires no longer burnKindled by sunset, and the glistening urnOf night o'erflows with dew the phantoms paleOf matron, maid, child, seer and chieftain sternTheir ghastly faces to the moon unveil,And raise upon the shore a low heart-broken wail.XXVIII.The lovers of Genundewah were blestBy the Great Spirit, and their lodge becameThe nursery of a nation:—when the WestOpened its gates of parti-colored flameTo give their souls free passage loud acclaimRang through the Spirit Land, and voices cried"Welcome! ye builders of eternal fame!Ye royal founders of an empire wideThe stream of joy flows by, quaff ever from its tide!"XXIX.At Onondaga burned the sacred fireA thousand winters with unwasting blaze;In guarding it son emulated sire,And far abroad were flung its dazzling rays:Followed were happy years by evil days—Blue-eyed and pale came Children of the DawnTall spires on site of bark-built town to raise;Change groves of beauty to a naked lawn,And whirl their chariot wheels where led the doe her fawn.XXX.Where are the mighty?—morning finds them not!I call—and echo gives response alone;The fiery bolt of Ruin hath been shot,The blow is struck—the winds of death have blown!Cold are the hearths—their altars overthrown:For them with smoking venison the board,Reward of toilsome chase, no more will groan;Sharper than hatchet proved the conqueror's sword,And blood, in fruitless strife, like water they outpoured.XXXI.The spotted Demon of Contagion cameEre the sacred bird of Peace could find a nest,And vanished Tribes like summer grass when flameReddens the level prairie of the West,Or wasting dew drops when the rocky crestOf this enchanted hill is tipped with gold;And ere the Genii of the wild-wood drestWith flowers and moss the grave mound's hollowed mould,Before the ringing axe went down the forest old.XXXII.Oh! where is Gar-an-gu-la—Sachem wise?Who was the father of his people?—whereKing Hendrick, Cay-en-guac-to?—who replies?And Sken-an-do-ah, was thy silver hairBrought to the dust in sorrow and despairBy pale oppression, though thy bow was strongTo guard their Thirteen Fires?—they did not spareE'en thee, old chieftain, and thy tuneful tongueThe death-dirge of thy race in measured cadence sung.XXXIII.Thea-an-de-nea-gua[H]of the martial brow,Gy-ant-wa,[I]Hon-ne-ya-was[J]where are they?Sa-go-ye-wat-hah![K]ishe silentnow?No more will listening throngs his voice obey.Like visions have the mighty passed away!Their tears descend in rain-drops, and their sighsAre heard in wailing winds when evening grayShadows the landscape, and their mournful eyesGleam in the misty light of moon-illumin'd skies.XXXIV.Gone are my tribesmen, and another race,Born of the foam, disclose with plough and spadeSecrets of battle-field and burial-place;And hunting grounds, once dark with pleasant shade,Bask in the golden light:—but I have madeA pilgrimage from far to look once moreOn scenes through which in childhood's hour I strayed,Though robbed of might my limbs, my locks all hoar,And on this Holy Mount mourn for the days of yore,XXXV.Our house is broken open at both endsThough deeply set the posts, its timber strong—From ruthless foes, and traitors masked as friends,Tutored to sing a false but pleasant songThe Seneca and Mohawk guarded longIts blood-stained doors:—theformerfaced the sunIn his decline—thelatterwatched a throngClouding the eastern hills—their tasks are done;A game for life was played, and prize the white man won.XXXVI.Around me soon will bloom unfading flowersYe glorious Spirit Islands of the just!No fatal axe will hew away your bowers,Or lay the green-robed forest king in dust:Far from the spoiler's fury, and his lustOf boundless power will I my fathers meetTiaras wearing never dimm'd by rust,And they, while airs waft music passing sweet,To blest abodes will guide my silver-sandal'd feet.

A fort they reared upon this summit bleakGuided by counsel from the Spirit Land,And clad in dart-proof panoply would seekThe plains beneath each morn, a valiant band,And warfare wage with giants hand to hand:They conquered in the struggle, and the bonesOf their dead foemen on the echoing strandOf the clear lake lay blent with wave-washed stones,And pale, unbodied ghosts filled air with hollow moans.

