Chapter 8

Mount Pisgah.Mount Pisgah.“Pisgah stands the peer and rivalof Olympus, famed of old.”Indian Mound, Franklin, N. C.Indian Mound, Franklin, N. C.“Where the mound stands in the meadowThere the tribe was wont to gather.”In the distance stands eternal,Junaluska’s pretty mound,Which in beauty of the landscapeIs the grandest ever found.Rushing streams of purest water,Giving off their silver spray,Add a beauty to the forest,In a new and novel way.And the balsam peaks of fir treeLooks like midnight in the day,Looks like shadows in the sunshine,In the fading far away.Dense and dark and much forebodingApprehensions do declare,To the one who sleeps beneath themWith its flood of balmy air.“Occoneechee, forest dweller,We have traveled many miles,Through the mountains, o’er the valleys,Where the face of Nature smiled;We have tasted of the fountains,Whence breaks forth the Keowee,Nymph of beauty, joy and pleasure,Once the home of Cherokee.We have rested near the water,Seen the fleck and shimmering flow,Of the waters kissed by Nature,Lovely river Tugaloo,Where the Cherokee once rambled,Spoiled ‘mid the scenes so wild,Where the forest and the riverHave the wood-gods oft beguiled.Wandered o’er the sapphire country,Land which doth the soul delight,With its mounds and vales and rivers;God ne’er made a holier siteFor the human race to dwell in,Where the human soul can rise,Higher in its aspirationsToward the rich Utopian skies”Here the lyrics sung by Nature,Played upon its strings of gold,Float out on the evening breezes,And its music ne’er grows old,To the soul and life and spirit,Which is bent and bowed with care.This the sweetest land Elysian,To the one who wanders there.Convolutions of the lilies,Tranquil bloom and curve and die,Near the river, ‘neath the shadowsOf the white pine, smooth and high.Sparkling, gleaming in the sunlightBursts the water, pure and free,From the rocks high on the mountains,Once the home of Cherokee.Dancing, rippling, roaring, rushing,Comes Tallulah in its rage,Like an eagle bounding forward,From an exit in a cage.In the distance, you behold itRise and babble, laugh and smile;Then amid the reeds and rushes,Turns and loiters for awhile.Then it curves among the eddies,Hastens on to meet the bend,In the meadows, like the fragranceBorne aloft upon the wind;Silently reflecting sunbeamsTo the distant verdant hillFrom its surface calm and placid,Smooth, untarnished little rill;Gleams and glides accelerated,As it gathers, as it grows,As the brook becomes a river,As it ever onward flows;Swirls and turns and dashes downward,Heaves and moans and dashes wild,For a chasm down the canyon,Like a lost, demented child;Furious, frantic, leaps and lashesDown into the great abyss,Falls and foams and seethes foreverWhere the rocks and river kiss.Tallulah Falls, the work and wonderOf the cycles and the age,Pours its deluge down the ravine,Unobstructed in its rage.Flying fowls of evil omen,Dare not stop it in its flight,Lest the river overwhelm themWith its power of strength and might—Lest the river dash to piecesBird or beast that would impedeSuch a torrent as confronts youWith its force of fearful speed.Tallulah Falls, Ga.Tallulah Falls, Ga.“In the forest land primevalWhere the fountains form their heads.”Then it rushes fast and furiousInto mist and fog and spray,Rises like the ghost of Banquo,Will not linger, stop nor stay.O’er the precipice it plunges,Bounds and surges down the steep,As it gushes forth forever,Toward the blue and boundless deep.In the Appalachian mountainsStands Satulah, high and proud,With its base upon the Blue Ridge,And its head above the cloud.From its top the panoramaRises grandly into view,And presents a thousand landscapes,Every one to Nature true.Round by round the mountains rise up,Round on round, and tier on tier,You behold them in their beauty,Through a vista, bright and clear.Like concentric circles floating,Ebbing on a crystal bayTo the distance they’re receding,Fading like declining day.Hardby stands the Whiteside Mountain,Like an athlete, strong and tall,Perpendicularly risingAs a mighty granite wall;Towering o’er the Cashier’s valley,Stretching calmly at its base,Like a bouquet of rich rosesBeautifying Nature’s vase.High above the other mountains,Whiteside stands in bold relief,With its court house and its cavernRefuge for the soul with grief;Like a monolith it risesTo a grand majestic height,Till its crest becomes a mirror,To refract the rays of light.From its summit grand and gorgeousLike a splendid stereoscope,Comes a view yet undiscoveredFull of awe, and life and hope.Smiling vales and nodding forestsGreet you like a loving child,From the zenith of the mountain,Comes the landscape undefiled.Flying clouds pour forth their shadows,As the curious mystic mazeShrouds the mountains from the vision,With its dark and lowering haze.Fog so dense come stealing o’er youThat you know not day from night,Till the rifting of the shadowsMakes room for the golden light.In the Blue Ridge, near the headlandIn the Hamburg scenic mountains,Comes a silver flow of waterFrom a score of dancing fountains,Tripping lightly, leaping gently,Slipping ‘neath the underbrushWithout noise it creepeth slowlyToward the place of onward rush.Floats along beneath the hemlock,Nods to swaying spruce and pine,Murmurs in its pebbly bottomHolds converse with tree and vine.Winds around the jutting ledgesOf translucent spar and flint,With effulgence like the jasperWith its glare and gleam and glint.Moving onward, moving ever,In its course o’er amber bed,While the bluejay and the robinPerch in tree top overhead;Perch and sing of joy and freedom,Fill the glen with pleasure’s song,As the waters, fresh and sparkling,Rippling, gliding, pass along.Thus the Tuckaseigee riverRises far back in the dell,Where the dank marsh of the mountainRise and fall, assuage and swell,Till its flow becomes augmentedBy a thousand little streamsComing from the rocky highlandsThrough their fissures and their seams.Fills the valley, passes quickly,Trips and falls a hundred feet,Swirls a moment, makes a struggle,Doth the same rash act repeat.Rushes, rages, fumes and surges,Dashes into mist and spray,Heaves and sighs, foments and lashes,As it turns to rush away;Roars and fills the earth and heavenWith the pean of its rage,Plunges down deep in the gulches,Where the rocks are worn with age.Maddened by the sudden conflict,Starts anew to rend the wallThat confines its turbid watersTo the defile and the fall.Once again it leaps and rushesToward the towering granite wall,And it bounds full many a fathomIn its final furious fall.Much it moans and seethes and surges,Starts again at rapid speed,O’er the rocky pot-hole gushesLike a gaited blooded steed.Thus the Tuckaseigee riverFalls into the great abyssDown the canyon, rough and rugged,Where the spar and granite kiss.Then it flows still fast and faster,With its flood both bright and clear,Through the cycles ripe with agesMonth on month and year on year.Near the apex of the mountains,In the silence of the dale,Where no human foot has troddenPath or road or warrior’s trail,From the tarn or seep there drippethCrystal water bright and free,That becomes a nymph of beauty,Pretty vale of Cullowhee.In the spreading vale the townhouse,And the Indian village stood;In the alcove, well secluded,In the grove of walnut wood.Ancient chiefs held many councils,Sung the war-song, kept the dance,While the squaws and pretty maidensVie each other in the prance.Cullowhee, thou stream and valley,Once the domicile and home,Of a people free and happy,Free from tribal fear and gloom,Where, O where, are thy great warriors—Where thy chiefs and warriors bold—Who once held in strict abeyanceThose who plundered you of old?Gone forever are thy warriors,Gone thy chiefs and maidens fair,Vanished like the mist of summer,Gone! but none can tell us where.From their homes were hounded, driven,Like the timid hind or deer,Herded like the driven cattle,Forced from home by gun and spear.“Tell me, vale or rippling water,Tell me if ye can or will,If you’ve seen my long-lost loverKnown as wandering Whippoorwill?”But the water, cool and placid,That comes from the mountain highSwirled a moment, then departingMade no answer or reply.Then the maiden’s grief grew greater,As she lingered by the streamWatching for some sign or tokenOr some vision through a dream;But no dream made revelation,Only sorrow filled her years,And her eyes lost much of lusterAs her cheeks suffused with tears.Turning thence into the forestOver hill and brook and mound,To the Cullasaja riverThrough the forest land they wound;Through the tangled brush and ivy,Rough and rugged mountainside,Led the ponies through the forest,Far too steep for them to ride.They descended trails deserted,Where the chieftains used to go,Near the Cullasaja river,Near its rough uneven flow;Camped upon its bank at evening,Heard at night the roar and splashOf the voice of many watersDown the fearful cascade dash.Stood at sunrise where the shadowOf the cliffs cast darkening shade,Where the rainbows chase the rainbowLike as sorrows chased the maid.Traveled down the silver current,Rested often on the way,Strolled the banks and fished the currentOf the crystal Ellijay.Pleasantly the winding currentEddies, swirls and loiters freeTill it joins the radiant watersOf the little Tennessee;Where the mound stands in the meadow,Once the townhouse capped its crest,There the tribe was wont to gather,Council, plan and seek for rest.To the mound the tribe assembled,From the regions all around,Came from Cowee and Coweeta,Where the Cherokee abound;Came from Nantahala mountains,Skeenah and Cartoogechaye,Nickajack and sweet Iola,And from Choga far away.All the great men and the warriorsBrought the women, and their wives,Came by hundreds without number,Like the swarms around the hives;But today there is no warrior,Not a maiden can be found,Tenting on the pretty meadow,Or upon Nik-wa-sa mound.In the Cowee spur of mountains,Stands the Bald and Sentinel,Of the valley and the river,Of the moorland and the dell.Like a pyramid it rises,Layer on layer and flight on flightTill its crest ascends the confinesOf the grand imperial height.From its summit far receding,Contours of the mountains rise,Numerous as the constellationsIn the arched dome of the skies.Far away beyond the valleyDouble Top confronts the eye,Black Rock rises like a shadowOn the blue ethereal sky.Jones' Knob makes its appearance,Highest, grandest height of allPenetrates the vault of heaven,None so picturesque or tall.Wayah, Burningtown and WesserRaise their bald heads to the cloudHigh and haughty, rich in beautyAnd extremely vain and proud.Great Cliff, Whiteside Mountain.Great Cliff, Whiteside Mountain.Whiteside Mountain.Whiteside Mountain.“Hardby stands the Whiteside Mountain,Like an athlete, strong and tall.”Una and Yalaka mountainsStand so near up by the sideOf the Cowee, that you’d take themFor its consort or its bride.Festooned, wreathed and decoratedWith the honeysuckle bloom,And the lady-slipper blossom,There dispels the hour of gloom.Ginseng and the Indian turnipGrow up from their fallow bedsIn the dark coves of the mountains,With their beaded crimson heads.Fertile fields and stately meadowsStretch along the sylvan streamsAnd surpass the fields Elysian,Seen in visionary dreams.From the summit of the CoweeIn the season of the fall,Fog fills all the pretty valleySettles like the deathly pall,Coming from the rill and river,To the isothermal belt,Where the sunbeam meets the fog-lineAnd the frost and ices melt.Jutting tops of verdant mountainsPenetrate the fog below,As the islands in the oceanForm the archipelago.Sea of fog stands out before you,With its islands and its reefSilent and devoid of murmurAs the quivering aspen leaf.“Occoneechee, look to Northland,See the Smoky Mountains rise,Like a shadow in the valleyOr a cloud upon the skies.Many days since you beheld themIn their grand, majestic height;Many days from these you’ve wanderedFrom their fountains, pure and bright.“Hie thee to the Smoky Mountains,Tarry not upon the plain,Linger not upon the borderOf the fields of golden grain.Flee thee as a kite or eagle,Not a moment stop or stay,Hasten to Oconaluftee,Be not long upon the way.“I have much to speak unto youE’er I take my final leave,Some will sadden, some will gladden,Some bring joy and some will grieve.All our legends, myths and storiesSoon will fall into decay,And I must transmit them to youE’er I turn to go away.“Mount thee, mount thee quick this pony,Spryly spring upon its back,Leave no vestige, sign or tokenOr the semblance of a track,Whereby man may trace or trail thee,In the moorland or morass,By the radiant river flowingOr secluded mountain pass.“Grasp the reins, hold fast the girdle,Like flamingoes make your flightTo the great dome of the mountainThat now gleams within your sight.Clingman’s Dome, the crowning gloryOf the high erupted hills,They will shield you and protect you,With its cliffs and rolling rills.”Sped they like the rolling current,Sped they like a gleam of light,Sped they as the flying phantomOr a swallow in its flight,To their refuge in the mountain,To the temple of the earth,Near the lonely spot secluded,That had known her from her birth.Standing, gazing, watching, peering,Through the azure atmosphere,At the wilderness before youAnd the scene both rich and clear.Cerulean the gorgeous mountainsRise and loom up in your sight,Like a splendid constellationOn a crisp autumnal night.‘Twixt the fall and winter season,Comes a tinge of milky haze,Stealing o’er the Smoky Mountains,Shutting out the solar rays,Flooding vales and filling valleys,Coming, creeping, crawling slow,Fills the firmament with shadowsAs with crystal flakes of snow.Through the haze and mist and shadowsYou discern a ball of fire,From the rim of Nature risingAs a knighted funeral pyre;Yet it moveth slowly upward,Creeps aloft along the sky,As a billow on the oceanMeets the ship, then passes by.This you say is Indian summer,Tepid season of the year,When glad harvest songs ascendethFull of hope and love and cheer.From Penobscot, down the Hudson,By the Susquehanna wild,Through the Shenandoah valleyRoamed the forest-loving child.Roamed the Mohawk and the Huron,Seneca and Wyandot,Delaware and the Mohican,Long since perished and forgot.Powhattan and Tuscarora,And the wandering Showano,Creek and Seminole and Erie,Miami and Pamlico,Chicasaw and the Osages,Kickapoo and Illinois,Ottawas and Susquehannas,Objibwas and Iroquois,Once enjoyed the Indian summers,Once to all this land was heir,Sportive, free and lithe and happy,Chief and maid and matron fair.As the blossoms in the forestBloom, then fall into decay,So the mighty tribes here mentioned,Flourished, so traditions say;Then the coming of the white man,Spread consternation far and wide;Then decay and desolationConquered all their manly pride.Treaties made were quickly brokenAnd their homes were burned with fire,Which provoked the mighty tribesmenAnd aroused their vengeful ire.Furious raids on hostile savageWith the powder-horn and gun,Soon reduced the noble red manSlowly, surely, one by one,Till not one now roams the forest,None are left to tell the tale;All their guns and bows are broken,None now for them weep or wail.Only names of streams and mountainsKeep the memory aglow,Of the noble, brave and fearlessRed men of the long ago.Cherokee, the seed and offspringResidue of Iroquois,Silently are disappearingWithout pageantry or noise.Though more civil and more learnedAnd much wiser than the rest,They will be amalgamated,By the white man in the West.Occoneechee and the chieftainTalked of all that they had seen,Of the flow of pretty riversAnd the matchless mountains green,Of the ferns and pretty flowers,Parterre of rarest hue,Tint of maroon, white and yellow,Saffron, lilac, red and blue.Held they converse of their travels,Of the wilderness sublime,Of the myths and happy legendsTold through yielding years of time.Of the wars and tales forgotten,Of the chiefs and warriors braveWho long since have run their journey,Who now sleep within the grave.At those tales the maiden wept loud,Sought for solace thru a sigh,Much o’ercome by thoughts of loved ones,And she prayed that she might dieHigh upon the Smoky Mountains,Where no human soul can traceThe seclusions of the forestTo her lonely burial place.Bitterly she wailed in sorrow,Saying “Tell me, tell me whyI am left out here so lonely,And my tears are never dry?Why he comes not at my calling,Why he roams some lonely way,Why does he not come back to me—Why does he not come and stay?Tennessee River, above Franklin, N. C.Tennessee River, above Franklin, N. C.Lake Toxaway.Lake Toxaway.