Ut-co, the scowling King of Evil, heardThe voice of lamentation, and wild ireThe depths of his remorseless bosom stirr'd;Of that gigantic brood he was the sire,And flying from his cavern, arched with fire,He hovered o'er these, waters—at his callUp rushed a hideous monster, spire on spire;—Callso astounding that the rocky wallOf this blue chain of hills seemed tott'ring to its fall!

With his infernal parent for a guide,The hungry serpent left his watery lair,Dragging his scaly terrors up the sideOf this tall hill, now desolate and bare:Filled with alarm the Senecas espiedHis dread approach, and launched a whizzing showerOf arrows on the foe, whose iron hideRepelled their flinty points—and in that hourThe boldest warrior fled from strife with fiendish power.

The loathsome messenger of wo and deathTrue to his dark and awful mission wound,Polluting air with his envenom'd breath,Huge folds the palisadoed camp around:Crouched at his master's feet the faithful hound,And raised a piteous and despairing cry;No outlet of escape the mother foundFor her imploring infants, and on highLifted her trembling hands in voiceless agony.

Forming a hideous circle at the gateThe reptile's head and tail together lay;Distended were the fang-set jaws in waitFor victims, thus beleaguered, night and day;And not unlike the red and angry rayShot by the bearded comet was the lightOf his unslumbering eye that watched for prey;His burnished mail flashed back the sunshine bright,And round him pale the woods grew with untimely blight.

When famine raged within their guarded hold,And wan distemper thinn'd their numbers fast,Crowding the narrow gateway young and oldWith the fixed look of desperation passedFrom life to dreadful death—a charnel vast—The reptile's yawning throat entombed the strong,And lovely of the Tribe:—remained at lastTwo lovers only of that mighty throngTo chaunt with feeble voice a nation's funeral song.

Comely to look on was the youthful pair:—One, like the mountain pine erect and tall,Was of imposing presence;—his dark hairHad caught its hue from night's descending pall;Light was his tread—his port majestical,And well his kingly brow became a formOf matchless beauty:—like the rise and fallOf a strong billow in the hour of stormBeat his undaunted heart with glory's impulse warm.

Graced was his belt by beads of dazzling sheenAnd painted quills—the handiwork of oneDearer than life to him;—though he had seenFrom the gray hills, beneath a wasting sun,Only the snows of twenty winters run,The warrior's right his scalp lock to adornWith eagle plumes in battle he had won:O'erjoyed were prophets old when he was born,And hailed him with one voice "First Sunbeam of the Morn."

The other!—what of her?—bright shapes beyondThis darkened earth wear looks like those she wore;Graceful her mien as lilly of the pondThat nods to every wind that passes o'erIts fragrant head a welcome:—never moreBy loveliness so rare will earth be blest;Softer than ripple breaking on the shoreBy moonlight was her voice, and in her breastPure thought a dwelling found—the Bird of Love a nest.

Round her would hop unscared the sinless bird,And court the lustre of her gentle glance,Hushing each wood-note wild whene'er it heardHer song of joy:—her countenanceInspired beholders with a thought that chanceHad borne her hither from some better land:—To deck her tresses for the festive danceGirls of the tribe would bring, with liberal hand,Blossoms and rose-lipped shells from bower and reedy strand.

A thing of beauty is the slender vineThat wreaths its verdant arm around the oakAs if it there could safely intertwineShielded from ringing axe—the lightning stroke—And like that vine the girl of whom I spokeClung to her companion:—scalding tearsRained from her elk-like eyes, and sobs outbrokeFrom her o'er-labored bosom, while her earsWere filled with soothing tones that did not hush her fears.

Mourner! the hour of rescue is at hand!This hill will tremble to its rocky baseWhen Ou-wee ne-you utters stern command;Joy ere another fleeting moon the traceOf clouding sorrow from thy brow will chase:—Fear not!—for I am left to guard thee yetLast of the daughters of a luckless race!We must not in the time of grief forgetThat light breaks forth anew from orbs that darkly set.

Thus, day by day, would O-wen-do-skah striveTo cheer the drooping spirits of the maid,And keep one glimmering spark of hope alive;In the deep midnight for celestial aid,While cowered the trembler at his knee, he prayedIn tones that might have touched a heart of rock:One morn exclaimed he—"be no more afraidBright, peerless scion of a broken stock,For Heaven the monster's coil is arming to unlock.

"Reserved for some high destiny despiteThe downfall of our people we live on—My dreams were of deliverance last night,And peril of impending death withdrawn:A light, my weeping one, begins to dawnOn the thick gloom by sorrow round us cast;The lead-like pressure of despair is gone,And rides a viewless courier on the blastWho whispers—Lo! the hour of vengeance comes at last.

"Gorged with his meal of gore unstirring sleepsIn his tremendous ring our mortal foe:Film-veiled his savage eye no longer keepsGrim watch for victims—warily and slow!Follow thy lover arrived with bended bowOf timber shaped, in many a battle tried—Some guardian spirit will before me throwA shield by human vision undescriedShould he awake in wrath, and hence our footsteps guide."

It was I ween a sight to freeze each veinThat courses through our perishable clayWhen sallied forth with muffled tread the twain;A look of wild, unutterable dismayConvulsed Te-yos-yu's[F]visage while the way,A spear-length in advance, her lover led:Reaching the portal paused he to surveyThe dangerous pass through which a grisly headDeprest to earth he saw, its mouth with murder red.

"On! On!"—he whispered—"and the sightless moleOur footfall must not hear, or we are lost:"Nerved to high purpose was his war-like soulAs the dark threshold of the gate he cross'd;But fear that instant chilled his limbs with frost,For high its swollen neck the monster raisedGore dripping from its jaws with foam embossed,And rimmed with fire, and circling eye-ball blazedAs light unwounding dart its horrid armor grazed.

Sick by a foul and fetid odor madeRecoiled the champion from unequal fray;Cut off all hope of rescue, he surveyedFiercely the danger like a stag at bay:Where was Te-yos-yu?—she had swooned away,And hoof-crushed wild-flower of the forest brownResembled her as soiled with mould she lay;Long on theseeming corpsethe chief looked down,For 'twas a sight the cup of his despair to crown.

Kneeling at length, upheld he with strong armHer beauteous head, but in the temples beatNo pulse of life:—tears gushing fast and warmRefresh a heart, of transcient ill the seat,As raindrops cool the summer's midday heat;But when descends some desolating blowThat makes this world a desert, how unmeetIs outward symbol!—and far, far belowThe water-mark of grief was Oh-wen-do-skah's wo!

In broken tones he murmured—"must the nameOf a great people be revived no more,And like an echo pass away their fame,Or moccasin's faint impress on the shoreOf the salt lake when billows foam and roar?Black night enwraps my soul, for she is deadWho was its light—desire to live is o'er!"Scarce were these words in mournful accent said,When peals of thunder shook low vale and mountain-head.

Up sprang the Chief;—and on a throne of cloud,Robed in a snowy mantle fringed with light,The Lord of life beheld:—the forest bowedIts head in awe before that presence bright,And a wild shudder at the dazzling sightRan through the mighty monster's knotted ringShaking the hill from base to rocky height;Rose from her trance the maid with fawn-like spring,And balanced in mid-air the bird on trembling wing.

"Notch on the twisted sinew of thy bowThis fatal weapon"—Ou-wee-ne-you[G]cried,Dropping a golden shaft—"and pierce the foeUnder the rounded scale that wall his side!"Then vanished, while again the valley wideAnd mountain quaked with thunder:—from the groundThe warrior raised the gift of Heaven, and hiedOn his heroic mission while aroundThe hill with closer clasp his train the serpent wound.

Flame-hued and hissing played its nimble tongueBetween thick, ghastly rows of pointed boneRound which commingled gore and venom clung:Raging its flattened head like copper shone,And flinty earth returned a heavy groanLashed by quick strokes of its resounding tail;Heard is like uproar when the hills bleak coneIs wildly beat by winter's icy flail,But in that moment dire the archer did not quail.