“Why and where now does he linger?Tell me, silver, crescent moon,Shall our parting be forever—Shall our hopes all blast at noon?When love’s bright star shines the brightestShall it be the sooner set?Shall we e’er be reunited,Tell me, while hope lingers yet!“Does he linger in the mountains,Far up toward the radiant sky?Tell me, blessed God of Nature,Tell me, blessed Nunnahi.Has some evil spirit seized him,Hid or carried him awayFar beyond the gleaming sunset,Far out toward the close of day?“Will he come back with the morning,Borne upon its wings of light,From the shade that long has lingered,From the darkness of the night?Is there none to bring me answer?Speak, dear Nature, tell me whereI may find my long lost lover,Is my final feeble prayer.”Then the chieftain, grand and noble,Came and lingered by her side,Like a lover in devotionLingers near a loving bride.Then in accents like a clarion,Sweet and clear, but gently said,“Whippoorwill, my friend, your lover,Comes again, he is not dead!“I will go and hunt your lover,And will bring him to your side;I will roam the forest ever,And will cease to be your guide;I will find the one you’ve looked for,And will tell him that you live;I will tell him of your rambles,And will all my future give,“Till I find him in the forest,Or upon the flowing brinkOf the Coosa river flowing,Where he used to often drink.In the everglades may linger,‘Neath the shade of some cool palm,Sweetest refuge of the lowlands,With its air of purest balm.“Where the Seminole in silence,Made their refuge, long ago,From the fierce onslaught of Jackson,And exterminating woe.He may listen in the silenceAnd the solitude of night,For some friendly sign or tokenWhereby he may make his flight.“When I’ve found him we will travel,We will travel night and day,We will hasten on our journey,Will not linger nor delay,We will speed along the valleyLike the wind before the rain,We will neither stop nor tarry,Never from our speed refrain.“We will rush along the river,Like the maddened swollen tide,Like a leaf upon the cycloneRushing forward in its pride;Over winter’s snow and icesWe will rush with greatest speed,Like a herd of frightened cattleOr a trained Kentucky steed.“I will tell him of your travelsInto lands he’s never seen,With their forests and their flowers,And their leaves of living green;How for years you’ve looked and waited,Watched the trail and mountainside,Watched and hoped long for him coming,That you might become his bride.“I am John Ax, Stagu-Nahi!Much I love the mountains wild!Friend of those who love the forest,Friend of those who love you, child.I bespeak a special blessingTo attend you while I goInto strange lands, unto strangers,Hither, thither, to and fro.”Then he pressed her to his bosom,Breathed a silent, parting prayerTo the Nunnahi in heaven,For the lovely maid so fair;Prayed and blessed her, then departedThru primeval forests wild,Sped he by the rolling waters,Heard them laugh and saw them smile.Sped he by the Coosa river,Where great brakes of waving cane,Bend before the blowing breezes,Like the waves of wind and rain.Took the trails where once the chieftainStrode at will in lordly pride,By the Coosa river flowingIn its smooth, unrippled tide.Downward, onward, free and easy,Swirls and turns and travels slow,As it glitters in the sunlight,As its waters onward go.Sees the trail almost extinguishedBy the pretty Etawa,Where once dwelt in great profusion,Chief and maid and tawny squaw.Traveled far the TallapoosaInto fen and deep morass,Through the wildwood, glade and forestDark defile and narrow pass;Footsore, lame and often hungry,Traveled onward day and night,Like the wild goose speeding forwardIn its semi-annual flight.O’er the glebes of Alabama,Crossed the hill and stream and dale,To the Tuskaloosa flowingNear the ancient Indian trail,Now deserted and forsakenIs the war path and the land,By the Creek and great MuscogasWandering, wild, nomadic band.Pensive, lonely and dejected,Penetrated he the wild,Over fen and bog and prairie,Into climates soft and mild.By lagoon and lake and river,By the deep translucent bay,Followed he the sun’s direction,Many a night and sunlit day.Crossed the Mississippi delta,Wound through many moor and fen,Saw the shining stars at midnight,And the dawn of days begin;Heard the tramp of bear and bison,Heard the wild wolf’s dismal howl,Saw the glowworm in the rushes,Heard the whippoorwill and owl.Heard the alligator bellow,Saw him swim the broad bayou,Saw the egret, crane and heron,Wading stark and tree-cuckoo.Trackless miles spread out before him,Stretching leagues of gama grassLay across the course he traveled,Lay out where he had to pass.Dangling mosses from the tree tops,Swung by swaying winds and breeze,Cling with tendrils to the branches,Of the mighty live oak trees.Soft as lichens, light as feathersWas the tall untrodden grass,On the prairie and the meadow,And the spreading rich morass.Tranquil, peacefully and quietDid the moons and moments wane,Till he came to Oklahoma,Into his own tribe’s domain;Here he rested for a season,Ate the food and drank for healthIn the land of Oklahoma,Land of perfect natural wealth.Oklahoma, red man’s country,Blest above all other lands,In her natural soil and climate,In her ore-beds and her sands;In her fertile fields and valleys,In her people, true and great,Cherokee and Creek and ChoctawsMake the people of the state.Here’s a land transformed in beauty,Touched and tilled by busy toil,Responds quickly to the tiller,Products of a generous soil.Fruits and flowers forever growing,Fields of gold and snowy white,Songs of harvest home and plentySung to every one’s delight.Here with labor, love and patience,There arose an empire great,Which when settled, tilled and treated,Has become a powerful state;Filled with people true and honest,Filled with people thrifty too,And the land is flat and fertile,Best that mortals ever knew.Tomb of Junaluska, Robbinsville, N. C.Tomb of Junaluska, Robbinsville, N. C.Where the Serpent Coiled.Where the Serpent Coiled.“Where the serpent coiled and waitedHid beneath the waving grass.”Once where roamed the bear and bison,Where the she wolf and the owlMade their home and habitation,And the foxes used to prowl;Where the serpent coiled and waited,Hid beneath the waving grassTo inject his fangs and venomIn some human as he’d pass,Now there thrives the busy city,Bristling with the throb and thrillOf the commerce of a nation,Growing greater, growing still.All her farms and fields and ranches,Groan beneath their heavy loadOf waving grain and lowing cattle;All the land with wealth is strewed.Then he rose up like the morning,From his slumber and his rest,To converse there with the chieftainsAmong whom he’d been a guest.Then he spoke of CarolinaToward the rising of the sun,Full of hope and awe and splendorWhere his early life begun.And he spoke of OcconeecheeIn the land of hills and streams,In the land of wooded forests,Land of love and fondest dreams;Land where myths and mirth commingle,Where aspiring peaks point high,To the dials of the morningIn the sweet “Land of the sky.”Spoke he also of a chieftain,Known to her as Whippoorwill,Who once dwelt within the forest,Near a pleasant little rill,In the dark fens of the mountains,Back where oak and birchen groveCast their shadows o’er the valleyO’er the cliffs and deepest cove.Where glad song of the nightingaleIs the sweetest ever heard,And far exceeds in melody,The trill of the mocking-bird.From the matutinal dawningTill the falling shades of nightThe songster sings in mellow tonesTo the auditor’s delight.Long in silence sat the chieftain,Long he listened quite intent,To the story of the stranger,Catching all he said and meant,Of the maiden of the mountains,Of the trees and songs of bird,And the story lingered with him,Every syllable and word.Then the chieftain made inquiryOf the stranger true and bold,Who now came to tarry with them,Who was growing gray and old,Of the health and habitationOf the Eastern tribal bandWho still dwelt amid the SmokiesIn his own sweet native land;Where his heart felt first the wooing,Where his hope of youth ran high,‘Mid the hills of CarolinaIn the sweet “Land of the sky.”In the land of flowers and sunshine,Land of silver-flowing streams,Land of promise full of blessingsAnd of legends, myths and dreams;Land of pretty maids and matrons,Home where generous hearts are true,Where the sunshine chases shadowsDown the vaults of vaporous blue.Where the wild flight of the eagleSoars beyond the keenest eye,In recesses of the heavens,In the blue ethereal sky.Rifting rocks and rolling riversDoth adorn the hill and vale,Lilting melodies float outwardOn the vortex of the gale;This the land of Occoneechee,Land that Junaluska saw,Home of warrior, chief and maiden,Land of dauntless brave and squaw.Let us go back to those mountains,Once more let us view those hills,And let me hear the voice once moreOf the laughing streams and rills;And let me view with raptured eyeThe blossom of tree and vine,Once more inhale the sweet ozone,Under tulip tree and pine.Those hills, delectable mountains,Outrival the scenes of Greece,Surpass in beauty and grandeurThe Eagle or Golden Fleece.Those shrines and temples of granite,Glad sentinels of the free!There let me roam through dell once more,Let me glad and happy be.Some speak of splendid balmy isles,Far out in the rolling sea,Of spicy groves, and vine-clad hills,And of things which are to be;Of nymphs and naiads of the past,Of lands of the brave and free,But none of these can e’er surpassThe hills of Cherokee;The hills where roamed the dusky maid,And the home of Whippoorwill,Where Occoneechee dreamed at night,By the gushing stream and rill.By strange enchanted mystic lakeWhere the wildest beasts are seen,Far back in the deep recessOf the mountain’s verdure green.“Let autumn’s wind blow swift its gale,The season of summer flee,But I will soon my lover meet,In the ‘land of the brave and free,’I’ll leave Tahlequah in the West,With this warrior at my side.We’ll travel as the fleetest windsUnless ill fates betide.“While the morrow’s stars are glowing,In the dials of the morn,I will start upon the journey,To the land where I was born.”So he gathered up his chattels,Springing spryly on his steed,Made inquiry of the warrior,“Which of us shall take the lead?”Then the warrior to the chieftainQuick replied, “I’ll lead the wayFar across the hill and valley,Mounted on this splendid bay.”Then they said to friend and neighbor,Old-time chief and child and squaw,“At the dawning, we will leave you,Leave the town of Tahlequah;“Leave the tribe and reservation,For a journey to the East,Where the tribesmen dwell together,Meet serenely, drink and feast,In a land where peace and pleasureVie each other in the pace,Where the hopes of life are brightestTo the fallen human race.”Just then came a gleam like lightning,Shooting forth its silver ray,Which precedes the golden splendorOf the fast approaching day.This the advent and the tokenFor the brave to lead the wayOut across the plain and valleyToward the coming king of day.Then they seized the spear and trident,Bow and tomahawk and knife,And they left the scenes of conflict,With its turmoil and its strife;And they journeyed ever eastward,Days and many a-waning moon,Crossing river, lake and prairie,Spreading field and broad lagoon.Saw the Wabash and Missouri,Cumberland and Tennessee,Saw the Holston in its beautyAnd the town of Chilhowee.Looked down on the Nolachucky,Saw Watauga’s crystal flowGleam from out the moon’s reflectionFrom the canyon’s depths below.Neptune, who pervades the water,Ne’er beheld a holier sightThan this happy, hopeful chieftainDid that crisp autumnal night.While he looked upon the waterBright and pure and crystalline,Fairest land and purest waterMortal eye had ever seen;He beheld there in his visionSuch a Naiad divine,That he put forth his endeavors,That he might the maid entwine;But she flew back like a phantom,Back into the crescent wave,From the presence of the chieftainAnd the relegated brave;Flew back from him and departedAnd was lost to human eye;All that now lay out before himWas the stream and earth and sky.Full of disappointing beauty,Was the earth and sky and stream,When divested of the grandeurOf the vision and the dream.Then he rambled through the mountainsOver crag and rugged steep,Through the laurel bed and ivyBy exertion did he creep;Through the hemlock and the balsamUnder oak and birchen tree,Gazing through the heath before himIf perchance that he might seeIn the dim, dark, hazel distance,Far out on the mountainsideOcconeechee, pure and lovely,Whom he longed to make his bride;Make his bride and dwell there with her‘Mid aspiring peak and dome;Longed to have her sit beside him,In his peaceful mountain home.Wandered through the Craggy mountainsWhere no human foot had trod,And no eye had yet beheld it,Save the eye of Nature’s God.For the spreading tree and forestGrew from out the virgin soil,And was free from all intrusionsOf the white man’s skill and toil.Now their speed was much retarded,Trails once plain were now unkept,And the chief and brave lamentingLaid themselves down there and wept;Wept for chiefs like Uniguski,Sequoya and Utsala,In the land of TuckaleecheeAnd for friends like Wil-Usdi.1Turning from his grief and sorrowFor the chiefs of long ago,Ceasing all his deep repiningFrom the burden of his woe,Looking far o’er hill and valleyHe beheld the gilded domeOf the Smokies in the distance,Near old Junaluska’s home.