Firm in one hand his trusty bow he held,And with the other to its glittering headDrew the long shaft while full each muscle swell'd;A twanging sound!—and on its errand spedThe messenger of vengeance:—warm and redGushed from a gaping wound the vital tide—Wrenched was the granite from its ancient bed,And pines were broken in their leafy pride,When throes of mortal pain the monster's coil untied.

Down the steep hill outstretched and dead he rolledDisgorging human heads in his descent;Oaks that in earth had deeply fixed their holdLike reeds by that revolving mass were bent,Splintered their boughs as if by thunder rent:High flung the troubled lake its glittering spray,And far the beach with flakes of foam besprent,When the huge carcass disappeared for ayeIn depths from whence it rose to curse the beams of day.

When winds its murmuring bosom cease to wakeThrough bright transparent waves you may discernOn the hard, pebbled bottom of the lakeSkulls changed to stone:—when fires no longer burnKindled by sunset, and the glistening urnOf night o'erflows with dew the phantoms paleOf matron, maid, child, seer and chieftain sternTheir ghastly faces to the moon unveil,And raise upon the shore a low heart-broken wail.

The lovers of Genundewah were blestBy the Great Spirit, and their lodge becameThe nursery of a nation:—when the WestOpened its gates of parti-colored flameTo give their souls free passage loud acclaimRang through the Spirit Land, and voices cried"Welcome! ye builders of eternal fame!Ye royal founders of an empire wideThe stream of joy flows by, quaff ever from its tide!"

At Onondaga burned the sacred fireA thousand winters with unwasting blaze;In guarding it son emulated sire,And far abroad were flung its dazzling rays:Followed were happy years by evil days—Blue-eyed and pale came Children of the DawnTall spires on site of bark-built town to raise;Change groves of beauty to a naked lawn,And whirl their chariot wheels where led the doe her fawn.

Where are the mighty?—morning finds them not!I call—and echo gives response alone;The fiery bolt of Ruin hath been shot,The blow is struck—the winds of death have blown!Cold are the hearths—their altars overthrown:For them with smoking venison the board,Reward of toilsome chase, no more will groan;Sharper than hatchet proved the conqueror's sword,And blood, in fruitless strife, like water they outpoured.

The spotted Demon of Contagion cameEre the sacred bird of Peace could find a nest,And vanished Tribes like summer grass when flameReddens the level prairie of the West,Or wasting dew drops when the rocky crestOf this enchanted hill is tipped with gold;And ere the Genii of the wild-wood drestWith flowers and moss the grave mound's hollowed mould,Before the ringing axe went down the forest old.

Oh! where is Gar-an-gu-la—Sachem wise?Who was the father of his people?—whereKing Hendrick, Cay-en-guac-to?—who replies?And Sken-an-do-ah, was thy silver hairBrought to the dust in sorrow and despairBy pale oppression, though thy bow was strongTo guard their Thirteen Fires?—they did not spareE'en thee, old chieftain, and thy tuneful tongueThe death-dirge of thy race in measured cadence sung.

Thea-an-de-nea-gua[H]of the martial brow,Gy-ant-wa,[I]Hon-ne-ya-was[J]where are they?Sa-go-ye-wat-hah![K]ishe silentnow?No more will listening throngs his voice obey.Like visions have the mighty passed away!Their tears descend in rain-drops, and their sighsAre heard in wailing winds when evening grayShadows the landscape, and their mournful eyesGleam in the misty light of moon-illumin'd skies.

Gone are my tribesmen, and another race,Born of the foam, disclose with plough and spadeSecrets of battle-field and burial-place;And hunting grounds, once dark with pleasant shade,Bask in the golden light:—but I have madeA pilgrimage from far to look once moreOn scenes through which in childhood's hour I strayed,Though robbed of might my limbs, my locks all hoar,And on this Holy Mount mourn for the days of yore,

Our house is broken open at both endsThough deeply set the posts, its timber strong—From ruthless foes, and traitors masked as friends,Tutored to sing a false but pleasant songThe Seneca and Mohawk guarded longIts blood-stained doors:—theformerfaced the sunIn his decline—thelatterwatched a throngClouding the eastern hills—their tasks are done;A game for life was played, and prize the white man won.

Around me soon will bloom unfading flowersYe glorious Spirit Islands of the just!No fatal axe will hew away your bowers,Or lay the green-robed forest king in dust:Far from the spoiler's fury, and his lustOf boundless power will I my fathers meetTiaras wearing never dimm'd by rust,And they, while airs waft music passing sweet,To blest abodes will guide my silver-sandal'd feet.

The warrior's right his scalp lock to adornWith eagle plumes in battle he had won.—Stanza ix.

No one but a brave who has slain an enemy in battle, is allowed the distinguished honor of wearing eagle feathers.

Rained from her elk-like eyes.—Stanza xii.

Objects clear and bright are often compared by the Indian to the elk's eye. The definition of Muskingum is—"clear as an elk's eye."

Born of the foam.—Stanza xxxiv.

The red man believes that the whites sprang from the foam of the salt water.

FOOTNOTES:[F]Bright eye.[G]Great Spirit.[H]Brunt.[I]Corn Planter.[J]Farmer's Brother.[K]Red Jacket.

[F]Bright eye.

[G]Great Spirit.

[H]Brunt.

[I]Corn Planter.

[J]Farmer's Brother.

[K]Red Jacket.

Transcriber's Note:Inconsistent capitalization (e.g. Gulf vs. gulf), spacing (e.g. north east vs. northeast), and hyphenation (e.g. foot-prints vs. footprints) have been left as in the original.The following changes were made to the text:p. 5: worty to worthy (worthy of the thought and care)p. 6: expreses to expresses (expresses the peculiarities of its own soil)p. 6: Tueton to Teuton (the Teuton, Goth and Magyar)p. 6: maze to maize (crushed their maize)p. 7: Ninevah to Nineveh (buried sites of Nineveh)p. 7: deciples to disciples (disciples of Zoroaster)p. 8: progres to progress (progress of nations)p. 9: Alleghany's to Alleghanies (by the Alleghanies)p. 9: distatant to distant (at distant points)p. 10: Susquehannah to Susquehanna (the Susquehanna, the Delaware and the St. Lawrence)p. 11: acient to ancient (an ancient feature)p. 13: entititled to entitled (Each clan is entitled to a chief.)p. 14: heriditary to hereditary (a hereditary chieftainship)p. 16: eminent to imminent (from imminent peril)p. 20: Heredotus to Herodotus (the period of Herodotus)p. 24: amunition to ammunition (guns and ammunition)p. 25: Ioroquois' to Iroquois' (the Iroquois' powers)p. 25: Vandruiel to Vaudruiel (Vaudruiel, the Governor General of New France)p. 28: beautious to beauteous (beauteous lakes and forests)p. 29: resplendant to resplendent (more learned and resplendent nations)p. 30: oblitered to obliterated (half obliterated trenches)p. 31: subsistance to subsistence (means of subsistence)p. 33: alterior to ulterior (ulterior objects)p. 33: pouring to poring (poring over the dusty volumes)p. 34: vallies to valleys (countless valleys)p. 34: centures to centuries (Centuries on centuries)p. 43: muflled to muffled (with muffled tread)p. 44: is to in (head in awe)p. 44: hilll to hill (Shaking the hill)p. 44: single quotes to double quotes ("Notch on ... fatal weapon")p. 44: side"! to side!" (that wall his side!")p. 46: missing close quote added (quaff ever from its tide!")p. 48: worn to won, and period at end of first line removed to match quoted passage in poem (Note forStanza ix.)p. 48: missing period added (Stanza xxxiv.)

Inconsistent capitalization (e.g. Gulf vs. gulf), spacing (e.g. north east vs. northeast), and hyphenation (e.g. foot-prints vs. footprints) have been left as in the original.

The following changes were made to the text:

Back to Index Next