Mount Pisgah.Mount Pisgah.“Pisgah stands the peer and rivalof Olympus, famed of old.”

Mount Pisgah.

“Pisgah stands the peer and rivalof Olympus, famed of old.”

“Pisgah stands the peer and rival

of Olympus, famed of old.”

Indian Mound, Franklin, N. C.Indian Mound, Franklin, N. C.“Where the mound stands in the meadowThere the tribe was wont to gather.”

Indian Mound, Franklin, N. C.

“Where the mound stands in the meadowThere the tribe was wont to gather.”

“Where the mound stands in the meadow

There the tribe was wont to gather.”

In the distance stands eternal,Junaluska’s pretty mound,Which in beauty of the landscapeIs the grandest ever found.Rushing streams of purest water,Giving off their silver spray,Add a beauty to the forest,In a new and novel way.And the balsam peaks of fir treeLooks like midnight in the day,Looks like shadows in the sunshine,In the fading far away.Dense and dark and much forebodingApprehensions do declare,To the one who sleeps beneath themWith its flood of balmy air.“Occoneechee, forest dweller,We have traveled many miles,Through the mountains, o’er the valleys,Where the face of Nature smiled;We have tasted of the fountains,Whence breaks forth the Keowee,Nymph of beauty, joy and pleasure,Once the home of Cherokee.We have rested near the water,Seen the fleck and shimmering flow,Of the waters kissed by Nature,Lovely river Tugaloo,Where the Cherokee once rambled,Spoiled ‘mid the scenes so wild,Where the forest and the riverHave the wood-gods oft beguiled.Wandered o’er the sapphire country,Land which doth the soul delight,With its mounds and vales and rivers;God ne’er made a holier siteFor the human race to dwell in,Where the human soul can rise,Higher in its aspirationsToward the rich Utopian skies”Here the lyrics sung by Nature,Played upon its strings of gold,Float out on the evening breezes,And its music ne’er grows old,To the soul and life and spirit,Which is bent and bowed with care.This the sweetest land Elysian,To the one who wanders there.Convolutions of the lilies,Tranquil bloom and curve and die,Near the river, ‘neath the shadowsOf the white pine, smooth and high.Sparkling, gleaming in the sunlightBursts the water, pure and free,From the rocks high on the mountains,Once the home of Cherokee.Dancing, rippling, roaring, rushing,Comes Tallulah in its rage,Like an eagle bounding forward,From an exit in a cage.In the distance, you behold itRise and babble, laugh and smile;Then amid the reeds and rushes,Turns and loiters for awhile.Then it curves among the eddies,Hastens on to meet the bend,In the meadows, like the fragranceBorne aloft upon the wind;Silently reflecting sunbeamsTo the distant verdant hillFrom its surface calm and placid,Smooth, untarnished little rill;Gleams and glides accelerated,As it gathers, as it grows,As the brook becomes a river,As it ever onward flows;Swirls and turns and dashes downward,Heaves and moans and dashes wild,For a chasm down the canyon,Like a lost, demented child;Furious, frantic, leaps and lashesDown into the great abyss,Falls and foams and seethes foreverWhere the rocks and river kiss.Tallulah Falls, the work and wonderOf the cycles and the age,Pours its deluge down the ravine,Unobstructed in its rage.Flying fowls of evil omen,Dare not stop it in its flight,Lest the river overwhelm themWith its power of strength and might—Lest the river dash to piecesBird or beast that would impedeSuch a torrent as confronts youWith its force of fearful speed.

In the distance stands eternal,

Junaluska’s pretty mound,

Which in beauty of the landscape

Is the grandest ever found.

Rushing streams of purest water,

Giving off their silver spray,

Add a beauty to the forest,

In a new and novel way.

And the balsam peaks of fir treeLooks like midnight in the day,Looks like shadows in the sunshine,In the fading far away.Dense and dark and much forebodingApprehensions do declare,To the one who sleeps beneath themWith its flood of balmy air.

And the balsam peaks of fir tree

Looks like midnight in the day,

Looks like shadows in the sunshine,

In the fading far away.

Dense and dark and much foreboding

Apprehensions do declare,

To the one who sleeps beneath them

With its flood of balmy air.

“Occoneechee, forest dweller,We have traveled many miles,Through the mountains, o’er the valleys,Where the face of Nature smiled;We have tasted of the fountains,Whence breaks forth the Keowee,Nymph of beauty, joy and pleasure,Once the home of Cherokee.

“Occoneechee, forest dweller,

We have traveled many miles,

Through the mountains, o’er the valleys,

Where the face of Nature smiled;

We have tasted of the fountains,

Whence breaks forth the Keowee,

Nymph of beauty, joy and pleasure,

Once the home of Cherokee.

We have rested near the water,Seen the fleck and shimmering flow,Of the waters kissed by Nature,Lovely river Tugaloo,Where the Cherokee once rambled,Spoiled ‘mid the scenes so wild,Where the forest and the riverHave the wood-gods oft beguiled.

We have rested near the water,

Seen the fleck and shimmering flow,

Of the waters kissed by Nature,

Lovely river Tugaloo,

Where the Cherokee once rambled,

Spoiled ‘mid the scenes so wild,

Where the forest and the river

Have the wood-gods oft beguiled.

Wandered o’er the sapphire country,Land which doth the soul delight,With its mounds and vales and rivers;God ne’er made a holier siteFor the human race to dwell in,Where the human soul can rise,Higher in its aspirationsToward the rich Utopian skies”

Wandered o’er the sapphire country,

Land which doth the soul delight,

With its mounds and vales and rivers;

God ne’er made a holier site

For the human race to dwell in,

Where the human soul can rise,

Higher in its aspirations

Toward the rich Utopian skies”

Here the lyrics sung by Nature,Played upon its strings of gold,Float out on the evening breezes,And its music ne’er grows old,To the soul and life and spirit,Which is bent and bowed with care.This the sweetest land Elysian,To the one who wanders there.

Here the lyrics sung by Nature,

Played upon its strings of gold,

Float out on the evening breezes,

And its music ne’er grows old,

To the soul and life and spirit,

Which is bent and bowed with care.

This the sweetest land Elysian,

To the one who wanders there.

Convolutions of the lilies,Tranquil bloom and curve and die,Near the river, ‘neath the shadowsOf the white pine, smooth and high.Sparkling, gleaming in the sunlightBursts the water, pure and free,From the rocks high on the mountains,Once the home of Cherokee.

Convolutions of the lilies,

Tranquil bloom and curve and die,

Near the river, ‘neath the shadows

Of the white pine, smooth and high.

Sparkling, gleaming in the sunlight

Bursts the water, pure and free,

From the rocks high on the mountains,

Once the home of Cherokee.

Dancing, rippling, roaring, rushing,Comes Tallulah in its rage,Like an eagle bounding forward,From an exit in a cage.In the distance, you behold itRise and babble, laugh and smile;Then amid the reeds and rushes,Turns and loiters for awhile.

Dancing, rippling, roaring, rushing,

Comes Tallulah in its rage,

Like an eagle bounding forward,

From an exit in a cage.

In the distance, you behold it

Rise and babble, laugh and smile;

Then amid the reeds and rushes,

Turns and loiters for awhile.

Then it curves among the eddies,Hastens on to meet the bend,In the meadows, like the fragranceBorne aloft upon the wind;Silently reflecting sunbeamsTo the distant verdant hillFrom its surface calm and placid,Smooth, untarnished little rill;

Then it curves among the eddies,

Hastens on to meet the bend,

In the meadows, like the fragrance

Borne aloft upon the wind;

Silently reflecting sunbeams

To the distant verdant hill

From its surface calm and placid,

Smooth, untarnished little rill;

Gleams and glides accelerated,As it gathers, as it grows,As the brook becomes a river,As it ever onward flows;Swirls and turns and dashes downward,Heaves and moans and dashes wild,For a chasm down the canyon,Like a lost, demented child;

Gleams and glides accelerated,

As it gathers, as it grows,

As the brook becomes a river,

As it ever onward flows;

Swirls and turns and dashes downward,

Heaves and moans and dashes wild,

For a chasm down the canyon,

Like a lost, demented child;

Furious, frantic, leaps and lashesDown into the great abyss,Falls and foams and seethes foreverWhere the rocks and river kiss.Tallulah Falls, the work and wonderOf the cycles and the age,Pours its deluge down the ravine,Unobstructed in its rage.

Furious, frantic, leaps and lashes

Down into the great abyss,

Falls and foams and seethes forever

Where the rocks and river kiss.

Tallulah Falls, the work and wonder

Of the cycles and the age,

Pours its deluge down the ravine,

Unobstructed in its rage.

Flying fowls of evil omen,Dare not stop it in its flight,Lest the river overwhelm themWith its power of strength and might—Lest the river dash to piecesBird or beast that would impedeSuch a torrent as confronts youWith its force of fearful speed.

Flying fowls of evil omen,

Dare not stop it in its flight,

Lest the river overwhelm them

With its power of strength and might—

Lest the river dash to pieces

Bird or beast that would impede

Such a torrent as confronts you

With its force of fearful speed.

Tallulah Falls, Ga.Tallulah Falls, Ga.“In the forest land primevalWhere the fountains form their heads.”

Tallulah Falls, Ga.

“In the forest land primevalWhere the fountains form their heads.”

“In the forest land primeval

Where the fountains form their heads.”

Then it rushes fast and furiousInto mist and fog and spray,Rises like the ghost of Banquo,Will not linger, stop nor stay.O’er the precipice it plunges,Bounds and surges down the steep,As it gushes forth forever,Toward the blue and boundless deep.In the Appalachian mountainsStands Satulah, high and proud,With its base upon the Blue Ridge,And its head above the cloud.From its top the panoramaRises grandly into view,And presents a thousand landscapes,Every one to Nature true.Round by round the mountains rise up,Round on round, and tier on tier,You behold them in their beauty,Through a vista, bright and clear.Like concentric circles floating,Ebbing on a crystal bayTo the distance they’re receding,Fading like declining day.Hardby stands the Whiteside Mountain,Like an athlete, strong and tall,Perpendicularly risingAs a mighty granite wall;Towering o’er the Cashier’s valley,Stretching calmly at its base,Like a bouquet of rich rosesBeautifying Nature’s vase.High above the other mountains,Whiteside stands in bold relief,With its court house and its cavernRefuge for the soul with grief;Like a monolith it risesTo a grand majestic height,Till its crest becomes a mirror,To refract the rays of light.From its summit grand and gorgeousLike a splendid stereoscope,Comes a view yet undiscoveredFull of awe, and life and hope.Smiling vales and nodding forestsGreet you like a loving child,From the zenith of the mountain,Comes the landscape undefiled.Flying clouds pour forth their shadows,As the curious mystic mazeShrouds the mountains from the vision,With its dark and lowering haze.Fog so dense come stealing o’er youThat you know not day from night,Till the rifting of the shadowsMakes room for the golden light.In the Blue Ridge, near the headlandIn the Hamburg scenic mountains,Comes a silver flow of waterFrom a score of dancing fountains,Tripping lightly, leaping gently,Slipping ‘neath the underbrushWithout noise it creepeth slowlyToward the place of onward rush.Floats along beneath the hemlock,Nods to swaying spruce and pine,Murmurs in its pebbly bottomHolds converse with tree and vine.Winds around the jutting ledgesOf translucent spar and flint,With effulgence like the jasperWith its glare and gleam and glint.Moving onward, moving ever,In its course o’er amber bed,While the bluejay and the robinPerch in tree top overhead;Perch and sing of joy and freedom,Fill the glen with pleasure’s song,As the waters, fresh and sparkling,Rippling, gliding, pass along.Thus the Tuckaseigee riverRises far back in the dell,Where the dank marsh of the mountainRise and fall, assuage and swell,Till its flow becomes augmentedBy a thousand little streamsComing from the rocky highlandsThrough their fissures and their seams.Fills the valley, passes quickly,Trips and falls a hundred feet,Swirls a moment, makes a struggle,Doth the same rash act repeat.Rushes, rages, fumes and surges,Dashes into mist and spray,Heaves and sighs, foments and lashes,As it turns to rush away;Roars and fills the earth and heavenWith the pean of its rage,Plunges down deep in the gulches,Where the rocks are worn with age.Maddened by the sudden conflict,Starts anew to rend the wallThat confines its turbid watersTo the defile and the fall.Once again it leaps and rushesToward the towering granite wall,And it bounds full many a fathomIn its final furious fall.Much it moans and seethes and surges,Starts again at rapid speed,O’er the rocky pot-hole gushesLike a gaited blooded steed.Thus the Tuckaseigee riverFalls into the great abyssDown the canyon, rough and rugged,Where the spar and granite kiss.Then it flows still fast and faster,With its flood both bright and clear,Through the cycles ripe with agesMonth on month and year on year.Near the apex of the mountains,In the silence of the dale,Where no human foot has troddenPath or road or warrior’s trail,From the tarn or seep there drippethCrystal water bright and free,That becomes a nymph of beauty,Pretty vale of Cullowhee.In the spreading vale the townhouse,And the Indian village stood;In the alcove, well secluded,In the grove of walnut wood.Ancient chiefs held many councils,Sung the war-song, kept the dance,While the squaws and pretty maidensVie each other in the prance.Cullowhee, thou stream and valley,Once the domicile and home,Of a people free and happy,Free from tribal fear and gloom,Where, O where, are thy great warriors—Where thy chiefs and warriors bold—Who once held in strict abeyanceThose who plundered you of old?Gone forever are thy warriors,Gone thy chiefs and maidens fair,Vanished like the mist of summer,Gone! but none can tell us where.From their homes were hounded, driven,Like the timid hind or deer,Herded like the driven cattle,Forced from home by gun and spear.“Tell me, vale or rippling water,Tell me if ye can or will,If you’ve seen my long-lost loverKnown as wandering Whippoorwill?”But the water, cool and placid,That comes from the mountain highSwirled a moment, then departingMade no answer or reply.Then the maiden’s grief grew greater,As she lingered by the streamWatching for some sign or tokenOr some vision through a dream;But no dream made revelation,Only sorrow filled her years,And her eyes lost much of lusterAs her cheeks suffused with tears.Turning thence into the forestOver hill and brook and mound,To the Cullasaja riverThrough the forest land they wound;Through the tangled brush and ivy,Rough and rugged mountainside,Led the ponies through the forest,Far too steep for them to ride.They descended trails deserted,Where the chieftains used to go,Near the Cullasaja river,Near its rough uneven flow;Camped upon its bank at evening,Heard at night the roar and splashOf the voice of many watersDown the fearful cascade dash.Stood at sunrise where the shadowOf the cliffs cast darkening shade,Where the rainbows chase the rainbowLike as sorrows chased the maid.Traveled down the silver current,Rested often on the way,Strolled the banks and fished the currentOf the crystal Ellijay.Pleasantly the winding currentEddies, swirls and loiters freeTill it joins the radiant watersOf the little Tennessee;Where the mound stands in the meadow,Once the townhouse capped its crest,There the tribe was wont to gather,Council, plan and seek for rest.To the mound the tribe assembled,From the regions all around,Came from Cowee and Coweeta,Where the Cherokee abound;Came from Nantahala mountains,Skeenah and Cartoogechaye,Nickajack and sweet Iola,And from Choga far away.All the great men and the warriorsBrought the women, and their wives,Came by hundreds without number,Like the swarms around the hives;But today there is no warrior,Not a maiden can be found,Tenting on the pretty meadow,Or upon Nik-wa-sa mound.In the Cowee spur of mountains,Stands the Bald and Sentinel,Of the valley and the river,Of the moorland and the dell.Like a pyramid it rises,Layer on layer and flight on flightTill its crest ascends the confinesOf the grand imperial height.From its summit far receding,Contours of the mountains rise,Numerous as the constellationsIn the arched dome of the skies.Far away beyond the valleyDouble Top confronts the eye,Black Rock rises like a shadowOn the blue ethereal sky.Jones' Knob makes its appearance,Highest, grandest height of allPenetrates the vault of heaven,None so picturesque or tall.Wayah, Burningtown and WesserRaise their bald heads to the cloudHigh and haughty, rich in beautyAnd extremely vain and proud.

Then it rushes fast and furious

Into mist and fog and spray,

Rises like the ghost of Banquo,

Will not linger, stop nor stay.

O’er the precipice it plunges,

Bounds and surges down the steep,

As it gushes forth forever,

Toward the blue and boundless deep.

In the Appalachian mountainsStands Satulah, high and proud,With its base upon the Blue Ridge,And its head above the cloud.From its top the panoramaRises grandly into view,And presents a thousand landscapes,Every one to Nature true.

In the Appalachian mountains

Stands Satulah, high and proud,

With its base upon the Blue Ridge,

And its head above the cloud.

From its top the panorama

Rises grandly into view,

And presents a thousand landscapes,

Every one to Nature true.

Round by round the mountains rise up,Round on round, and tier on tier,You behold them in their beauty,Through a vista, bright and clear.Like concentric circles floating,Ebbing on a crystal bayTo the distance they’re receding,Fading like declining day.

Round by round the mountains rise up,

Round on round, and tier on tier,

You behold them in their beauty,

Through a vista, bright and clear.

Like concentric circles floating,

Ebbing on a crystal bay

To the distance they’re receding,

Fading like declining day.

Hardby stands the Whiteside Mountain,Like an athlete, strong and tall,Perpendicularly risingAs a mighty granite wall;Towering o’er the Cashier’s valley,Stretching calmly at its base,Like a bouquet of rich rosesBeautifying Nature’s vase.

Hardby stands the Whiteside Mountain,

Like an athlete, strong and tall,

Perpendicularly rising

As a mighty granite wall;

Towering o’er the Cashier’s valley,

Stretching calmly at its base,

Like a bouquet of rich roses

Beautifying Nature’s vase.

High above the other mountains,Whiteside stands in bold relief,With its court house and its cavernRefuge for the soul with grief;Like a monolith it risesTo a grand majestic height,Till its crest becomes a mirror,To refract the rays of light.

High above the other mountains,

Whiteside stands in bold relief,

With its court house and its cavern

Refuge for the soul with grief;

Like a monolith it rises

To a grand majestic height,

Till its crest becomes a mirror,

To refract the rays of light.

From its summit grand and gorgeousLike a splendid stereoscope,Comes a view yet undiscoveredFull of awe, and life and hope.Smiling vales and nodding forestsGreet you like a loving child,From the zenith of the mountain,Comes the landscape undefiled.

From its summit grand and gorgeous

Like a splendid stereoscope,

Comes a view yet undiscovered

Full of awe, and life and hope.

Smiling vales and nodding forests

Greet you like a loving child,

From the zenith of the mountain,

Comes the landscape undefiled.

Flying clouds pour forth their shadows,As the curious mystic mazeShrouds the mountains from the vision,With its dark and lowering haze.Fog so dense come stealing o’er youThat you know not day from night,Till the rifting of the shadowsMakes room for the golden light.

Flying clouds pour forth their shadows,

As the curious mystic maze

Shrouds the mountains from the vision,

With its dark and lowering haze.

Fog so dense come stealing o’er you

That you know not day from night,

Till the rifting of the shadows

Makes room for the golden light.

In the Blue Ridge, near the headlandIn the Hamburg scenic mountains,Comes a silver flow of waterFrom a score of dancing fountains,Tripping lightly, leaping gently,Slipping ‘neath the underbrushWithout noise it creepeth slowlyToward the place of onward rush.

In the Blue Ridge, near the headland

In the Hamburg scenic mountains,

Comes a silver flow of water

From a score of dancing fountains,

Tripping lightly, leaping gently,

Slipping ‘neath the underbrush

Without noise it creepeth slowly

Toward the place of onward rush.

Floats along beneath the hemlock,Nods to swaying spruce and pine,Murmurs in its pebbly bottomHolds converse with tree and vine.Winds around the jutting ledgesOf translucent spar and flint,With effulgence like the jasperWith its glare and gleam and glint.

Floats along beneath the hemlock,

Nods to swaying spruce and pine,

Murmurs in its pebbly bottom

Holds converse with tree and vine.

Winds around the jutting ledges

Of translucent spar and flint,

With effulgence like the jasper

With its glare and gleam and glint.

Moving onward, moving ever,In its course o’er amber bed,While the bluejay and the robinPerch in tree top overhead;Perch and sing of joy and freedom,Fill the glen with pleasure’s song,As the waters, fresh and sparkling,Rippling, gliding, pass along.

Moving onward, moving ever,

In its course o’er amber bed,

While the bluejay and the robin

Perch in tree top overhead;

Perch and sing of joy and freedom,

Fill the glen with pleasure’s song,

As the waters, fresh and sparkling,

Rippling, gliding, pass along.

Thus the Tuckaseigee riverRises far back in the dell,Where the dank marsh of the mountainRise and fall, assuage and swell,Till its flow becomes augmentedBy a thousand little streamsComing from the rocky highlandsThrough their fissures and their seams.

Thus the Tuckaseigee river

Rises far back in the dell,

Where the dank marsh of the mountain

Rise and fall, assuage and swell,

Till its flow becomes augmented

By a thousand little streams

Coming from the rocky highlands

Through their fissures and their seams.

Fills the valley, passes quickly,Trips and falls a hundred feet,Swirls a moment, makes a struggle,Doth the same rash act repeat.Rushes, rages, fumes and surges,Dashes into mist and spray,Heaves and sighs, foments and lashes,As it turns to rush away;

Fills the valley, passes quickly,

Trips and falls a hundred feet,

Swirls a moment, makes a struggle,

Doth the same rash act repeat.

Rushes, rages, fumes and surges,

Dashes into mist and spray,

Heaves and sighs, foments and lashes,

As it turns to rush away;

Roars and fills the earth and heavenWith the pean of its rage,Plunges down deep in the gulches,Where the rocks are worn with age.Maddened by the sudden conflict,Starts anew to rend the wallThat confines its turbid watersTo the defile and the fall.

Roars and fills the earth and heaven

With the pean of its rage,

Plunges down deep in the gulches,

Where the rocks are worn with age.

Maddened by the sudden conflict,

Starts anew to rend the wall

That confines its turbid waters

To the defile and the fall.

Once again it leaps and rushesToward the towering granite wall,And it bounds full many a fathomIn its final furious fall.Much it moans and seethes and surges,Starts again at rapid speed,O’er the rocky pot-hole gushesLike a gaited blooded steed.

Once again it leaps and rushes

Toward the towering granite wall,

And it bounds full many a fathom

In its final furious fall.

Much it moans and seethes and surges,

Starts again at rapid speed,

O’er the rocky pot-hole gushes

Like a gaited blooded steed.

Thus the Tuckaseigee riverFalls into the great abyssDown the canyon, rough and rugged,Where the spar and granite kiss.Then it flows still fast and faster,With its flood both bright and clear,Through the cycles ripe with agesMonth on month and year on year.

Thus the Tuckaseigee river

Falls into the great abyss

Down the canyon, rough and rugged,

Where the spar and granite kiss.

Then it flows still fast and faster,

With its flood both bright and clear,

Through the cycles ripe with ages

Month on month and year on year.

Near the apex of the mountains,In the silence of the dale,Where no human foot has troddenPath or road or warrior’s trail,From the tarn or seep there drippethCrystal water bright and free,That becomes a nymph of beauty,Pretty vale of Cullowhee.

Near the apex of the mountains,

In the silence of the dale,

Where no human foot has trodden

Path or road or warrior’s trail,

From the tarn or seep there drippeth

Crystal water bright and free,

That becomes a nymph of beauty,

Pretty vale of Cullowhee.

In the spreading vale the townhouse,And the Indian village stood;In the alcove, well secluded,In the grove of walnut wood.Ancient chiefs held many councils,Sung the war-song, kept the dance,While the squaws and pretty maidensVie each other in the prance.

In the spreading vale the townhouse,

And the Indian village stood;

In the alcove, well secluded,

In the grove of walnut wood.

Ancient chiefs held many councils,

Sung the war-song, kept the dance,

While the squaws and pretty maidens

Vie each other in the prance.

Cullowhee, thou stream and valley,Once the domicile and home,Of a people free and happy,Free from tribal fear and gloom,Where, O where, are thy great warriors—Where thy chiefs and warriors bold—Who once held in strict abeyanceThose who plundered you of old?

Cullowhee, thou stream and valley,

Once the domicile and home,

Of a people free and happy,

Free from tribal fear and gloom,

Where, O where, are thy great warriors—

Where thy chiefs and warriors bold—

Who once held in strict abeyance

Those who plundered you of old?

Gone forever are thy warriors,Gone thy chiefs and maidens fair,Vanished like the mist of summer,Gone! but none can tell us where.From their homes were hounded, driven,Like the timid hind or deer,Herded like the driven cattle,Forced from home by gun and spear.

Gone forever are thy warriors,

Gone thy chiefs and maidens fair,

Vanished like the mist of summer,

Gone! but none can tell us where.

From their homes were hounded, driven,

Like the timid hind or deer,

Herded like the driven cattle,

Forced from home by gun and spear.

“Tell me, vale or rippling water,Tell me if ye can or will,If you’ve seen my long-lost loverKnown as wandering Whippoorwill?”But the water, cool and placid,That comes from the mountain highSwirled a moment, then departingMade no answer or reply.

“Tell me, vale or rippling water,

Tell me if ye can or will,

If you’ve seen my long-lost lover

Known as wandering Whippoorwill?”

But the water, cool and placid,

That comes from the mountain high

Swirled a moment, then departing

Made no answer or reply.

Then the maiden’s grief grew greater,As she lingered by the streamWatching for some sign or tokenOr some vision through a dream;But no dream made revelation,Only sorrow filled her years,And her eyes lost much of lusterAs her cheeks suffused with tears.

Then the maiden’s grief grew greater,

As she lingered by the stream

Watching for some sign or token

Or some vision through a dream;

But no dream made revelation,

Only sorrow filled her years,

And her eyes lost much of luster

As her cheeks suffused with tears.

Turning thence into the forestOver hill and brook and mound,To the Cullasaja riverThrough the forest land they wound;Through the tangled brush and ivy,Rough and rugged mountainside,Led the ponies through the forest,Far too steep for them to ride.

Turning thence into the forest

Over hill and brook and mound,

To the Cullasaja river

Through the forest land they wound;

Through the tangled brush and ivy,

Rough and rugged mountainside,

Led the ponies through the forest,

Far too steep for them to ride.

They descended trails deserted,Where the chieftains used to go,Near the Cullasaja river,Near its rough uneven flow;Camped upon its bank at evening,Heard at night the roar and splashOf the voice of many watersDown the fearful cascade dash.

They descended trails deserted,

Where the chieftains used to go,

Near the Cullasaja river,

Near its rough uneven flow;

Camped upon its bank at evening,

Heard at night the roar and splash

Of the voice of many waters

Down the fearful cascade dash.

Stood at sunrise where the shadowOf the cliffs cast darkening shade,Where the rainbows chase the rainbowLike as sorrows chased the maid.Traveled down the silver current,Rested often on the way,Strolled the banks and fished the currentOf the crystal Ellijay.

Stood at sunrise where the shadow

Of the cliffs cast darkening shade,

Where the rainbows chase the rainbow

Like as sorrows chased the maid.

Traveled down the silver current,

Rested often on the way,

Strolled the banks and fished the current

Of the crystal Ellijay.

Pleasantly the winding currentEddies, swirls and loiters freeTill it joins the radiant watersOf the little Tennessee;Where the mound stands in the meadow,Once the townhouse capped its crest,There the tribe was wont to gather,Council, plan and seek for rest.

Pleasantly the winding current

Eddies, swirls and loiters free

Till it joins the radiant waters

Of the little Tennessee;

Where the mound stands in the meadow,

Once the townhouse capped its crest,

There the tribe was wont to gather,

Council, plan and seek for rest.

To the mound the tribe assembled,From the regions all around,Came from Cowee and Coweeta,Where the Cherokee abound;Came from Nantahala mountains,Skeenah and Cartoogechaye,Nickajack and sweet Iola,And from Choga far away.

To the mound the tribe assembled,

From the regions all around,

Came from Cowee and Coweeta,

Where the Cherokee abound;

Came from Nantahala mountains,

Skeenah and Cartoogechaye,

Nickajack and sweet Iola,

And from Choga far away.

All the great men and the warriorsBrought the women, and their wives,Came by hundreds without number,Like the swarms around the hives;But today there is no warrior,Not a maiden can be found,Tenting on the pretty meadow,Or upon Nik-wa-sa mound.

All the great men and the warriors

Brought the women, and their wives,

Came by hundreds without number,

Like the swarms around the hives;

But today there is no warrior,

Not a maiden can be found,

Tenting on the pretty meadow,

Or upon Nik-wa-sa mound.

In the Cowee spur of mountains,Stands the Bald and Sentinel,Of the valley and the river,Of the moorland and the dell.Like a pyramid it rises,Layer on layer and flight on flightTill its crest ascends the confinesOf the grand imperial height.

In the Cowee spur of mountains,

Stands the Bald and Sentinel,

Of the valley and the river,

Of the moorland and the dell.

Like a pyramid it rises,

Layer on layer and flight on flight

Till its crest ascends the confines

Of the grand imperial height.

From its summit far receding,Contours of the mountains rise,Numerous as the constellationsIn the arched dome of the skies.Far away beyond the valleyDouble Top confronts the eye,Black Rock rises like a shadowOn the blue ethereal sky.

From its summit far receding,

Contours of the mountains rise,

Numerous as the constellations

In the arched dome of the skies.

Far away beyond the valley

Double Top confronts the eye,

Black Rock rises like a shadow

On the blue ethereal sky.

Jones' Knob makes its appearance,Highest, grandest height of allPenetrates the vault of heaven,None so picturesque or tall.Wayah, Burningtown and WesserRaise their bald heads to the cloudHigh and haughty, rich in beautyAnd extremely vain and proud.

Jones' Knob makes its appearance,

Highest, grandest height of all

Penetrates the vault of heaven,

None so picturesque or tall.

Wayah, Burningtown and Wesser

Raise their bald heads to the cloud

High and haughty, rich in beauty

And extremely vain and proud.

Great Cliff, Whiteside Mountain.Great Cliff, Whiteside Mountain.

Great Cliff, Whiteside Mountain.

Whiteside Mountain.Whiteside Mountain.“Hardby stands the Whiteside Mountain,Like an athlete, strong and tall.”

Whiteside Mountain.

“Hardby stands the Whiteside Mountain,Like an athlete, strong and tall.”

“Hardby stands the Whiteside Mountain,

Like an athlete, strong and tall.”

Una and Yalaka mountainsStand so near up by the sideOf the Cowee, that you’d take themFor its consort or its bride.Festooned, wreathed and decoratedWith the honeysuckle bloom,And the lady-slipper blossom,There dispels the hour of gloom.Ginseng and the Indian turnipGrow up from their fallow bedsIn the dark coves of the mountains,With their beaded crimson heads.Fertile fields and stately meadowsStretch along the sylvan streamsAnd surpass the fields Elysian,Seen in visionary dreams.From the summit of the CoweeIn the season of the fall,Fog fills all the pretty valleySettles like the deathly pall,Coming from the rill and river,To the isothermal belt,Where the sunbeam meets the fog-lineAnd the frost and ices melt.Jutting tops of verdant mountainsPenetrate the fog below,As the islands in the oceanForm the archipelago.Sea of fog stands out before you,With its islands and its reefSilent and devoid of murmurAs the quivering aspen leaf.“Occoneechee, look to Northland,See the Smoky Mountains rise,Like a shadow in the valleyOr a cloud upon the skies.Many days since you beheld themIn their grand, majestic height;Many days from these you’ve wanderedFrom their fountains, pure and bright.“Hie thee to the Smoky Mountains,Tarry not upon the plain,Linger not upon the borderOf the fields of golden grain.Flee thee as a kite or eagle,Not a moment stop or stay,Hasten to Oconaluftee,Be not long upon the way.“I have much to speak unto youE’er I take my final leave,Some will sadden, some will gladden,Some bring joy and some will grieve.All our legends, myths and storiesSoon will fall into decay,And I must transmit them to youE’er I turn to go away.“Mount thee, mount thee quick this pony,Spryly spring upon its back,Leave no vestige, sign or tokenOr the semblance of a track,Whereby man may trace or trail thee,In the moorland or morass,By the radiant river flowingOr secluded mountain pass.“Grasp the reins, hold fast the girdle,Like flamingoes make your flightTo the great dome of the mountainThat now gleams within your sight.Clingman’s Dome, the crowning gloryOf the high erupted hills,They will shield you and protect you,With its cliffs and rolling rills.”Sped they like the rolling current,Sped they like a gleam of light,Sped they as the flying phantomOr a swallow in its flight,To their refuge in the mountain,To the temple of the earth,Near the lonely spot secluded,That had known her from her birth.Standing, gazing, watching, peering,Through the azure atmosphere,At the wilderness before youAnd the scene both rich and clear.Cerulean the gorgeous mountainsRise and loom up in your sight,Like a splendid constellationOn a crisp autumnal night.‘Twixt the fall and winter season,Comes a tinge of milky haze,Stealing o’er the Smoky Mountains,Shutting out the solar rays,Flooding vales and filling valleys,Coming, creeping, crawling slow,Fills the firmament with shadowsAs with crystal flakes of snow.Through the haze and mist and shadowsYou discern a ball of fire,From the rim of Nature risingAs a knighted funeral pyre;Yet it moveth slowly upward,Creeps aloft along the sky,As a billow on the oceanMeets the ship, then passes by.This you say is Indian summer,Tepid season of the year,When glad harvest songs ascendethFull of hope and love and cheer.From Penobscot, down the Hudson,By the Susquehanna wild,Through the Shenandoah valleyRoamed the forest-loving child.Roamed the Mohawk and the Huron,Seneca and Wyandot,Delaware and the Mohican,Long since perished and forgot.Powhattan and Tuscarora,And the wandering Showano,Creek and Seminole and Erie,Miami and Pamlico,Chicasaw and the Osages,Kickapoo and Illinois,Ottawas and Susquehannas,Objibwas and Iroquois,Once enjoyed the Indian summers,Once to all this land was heir,Sportive, free and lithe and happy,Chief and maid and matron fair.As the blossoms in the forestBloom, then fall into decay,So the mighty tribes here mentioned,Flourished, so traditions say;Then the coming of the white man,Spread consternation far and wide;Then decay and desolationConquered all their manly pride.Treaties made were quickly brokenAnd their homes were burned with fire,Which provoked the mighty tribesmenAnd aroused their vengeful ire.Furious raids on hostile savageWith the powder-horn and gun,Soon reduced the noble red manSlowly, surely, one by one,Till not one now roams the forest,None are left to tell the tale;All their guns and bows are broken,None now for them weep or wail.Only names of streams and mountainsKeep the memory aglow,Of the noble, brave and fearlessRed men of the long ago.Cherokee, the seed and offspringResidue of Iroquois,Silently are disappearingWithout pageantry or noise.Though more civil and more learnedAnd much wiser than the rest,They will be amalgamated,By the white man in the West.Occoneechee and the chieftainTalked of all that they had seen,Of the flow of pretty riversAnd the matchless mountains green,Of the ferns and pretty flowers,Parterre of rarest hue,Tint of maroon, white and yellow,Saffron, lilac, red and blue.Held they converse of their travels,Of the wilderness sublime,Of the myths and happy legendsTold through yielding years of time.Of the wars and tales forgotten,Of the chiefs and warriors braveWho long since have run their journey,Who now sleep within the grave.At those tales the maiden wept loud,Sought for solace thru a sigh,Much o’ercome by thoughts of loved ones,And she prayed that she might dieHigh upon the Smoky Mountains,Where no human soul can traceThe seclusions of the forestTo her lonely burial place.Bitterly she wailed in sorrow,Saying “Tell me, tell me whyI am left out here so lonely,And my tears are never dry?Why he comes not at my calling,Why he roams some lonely way,Why does he not come back to me—Why does he not come and stay?

Una and Yalaka mountains

Stand so near up by the side

Of the Cowee, that you’d take them

For its consort or its bride.

Festooned, wreathed and decorated

With the honeysuckle bloom,

And the lady-slipper blossom,

There dispels the hour of gloom.

Ginseng and the Indian turnipGrow up from their fallow bedsIn the dark coves of the mountains,With their beaded crimson heads.Fertile fields and stately meadowsStretch along the sylvan streamsAnd surpass the fields Elysian,Seen in visionary dreams.

Ginseng and the Indian turnip

Grow up from their fallow beds

In the dark coves of the mountains,

With their beaded crimson heads.

Fertile fields and stately meadows

Stretch along the sylvan streams

And surpass the fields Elysian,

Seen in visionary dreams.

From the summit of the CoweeIn the season of the fall,Fog fills all the pretty valleySettles like the deathly pall,Coming from the rill and river,To the isothermal belt,Where the sunbeam meets the fog-lineAnd the frost and ices melt.

From the summit of the Cowee

In the season of the fall,

Fog fills all the pretty valley

Settles like the deathly pall,

Coming from the rill and river,

To the isothermal belt,

Where the sunbeam meets the fog-line

And the frost and ices melt.

Jutting tops of verdant mountainsPenetrate the fog below,As the islands in the oceanForm the archipelago.Sea of fog stands out before you,With its islands and its reefSilent and devoid of murmurAs the quivering aspen leaf.

Jutting tops of verdant mountains

Penetrate the fog below,

As the islands in the ocean

Form the archipelago.

Sea of fog stands out before you,

With its islands and its reef

Silent and devoid of murmur

As the quivering aspen leaf.

“Occoneechee, look to Northland,See the Smoky Mountains rise,Like a shadow in the valleyOr a cloud upon the skies.Many days since you beheld themIn their grand, majestic height;Many days from these you’ve wanderedFrom their fountains, pure and bright.

“Occoneechee, look to Northland,

See the Smoky Mountains rise,

Like a shadow in the valley

Or a cloud upon the skies.

Many days since you beheld them

In their grand, majestic height;

Many days from these you’ve wandered

From their fountains, pure and bright.

“Hie thee to the Smoky Mountains,Tarry not upon the plain,Linger not upon the borderOf the fields of golden grain.Flee thee as a kite or eagle,Not a moment stop or stay,Hasten to Oconaluftee,Be not long upon the way.

“Hie thee to the Smoky Mountains,

Tarry not upon the plain,

Linger not upon the border

Of the fields of golden grain.

Flee thee as a kite or eagle,

Not a moment stop or stay,

Hasten to Oconaluftee,

Be not long upon the way.

“I have much to speak unto youE’er I take my final leave,Some will sadden, some will gladden,Some bring joy and some will grieve.All our legends, myths and storiesSoon will fall into decay,And I must transmit them to youE’er I turn to go away.

“I have much to speak unto you

E’er I take my final leave,

Some will sadden, some will gladden,

Some bring joy and some will grieve.

All our legends, myths and stories

Soon will fall into decay,

And I must transmit them to you

E’er I turn to go away.

“Mount thee, mount thee quick this pony,Spryly spring upon its back,Leave no vestige, sign or tokenOr the semblance of a track,Whereby man may trace or trail thee,In the moorland or morass,By the radiant river flowingOr secluded mountain pass.

“Mount thee, mount thee quick this pony,

Spryly spring upon its back,

Leave no vestige, sign or token

Or the semblance of a track,

Whereby man may trace or trail thee,

In the moorland or morass,

By the radiant river flowing

Or secluded mountain pass.

“Grasp the reins, hold fast the girdle,Like flamingoes make your flightTo the great dome of the mountainThat now gleams within your sight.Clingman’s Dome, the crowning gloryOf the high erupted hills,They will shield you and protect you,With its cliffs and rolling rills.”

“Grasp the reins, hold fast the girdle,

Like flamingoes make your flight

To the great dome of the mountain

That now gleams within your sight.

Clingman’s Dome, the crowning glory

Of the high erupted hills,

They will shield you and protect you,

With its cliffs and rolling rills.”

Sped they like the rolling current,Sped they like a gleam of light,Sped they as the flying phantomOr a swallow in its flight,To their refuge in the mountain,To the temple of the earth,Near the lonely spot secluded,That had known her from her birth.

Sped they like the rolling current,

Sped they like a gleam of light,

Sped they as the flying phantom

Or a swallow in its flight,

To their refuge in the mountain,

To the temple of the earth,

Near the lonely spot secluded,

That had known her from her birth.

Standing, gazing, watching, peering,Through the azure atmosphere,At the wilderness before youAnd the scene both rich and clear.Cerulean the gorgeous mountainsRise and loom up in your sight,Like a splendid constellationOn a crisp autumnal night.

Standing, gazing, watching, peering,

Through the azure atmosphere,

At the wilderness before you

And the scene both rich and clear.

Cerulean the gorgeous mountains

Rise and loom up in your sight,

Like a splendid constellation

On a crisp autumnal night.

‘Twixt the fall and winter season,Comes a tinge of milky haze,Stealing o’er the Smoky Mountains,Shutting out the solar rays,Flooding vales and filling valleys,Coming, creeping, crawling slow,Fills the firmament with shadowsAs with crystal flakes of snow.

‘Twixt the fall and winter season,

Comes a tinge of milky haze,

Stealing o’er the Smoky Mountains,

Shutting out the solar rays,

Flooding vales and filling valleys,

Coming, creeping, crawling slow,

Fills the firmament with shadows

As with crystal flakes of snow.

Through the haze and mist and shadowsYou discern a ball of fire,From the rim of Nature risingAs a knighted funeral pyre;Yet it moveth slowly upward,Creeps aloft along the sky,As a billow on the oceanMeets the ship, then passes by.

Through the haze and mist and shadows

You discern a ball of fire,

From the rim of Nature rising

As a knighted funeral pyre;

Yet it moveth slowly upward,

Creeps aloft along the sky,

As a billow on the ocean

Meets the ship, then passes by.

This you say is Indian summer,Tepid season of the year,When glad harvest songs ascendethFull of hope and love and cheer.From Penobscot, down the Hudson,By the Susquehanna wild,Through the Shenandoah valleyRoamed the forest-loving child.

This you say is Indian summer,

Tepid season of the year,

When glad harvest songs ascendeth

Full of hope and love and cheer.

From Penobscot, down the Hudson,

By the Susquehanna wild,

Through the Shenandoah valley

Roamed the forest-loving child.

Roamed the Mohawk and the Huron,Seneca and Wyandot,Delaware and the Mohican,Long since perished and forgot.Powhattan and Tuscarora,And the wandering Showano,Creek and Seminole and Erie,Miami and Pamlico,

Roamed the Mohawk and the Huron,

Seneca and Wyandot,

Delaware and the Mohican,

Long since perished and forgot.

Powhattan and Tuscarora,

And the wandering Showano,

Creek and Seminole and Erie,

Miami and Pamlico,

Chicasaw and the Osages,Kickapoo and Illinois,Ottawas and Susquehannas,Objibwas and Iroquois,Once enjoyed the Indian summers,Once to all this land was heir,Sportive, free and lithe and happy,Chief and maid and matron fair.

Chicasaw and the Osages,

Kickapoo and Illinois,

Ottawas and Susquehannas,

Objibwas and Iroquois,

Once enjoyed the Indian summers,

Once to all this land was heir,

Sportive, free and lithe and happy,

Chief and maid and matron fair.

As the blossoms in the forestBloom, then fall into decay,So the mighty tribes here mentioned,Flourished, so traditions say;Then the coming of the white man,Spread consternation far and wide;Then decay and desolationConquered all their manly pride.

As the blossoms in the forest

Bloom, then fall into decay,

So the mighty tribes here mentioned,

Flourished, so traditions say;

Then the coming of the white man,

Spread consternation far and wide;

Then decay and desolation

Conquered all their manly pride.

Treaties made were quickly brokenAnd their homes were burned with fire,Which provoked the mighty tribesmenAnd aroused their vengeful ire.Furious raids on hostile savageWith the powder-horn and gun,Soon reduced the noble red manSlowly, surely, one by one,

Treaties made were quickly broken

And their homes were burned with fire,

Which provoked the mighty tribesmen

And aroused their vengeful ire.

Furious raids on hostile savage

With the powder-horn and gun,

Soon reduced the noble red man

Slowly, surely, one by one,

Till not one now roams the forest,None are left to tell the tale;All their guns and bows are broken,None now for them weep or wail.Only names of streams and mountainsKeep the memory aglow,Of the noble, brave and fearlessRed men of the long ago.

Till not one now roams the forest,

None are left to tell the tale;

All their guns and bows are broken,

None now for them weep or wail.

Only names of streams and mountains

Keep the memory aglow,

Of the noble, brave and fearless

Red men of the long ago.

Cherokee, the seed and offspringResidue of Iroquois,Silently are disappearingWithout pageantry or noise.Though more civil and more learnedAnd much wiser than the rest,They will be amalgamated,By the white man in the West.

Cherokee, the seed and offspring

Residue of Iroquois,

Silently are disappearing

Without pageantry or noise.

Though more civil and more learned

And much wiser than the rest,

They will be amalgamated,

By the white man in the West.

Occoneechee and the chieftainTalked of all that they had seen,Of the flow of pretty riversAnd the matchless mountains green,Of the ferns and pretty flowers,Parterre of rarest hue,Tint of maroon, white and yellow,Saffron, lilac, red and blue.

Occoneechee and the chieftain

Talked of all that they had seen,

Of the flow of pretty rivers

And the matchless mountains green,

Of the ferns and pretty flowers,

Parterre of rarest hue,

Tint of maroon, white and yellow,

Saffron, lilac, red and blue.

Held they converse of their travels,Of the wilderness sublime,Of the myths and happy legendsTold through yielding years of time.Of the wars and tales forgotten,Of the chiefs and warriors braveWho long since have run their journey,Who now sleep within the grave.

Held they converse of their travels,

Of the wilderness sublime,

Of the myths and happy legends

Told through yielding years of time.

Of the wars and tales forgotten,

Of the chiefs and warriors brave

Who long since have run their journey,

Who now sleep within the grave.

At those tales the maiden wept loud,Sought for solace thru a sigh,Much o’ercome by thoughts of loved ones,And she prayed that she might dieHigh upon the Smoky Mountains,Where no human soul can traceThe seclusions of the forestTo her lonely burial place.

At those tales the maiden wept loud,

Sought for solace thru a sigh,

Much o’ercome by thoughts of loved ones,

And she prayed that she might die

High upon the Smoky Mountains,

Where no human soul can trace

The seclusions of the forest

To her lonely burial place.

Bitterly she wailed in sorrow,Saying “Tell me, tell me whyI am left out here so lonely,And my tears are never dry?Why he comes not at my calling,Why he roams some lonely way,Why does he not come back to me—Why does he not come and stay?

Bitterly she wailed in sorrow,

Saying “Tell me, tell me why

I am left out here so lonely,

And my tears are never dry?

Why he comes not at my calling,

Why he roams some lonely way,

Why does he not come back to me—

Why does he not come and stay?

Tennessee River, above Franklin, N. C.Tennessee River, above Franklin, N. C.

Tennessee River, above Franklin, N. C.

Lake Toxaway.Lake Toxaway.

Lake Toxaway.

“Why and where now does he linger?Tell me, silver, crescent moon,Shall our parting be forever—Shall our hopes all blast at noon?When love’s bright star shines the brightestShall it be the sooner set?Shall we e’er be reunited,Tell me, while hope lingers yet!“Does he linger in the mountains,Far up toward the radiant sky?Tell me, blessed God of Nature,Tell me, blessed Nunnahi.Has some evil spirit seized him,Hid or carried him awayFar beyond the gleaming sunset,Far out toward the close of day?“Will he come back with the morning,Borne upon its wings of light,From the shade that long has lingered,From the darkness of the night?Is there none to bring me answer?Speak, dear Nature, tell me whereI may find my long lost lover,Is my final feeble prayer.”Then the chieftain, grand and noble,Came and lingered by her side,Like a lover in devotionLingers near a loving bride.Then in accents like a clarion,Sweet and clear, but gently said,“Whippoorwill, my friend, your lover,Comes again, he is not dead!“I will go and hunt your lover,And will bring him to your side;I will roam the forest ever,And will cease to be your guide;I will find the one you’ve looked for,And will tell him that you live;I will tell him of your rambles,And will all my future give,“Till I find him in the forest,Or upon the flowing brinkOf the Coosa river flowing,Where he used to often drink.In the everglades may linger,‘Neath the shade of some cool palm,Sweetest refuge of the lowlands,With its air of purest balm.“Where the Seminole in silence,Made their refuge, long ago,From the fierce onslaught of Jackson,And exterminating woe.He may listen in the silenceAnd the solitude of night,For some friendly sign or tokenWhereby he may make his flight.“When I’ve found him we will travel,We will travel night and day,We will hasten on our journey,Will not linger nor delay,We will speed along the valleyLike the wind before the rain,We will neither stop nor tarry,Never from our speed refrain.“We will rush along the river,Like the maddened swollen tide,Like a leaf upon the cycloneRushing forward in its pride;Over winter’s snow and icesWe will rush with greatest speed,Like a herd of frightened cattleOr a trained Kentucky steed.“I will tell him of your travelsInto lands he’s never seen,With their forests and their flowers,And their leaves of living green;How for years you’ve looked and waited,Watched the trail and mountainside,Watched and hoped long for him coming,That you might become his bride.“I am John Ax, Stagu-Nahi!Much I love the mountains wild!Friend of those who love the forest,Friend of those who love you, child.I bespeak a special blessingTo attend you while I goInto strange lands, unto strangers,Hither, thither, to and fro.”Then he pressed her to his bosom,Breathed a silent, parting prayerTo the Nunnahi in heaven,For the lovely maid so fair;Prayed and blessed her, then departedThru primeval forests wild,Sped he by the rolling waters,Heard them laugh and saw them smile.Sped he by the Coosa river,Where great brakes of waving cane,Bend before the blowing breezes,Like the waves of wind and rain.Took the trails where once the chieftainStrode at will in lordly pride,By the Coosa river flowingIn its smooth, unrippled tide.Downward, onward, free and easy,Swirls and turns and travels slow,As it glitters in the sunlight,As its waters onward go.Sees the trail almost extinguishedBy the pretty Etawa,Where once dwelt in great profusion,Chief and maid and tawny squaw.Traveled far the TallapoosaInto fen and deep morass,Through the wildwood, glade and forestDark defile and narrow pass;Footsore, lame and often hungry,Traveled onward day and night,Like the wild goose speeding forwardIn its semi-annual flight.O’er the glebes of Alabama,Crossed the hill and stream and dale,To the Tuskaloosa flowingNear the ancient Indian trail,Now deserted and forsakenIs the war path and the land,By the Creek and great MuscogasWandering, wild, nomadic band.Pensive, lonely and dejected,Penetrated he the wild,Over fen and bog and prairie,Into climates soft and mild.By lagoon and lake and river,By the deep translucent bay,Followed he the sun’s direction,Many a night and sunlit day.Crossed the Mississippi delta,Wound through many moor and fen,Saw the shining stars at midnight,And the dawn of days begin;Heard the tramp of bear and bison,Heard the wild wolf’s dismal howl,Saw the glowworm in the rushes,Heard the whippoorwill and owl.Heard the alligator bellow,Saw him swim the broad bayou,Saw the egret, crane and heron,Wading stark and tree-cuckoo.Trackless miles spread out before him,Stretching leagues of gama grassLay across the course he traveled,Lay out where he had to pass.Dangling mosses from the tree tops,Swung by swaying winds and breeze,Cling with tendrils to the branches,Of the mighty live oak trees.Soft as lichens, light as feathersWas the tall untrodden grass,On the prairie and the meadow,And the spreading rich morass.Tranquil, peacefully and quietDid the moons and moments wane,Till he came to Oklahoma,Into his own tribe’s domain;Here he rested for a season,Ate the food and drank for healthIn the land of Oklahoma,Land of perfect natural wealth.Oklahoma, red man’s country,Blest above all other lands,In her natural soil and climate,In her ore-beds and her sands;In her fertile fields and valleys,In her people, true and great,Cherokee and Creek and ChoctawsMake the people of the state.Here’s a land transformed in beauty,Touched and tilled by busy toil,Responds quickly to the tiller,Products of a generous soil.Fruits and flowers forever growing,Fields of gold and snowy white,Songs of harvest home and plentySung to every one’s delight.Here with labor, love and patience,There arose an empire great,Which when settled, tilled and treated,Has become a powerful state;Filled with people true and honest,Filled with people thrifty too,And the land is flat and fertile,Best that mortals ever knew.

“Why and where now does he linger?

Tell me, silver, crescent moon,

Shall our parting be forever—

Shall our hopes all blast at noon?

When love’s bright star shines the brightest

Shall it be the sooner set?

Shall we e’er be reunited,

Tell me, while hope lingers yet!

“Does he linger in the mountains,Far up toward the radiant sky?Tell me, blessed God of Nature,Tell me, blessed Nunnahi.Has some evil spirit seized him,Hid or carried him awayFar beyond the gleaming sunset,Far out toward the close of day?

“Does he linger in the mountains,

Far up toward the radiant sky?

Tell me, blessed God of Nature,

Tell me, blessed Nunnahi.

Has some evil spirit seized him,

Hid or carried him away

Far beyond the gleaming sunset,

Far out toward the close of day?

“Will he come back with the morning,Borne upon its wings of light,From the shade that long has lingered,From the darkness of the night?Is there none to bring me answer?Speak, dear Nature, tell me whereI may find my long lost lover,Is my final feeble prayer.”

“Will he come back with the morning,

Borne upon its wings of light,

From the shade that long has lingered,

From the darkness of the night?

Is there none to bring me answer?

Speak, dear Nature, tell me where

I may find my long lost lover,

Is my final feeble prayer.”

Then the chieftain, grand and noble,Came and lingered by her side,Like a lover in devotionLingers near a loving bride.Then in accents like a clarion,Sweet and clear, but gently said,“Whippoorwill, my friend, your lover,Comes again, he is not dead!

Then the chieftain, grand and noble,

Came and lingered by her side,

Like a lover in devotion

Lingers near a loving bride.

Then in accents like a clarion,

Sweet and clear, but gently said,

“Whippoorwill, my friend, your lover,

Comes again, he is not dead!

“I will go and hunt your lover,And will bring him to your side;I will roam the forest ever,And will cease to be your guide;I will find the one you’ve looked for,And will tell him that you live;I will tell him of your rambles,And will all my future give,

“I will go and hunt your lover,

And will bring him to your side;

I will roam the forest ever,

And will cease to be your guide;

I will find the one you’ve looked for,

And will tell him that you live;

I will tell him of your rambles,

And will all my future give,

“Till I find him in the forest,Or upon the flowing brinkOf the Coosa river flowing,Where he used to often drink.In the everglades may linger,‘Neath the shade of some cool palm,Sweetest refuge of the lowlands,With its air of purest balm.

“Till I find him in the forest,

Or upon the flowing brink

Of the Coosa river flowing,

Where he used to often drink.

In the everglades may linger,

‘Neath the shade of some cool palm,

Sweetest refuge of the lowlands,

With its air of purest balm.

“Where the Seminole in silence,Made their refuge, long ago,From the fierce onslaught of Jackson,And exterminating woe.He may listen in the silenceAnd the solitude of night,For some friendly sign or tokenWhereby he may make his flight.

“Where the Seminole in silence,

Made their refuge, long ago,

From the fierce onslaught of Jackson,

And exterminating woe.

He may listen in the silence

And the solitude of night,

For some friendly sign or token

Whereby he may make his flight.

“When I’ve found him we will travel,We will travel night and day,We will hasten on our journey,Will not linger nor delay,We will speed along the valleyLike the wind before the rain,We will neither stop nor tarry,Never from our speed refrain.

“When I’ve found him we will travel,

We will travel night and day,

We will hasten on our journey,

Will not linger nor delay,

We will speed along the valley

Like the wind before the rain,

We will neither stop nor tarry,

Never from our speed refrain.

“We will rush along the river,Like the maddened swollen tide,Like a leaf upon the cycloneRushing forward in its pride;Over winter’s snow and icesWe will rush with greatest speed,Like a herd of frightened cattleOr a trained Kentucky steed.

“We will rush along the river,

Like the maddened swollen tide,

Like a leaf upon the cyclone

Rushing forward in its pride;

Over winter’s snow and ices

We will rush with greatest speed,

Like a herd of frightened cattle

Or a trained Kentucky steed.

“I will tell him of your travelsInto lands he’s never seen,With their forests and their flowers,And their leaves of living green;How for years you’ve looked and waited,Watched the trail and mountainside,Watched and hoped long for him coming,That you might become his bride.

“I will tell him of your travels

Into lands he’s never seen,

With their forests and their flowers,

And their leaves of living green;

How for years you’ve looked and waited,

Watched the trail and mountainside,

Watched and hoped long for him coming,

That you might become his bride.

“I am John Ax, Stagu-Nahi!Much I love the mountains wild!Friend of those who love the forest,Friend of those who love you, child.I bespeak a special blessingTo attend you while I goInto strange lands, unto strangers,Hither, thither, to and fro.”

“I am John Ax, Stagu-Nahi!

Much I love the mountains wild!

Friend of those who love the forest,

Friend of those who love you, child.

I bespeak a special blessing

To attend you while I go

Into strange lands, unto strangers,

Hither, thither, to and fro.”

Then he pressed her to his bosom,Breathed a silent, parting prayerTo the Nunnahi in heaven,For the lovely maid so fair;Prayed and blessed her, then departedThru primeval forests wild,Sped he by the rolling waters,Heard them laugh and saw them smile.

Then he pressed her to his bosom,

Breathed a silent, parting prayer

To the Nunnahi in heaven,

For the lovely maid so fair;

Prayed and blessed her, then departed

Thru primeval forests wild,

Sped he by the rolling waters,

Heard them laugh and saw them smile.

Sped he by the Coosa river,Where great brakes of waving cane,Bend before the blowing breezes,Like the waves of wind and rain.Took the trails where once the chieftainStrode at will in lordly pride,By the Coosa river flowingIn its smooth, unrippled tide.

Sped he by the Coosa river,

Where great brakes of waving cane,

Bend before the blowing breezes,

Like the waves of wind and rain.

Took the trails where once the chieftain

Strode at will in lordly pride,

By the Coosa river flowing

In its smooth, unrippled tide.

Downward, onward, free and easy,Swirls and turns and travels slow,As it glitters in the sunlight,As its waters onward go.Sees the trail almost extinguishedBy the pretty Etawa,Where once dwelt in great profusion,Chief and maid and tawny squaw.

Downward, onward, free and easy,

Swirls and turns and travels slow,

As it glitters in the sunlight,

As its waters onward go.

Sees the trail almost extinguished

By the pretty Etawa,

Where once dwelt in great profusion,

Chief and maid and tawny squaw.

Traveled far the TallapoosaInto fen and deep morass,Through the wildwood, glade and forestDark defile and narrow pass;Footsore, lame and often hungry,Traveled onward day and night,Like the wild goose speeding forwardIn its semi-annual flight.

Traveled far the Tallapoosa

Into fen and deep morass,

Through the wildwood, glade and forest

Dark defile and narrow pass;

Footsore, lame and often hungry,

Traveled onward day and night,

Like the wild goose speeding forward

In its semi-annual flight.

O’er the glebes of Alabama,Crossed the hill and stream and dale,To the Tuskaloosa flowingNear the ancient Indian trail,Now deserted and forsakenIs the war path and the land,By the Creek and great MuscogasWandering, wild, nomadic band.

O’er the glebes of Alabama,

Crossed the hill and stream and dale,

To the Tuskaloosa flowing

Near the ancient Indian trail,

Now deserted and forsaken

Is the war path and the land,

By the Creek and great Muscogas

Wandering, wild, nomadic band.

Pensive, lonely and dejected,Penetrated he the wild,Over fen and bog and prairie,Into climates soft and mild.By lagoon and lake and river,By the deep translucent bay,Followed he the sun’s direction,Many a night and sunlit day.

Pensive, lonely and dejected,

Penetrated he the wild,

Over fen and bog and prairie,

Into climates soft and mild.

By lagoon and lake and river,

By the deep translucent bay,

Followed he the sun’s direction,

Many a night and sunlit day.

Crossed the Mississippi delta,Wound through many moor and fen,Saw the shining stars at midnight,And the dawn of days begin;Heard the tramp of bear and bison,Heard the wild wolf’s dismal howl,Saw the glowworm in the rushes,Heard the whippoorwill and owl.

Crossed the Mississippi delta,

Wound through many moor and fen,

Saw the shining stars at midnight,

And the dawn of days begin;

Heard the tramp of bear and bison,

Heard the wild wolf’s dismal howl,

Saw the glowworm in the rushes,

Heard the whippoorwill and owl.

Heard the alligator bellow,Saw him swim the broad bayou,Saw the egret, crane and heron,Wading stark and tree-cuckoo.Trackless miles spread out before him,Stretching leagues of gama grassLay across the course he traveled,Lay out where he had to pass.

Heard the alligator bellow,

Saw him swim the broad bayou,

Saw the egret, crane and heron,

Wading stark and tree-cuckoo.

Trackless miles spread out before him,

Stretching leagues of gama grass

Lay across the course he traveled,

Lay out where he had to pass.

Dangling mosses from the tree tops,Swung by swaying winds and breeze,Cling with tendrils to the branches,Of the mighty live oak trees.Soft as lichens, light as feathersWas the tall untrodden grass,On the prairie and the meadow,And the spreading rich morass.

Dangling mosses from the tree tops,

Swung by swaying winds and breeze,

Cling with tendrils to the branches,

Of the mighty live oak trees.

Soft as lichens, light as feathers

Was the tall untrodden grass,

On the prairie and the meadow,

And the spreading rich morass.

Tranquil, peacefully and quietDid the moons and moments wane,Till he came to Oklahoma,Into his own tribe’s domain;Here he rested for a season,Ate the food and drank for healthIn the land of Oklahoma,Land of perfect natural wealth.

Tranquil, peacefully and quiet

Did the moons and moments wane,

Till he came to Oklahoma,

Into his own tribe’s domain;

Here he rested for a season,

Ate the food and drank for health

In the land of Oklahoma,

Land of perfect natural wealth.

Oklahoma, red man’s country,Blest above all other lands,In her natural soil and climate,In her ore-beds and her sands;In her fertile fields and valleys,In her people, true and great,Cherokee and Creek and ChoctawsMake the people of the state.

Oklahoma, red man’s country,

Blest above all other lands,

In her natural soil and climate,

In her ore-beds and her sands;

In her fertile fields and valleys,

In her people, true and great,

Cherokee and Creek and Choctaws

Make the people of the state.

Here’s a land transformed in beauty,Touched and tilled by busy toil,Responds quickly to the tiller,Products of a generous soil.Fruits and flowers forever growing,Fields of gold and snowy white,Songs of harvest home and plentySung to every one’s delight.

Here’s a land transformed in beauty,

Touched and tilled by busy toil,

Responds quickly to the tiller,

Products of a generous soil.

Fruits and flowers forever growing,

Fields of gold and snowy white,

Songs of harvest home and plenty

Sung to every one’s delight.

Here with labor, love and patience,There arose an empire great,Which when settled, tilled and treated,Has become a powerful state;Filled with people true and honest,Filled with people thrifty too,And the land is flat and fertile,Best that mortals ever knew.

Here with labor, love and patience,

There arose an empire great,

Which when settled, tilled and treated,

Has become a powerful state;

Filled with people true and honest,

Filled with people thrifty too,

And the land is flat and fertile,

Best that mortals ever knew.

Tomb of Junaluska, Robbinsville, N. C.Tomb of Junaluska, Robbinsville, N. C.

Tomb of Junaluska, Robbinsville, N. C.

Where the Serpent Coiled.Where the Serpent Coiled.“Where the serpent coiled and waitedHid beneath the waving grass.”

Where the Serpent Coiled.

“Where the serpent coiled and waitedHid beneath the waving grass.”

“Where the serpent coiled and waited

Hid beneath the waving grass.”

Once where roamed the bear and bison,Where the she wolf and the owlMade their home and habitation,And the foxes used to prowl;Where the serpent coiled and waited,Hid beneath the waving grassTo inject his fangs and venomIn some human as he’d pass,Now there thrives the busy city,Bristling with the throb and thrillOf the commerce of a nation,Growing greater, growing still.All her farms and fields and ranches,Groan beneath their heavy loadOf waving grain and lowing cattle;All the land with wealth is strewed.Then he rose up like the morning,From his slumber and his rest,To converse there with the chieftainsAmong whom he’d been a guest.Then he spoke of CarolinaToward the rising of the sun,Full of hope and awe and splendorWhere his early life begun.And he spoke of OcconeecheeIn the land of hills and streams,In the land of wooded forests,Land of love and fondest dreams;Land where myths and mirth commingle,Where aspiring peaks point high,To the dials of the morningIn the sweet “Land of the sky.”Spoke he also of a chieftain,Known to her as Whippoorwill,Who once dwelt within the forest,Near a pleasant little rill,In the dark fens of the mountains,Back where oak and birchen groveCast their shadows o’er the valleyO’er the cliffs and deepest cove.Where glad song of the nightingaleIs the sweetest ever heard,And far exceeds in melody,The trill of the mocking-bird.From the matutinal dawningTill the falling shades of nightThe songster sings in mellow tonesTo the auditor’s delight.Long in silence sat the chieftain,Long he listened quite intent,To the story of the stranger,Catching all he said and meant,Of the maiden of the mountains,Of the trees and songs of bird,And the story lingered with him,Every syllable and word.Then the chieftain made inquiryOf the stranger true and bold,Who now came to tarry with them,Who was growing gray and old,Of the health and habitationOf the Eastern tribal bandWho still dwelt amid the SmokiesIn his own sweet native land;Where his heart felt first the wooing,Where his hope of youth ran high,‘Mid the hills of CarolinaIn the sweet “Land of the sky.”In the land of flowers and sunshine,Land of silver-flowing streams,Land of promise full of blessingsAnd of legends, myths and dreams;Land of pretty maids and matrons,Home where generous hearts are true,Where the sunshine chases shadowsDown the vaults of vaporous blue.Where the wild flight of the eagleSoars beyond the keenest eye,In recesses of the heavens,In the blue ethereal sky.Rifting rocks and rolling riversDoth adorn the hill and vale,Lilting melodies float outwardOn the vortex of the gale;This the land of Occoneechee,Land that Junaluska saw,Home of warrior, chief and maiden,Land of dauntless brave and squaw.Let us go back to those mountains,Once more let us view those hills,And let me hear the voice once moreOf the laughing streams and rills;And let me view with raptured eyeThe blossom of tree and vine,Once more inhale the sweet ozone,Under tulip tree and pine.Those hills, delectable mountains,Outrival the scenes of Greece,Surpass in beauty and grandeurThe Eagle or Golden Fleece.Those shrines and temples of granite,Glad sentinels of the free!There let me roam through dell once more,Let me glad and happy be.Some speak of splendid balmy isles,Far out in the rolling sea,Of spicy groves, and vine-clad hills,And of things which are to be;Of nymphs and naiads of the past,Of lands of the brave and free,But none of these can e’er surpassThe hills of Cherokee;The hills where roamed the dusky maid,And the home of Whippoorwill,Where Occoneechee dreamed at night,By the gushing stream and rill.By strange enchanted mystic lakeWhere the wildest beasts are seen,Far back in the deep recessOf the mountain’s verdure green.“Let autumn’s wind blow swift its gale,The season of summer flee,But I will soon my lover meet,In the ‘land of the brave and free,’I’ll leave Tahlequah in the West,With this warrior at my side.We’ll travel as the fleetest windsUnless ill fates betide.“While the morrow’s stars are glowing,In the dials of the morn,I will start upon the journey,To the land where I was born.”So he gathered up his chattels,Springing spryly on his steed,Made inquiry of the warrior,“Which of us shall take the lead?”Then the warrior to the chieftainQuick replied, “I’ll lead the wayFar across the hill and valley,Mounted on this splendid bay.”Then they said to friend and neighbor,Old-time chief and child and squaw,“At the dawning, we will leave you,Leave the town of Tahlequah;“Leave the tribe and reservation,For a journey to the East,Where the tribesmen dwell together,Meet serenely, drink and feast,In a land where peace and pleasureVie each other in the pace,Where the hopes of life are brightestTo the fallen human race.”Just then came a gleam like lightning,Shooting forth its silver ray,Which precedes the golden splendorOf the fast approaching day.This the advent and the tokenFor the brave to lead the wayOut across the plain and valleyToward the coming king of day.Then they seized the spear and trident,Bow and tomahawk and knife,And they left the scenes of conflict,With its turmoil and its strife;And they journeyed ever eastward,Days and many a-waning moon,Crossing river, lake and prairie,Spreading field and broad lagoon.Saw the Wabash and Missouri,Cumberland and Tennessee,Saw the Holston in its beautyAnd the town of Chilhowee.Looked down on the Nolachucky,Saw Watauga’s crystal flowGleam from out the moon’s reflectionFrom the canyon’s depths below.Neptune, who pervades the water,Ne’er beheld a holier sightThan this happy, hopeful chieftainDid that crisp autumnal night.While he looked upon the waterBright and pure and crystalline,Fairest land and purest waterMortal eye had ever seen;He beheld there in his visionSuch a Naiad divine,That he put forth his endeavors,That he might the maid entwine;But she flew back like a phantom,Back into the crescent wave,From the presence of the chieftainAnd the relegated brave;Flew back from him and departedAnd was lost to human eye;All that now lay out before himWas the stream and earth and sky.Full of disappointing beauty,Was the earth and sky and stream,When divested of the grandeurOf the vision and the dream.Then he rambled through the mountainsOver crag and rugged steep,Through the laurel bed and ivyBy exertion did he creep;Through the hemlock and the balsamUnder oak and birchen tree,Gazing through the heath before himIf perchance that he might seeIn the dim, dark, hazel distance,Far out on the mountainsideOcconeechee, pure and lovely,Whom he longed to make his bride;Make his bride and dwell there with her‘Mid aspiring peak and dome;Longed to have her sit beside him,In his peaceful mountain home.Wandered through the Craggy mountainsWhere no human foot had trod,And no eye had yet beheld it,Save the eye of Nature’s God.For the spreading tree and forestGrew from out the virgin soil,And was free from all intrusionsOf the white man’s skill and toil.Now their speed was much retarded,Trails once plain were now unkept,And the chief and brave lamentingLaid themselves down there and wept;Wept for chiefs like Uniguski,Sequoya and Utsala,In the land of TuckaleecheeAnd for friends like Wil-Usdi.1Turning from his grief and sorrowFor the chiefs of long ago,Ceasing all his deep repiningFrom the burden of his woe,Looking far o’er hill and valleyHe beheld the gilded domeOf the Smokies in the distance,Near old Junaluska’s home.

Once where roamed the bear and bison,

Where the she wolf and the owl

Made their home and habitation,

And the foxes used to prowl;

Where the serpent coiled and waited,

Hid beneath the waving grass

To inject his fangs and venom

In some human as he’d pass,

Now there thrives the busy city,Bristling with the throb and thrillOf the commerce of a nation,Growing greater, growing still.All her farms and fields and ranches,Groan beneath their heavy loadOf waving grain and lowing cattle;All the land with wealth is strewed.

Now there thrives the busy city,

Bristling with the throb and thrill

Of the commerce of a nation,

Growing greater, growing still.

All her farms and fields and ranches,

Groan beneath their heavy load

Of waving grain and lowing cattle;

All the land with wealth is strewed.

Then he rose up like the morning,From his slumber and his rest,To converse there with the chieftainsAmong whom he’d been a guest.Then he spoke of CarolinaToward the rising of the sun,Full of hope and awe and splendorWhere his early life begun.

Then he rose up like the morning,

From his slumber and his rest,

To converse there with the chieftains

Among whom he’d been a guest.

Then he spoke of Carolina

Toward the rising of the sun,

Full of hope and awe and splendor

Where his early life begun.

And he spoke of OcconeecheeIn the land of hills and streams,In the land of wooded forests,Land of love and fondest dreams;Land where myths and mirth commingle,Where aspiring peaks point high,To the dials of the morningIn the sweet “Land of the sky.”

And he spoke of Occoneechee

In the land of hills and streams,

In the land of wooded forests,

Land of love and fondest dreams;

Land where myths and mirth commingle,

Where aspiring peaks point high,

To the dials of the morning

In the sweet “Land of the sky.”

Spoke he also of a chieftain,Known to her as Whippoorwill,Who once dwelt within the forest,Near a pleasant little rill,In the dark fens of the mountains,Back where oak and birchen groveCast their shadows o’er the valleyO’er the cliffs and deepest cove.

Spoke he also of a chieftain,

Known to her as Whippoorwill,

Who once dwelt within the forest,

Near a pleasant little rill,

In the dark fens of the mountains,

Back where oak and birchen grove

Cast their shadows o’er the valley

O’er the cliffs and deepest cove.

Where glad song of the nightingaleIs the sweetest ever heard,And far exceeds in melody,The trill of the mocking-bird.From the matutinal dawningTill the falling shades of nightThe songster sings in mellow tonesTo the auditor’s delight.

Where glad song of the nightingale

Is the sweetest ever heard,

And far exceeds in melody,

The trill of the mocking-bird.

From the matutinal dawning

Till the falling shades of night

The songster sings in mellow tones

To the auditor’s delight.

Long in silence sat the chieftain,Long he listened quite intent,To the story of the stranger,Catching all he said and meant,Of the maiden of the mountains,Of the trees and songs of bird,And the story lingered with him,Every syllable and word.

Long in silence sat the chieftain,

Long he listened quite intent,

To the story of the stranger,

Catching all he said and meant,

Of the maiden of the mountains,

Of the trees and songs of bird,

And the story lingered with him,

Every syllable and word.

Then the chieftain made inquiryOf the stranger true and bold,Who now came to tarry with them,Who was growing gray and old,Of the health and habitationOf the Eastern tribal bandWho still dwelt amid the SmokiesIn his own sweet native land;

Then the chieftain made inquiry

Of the stranger true and bold,

Who now came to tarry with them,

Who was growing gray and old,

Of the health and habitation

Of the Eastern tribal band

Who still dwelt amid the Smokies

In his own sweet native land;

Where his heart felt first the wooing,Where his hope of youth ran high,‘Mid the hills of CarolinaIn the sweet “Land of the sky.”In the land of flowers and sunshine,Land of silver-flowing streams,Land of promise full of blessingsAnd of legends, myths and dreams;

Where his heart felt first the wooing,

Where his hope of youth ran high,

‘Mid the hills of Carolina

In the sweet “Land of the sky.”

In the land of flowers and sunshine,

Land of silver-flowing streams,

Land of promise full of blessings

And of legends, myths and dreams;

Land of pretty maids and matrons,Home where generous hearts are true,Where the sunshine chases shadowsDown the vaults of vaporous blue.Where the wild flight of the eagleSoars beyond the keenest eye,In recesses of the heavens,In the blue ethereal sky.

Land of pretty maids and matrons,

Home where generous hearts are true,

Where the sunshine chases shadows

Down the vaults of vaporous blue.

Where the wild flight of the eagle

Soars beyond the keenest eye,

In recesses of the heavens,

In the blue ethereal sky.

Rifting rocks and rolling riversDoth adorn the hill and vale,Lilting melodies float outwardOn the vortex of the gale;This the land of Occoneechee,Land that Junaluska saw,Home of warrior, chief and maiden,Land of dauntless brave and squaw.

Rifting rocks and rolling rivers

Doth adorn the hill and vale,

Lilting melodies float outward

On the vortex of the gale;

This the land of Occoneechee,

Land that Junaluska saw,

Home of warrior, chief and maiden,

Land of dauntless brave and squaw.

Let us go back to those mountains,Once more let us view those hills,And let me hear the voice once moreOf the laughing streams and rills;And let me view with raptured eyeThe blossom of tree and vine,Once more inhale the sweet ozone,Under tulip tree and pine.

Let us go back to those mountains,

Once more let us view those hills,

And let me hear the voice once more

Of the laughing streams and rills;

And let me view with raptured eye

The blossom of tree and vine,

Once more inhale the sweet ozone,

Under tulip tree and pine.

Those hills, delectable mountains,Outrival the scenes of Greece,Surpass in beauty and grandeurThe Eagle or Golden Fleece.Those shrines and temples of granite,Glad sentinels of the free!There let me roam through dell once more,Let me glad and happy be.

Those hills, delectable mountains,

Outrival the scenes of Greece,

Surpass in beauty and grandeur

The Eagle or Golden Fleece.

Those shrines and temples of granite,

Glad sentinels of the free!

There let me roam through dell once more,

Let me glad and happy be.

Some speak of splendid balmy isles,Far out in the rolling sea,Of spicy groves, and vine-clad hills,And of things which are to be;Of nymphs and naiads of the past,Of lands of the brave and free,But none of these can e’er surpassThe hills of Cherokee;

Some speak of splendid balmy isles,

Far out in the rolling sea,

Of spicy groves, and vine-clad hills,

And of things which are to be;

Of nymphs and naiads of the past,

Of lands of the brave and free,

But none of these can e’er surpass

The hills of Cherokee;

The hills where roamed the dusky maid,And the home of Whippoorwill,Where Occoneechee dreamed at night,By the gushing stream and rill.By strange enchanted mystic lakeWhere the wildest beasts are seen,Far back in the deep recessOf the mountain’s verdure green.

The hills where roamed the dusky maid,

And the home of Whippoorwill,

Where Occoneechee dreamed at night,

By the gushing stream and rill.

By strange enchanted mystic lake

Where the wildest beasts are seen,

Far back in the deep recess

Of the mountain’s verdure green.

“Let autumn’s wind blow swift its gale,The season of summer flee,But I will soon my lover meet,In the ‘land of the brave and free,’I’ll leave Tahlequah in the West,With this warrior at my side.We’ll travel as the fleetest windsUnless ill fates betide.

“Let autumn’s wind blow swift its gale,

The season of summer flee,

But I will soon my lover meet,

In the ‘land of the brave and free,’

I’ll leave Tahlequah in the West,

With this warrior at my side.

We’ll travel as the fleetest winds

Unless ill fates betide.

“While the morrow’s stars are glowing,In the dials of the morn,I will start upon the journey,To the land where I was born.”So he gathered up his chattels,Springing spryly on his steed,Made inquiry of the warrior,“Which of us shall take the lead?”

“While the morrow’s stars are glowing,

In the dials of the morn,

I will start upon the journey,

To the land where I was born.”

So he gathered up his chattels,

Springing spryly on his steed,

Made inquiry of the warrior,

“Which of us shall take the lead?”

Then the warrior to the chieftainQuick replied, “I’ll lead the wayFar across the hill and valley,Mounted on this splendid bay.”Then they said to friend and neighbor,Old-time chief and child and squaw,“At the dawning, we will leave you,Leave the town of Tahlequah;

Then the warrior to the chieftain

Quick replied, “I’ll lead the way

Far across the hill and valley,

Mounted on this splendid bay.”

Then they said to friend and neighbor,

Old-time chief and child and squaw,

“At the dawning, we will leave you,

Leave the town of Tahlequah;

“Leave the tribe and reservation,For a journey to the East,Where the tribesmen dwell together,Meet serenely, drink and feast,In a land where peace and pleasureVie each other in the pace,Where the hopes of life are brightestTo the fallen human race.”

“Leave the tribe and reservation,

For a journey to the East,

Where the tribesmen dwell together,

Meet serenely, drink and feast,

In a land where peace and pleasure

Vie each other in the pace,

Where the hopes of life are brightest

To the fallen human race.”

Just then came a gleam like lightning,Shooting forth its silver ray,Which precedes the golden splendorOf the fast approaching day.This the advent and the tokenFor the brave to lead the wayOut across the plain and valleyToward the coming king of day.

Just then came a gleam like lightning,

Shooting forth its silver ray,

Which precedes the golden splendor

Of the fast approaching day.

This the advent and the token

For the brave to lead the way

Out across the plain and valley

Toward the coming king of day.

Then they seized the spear and trident,Bow and tomahawk and knife,And they left the scenes of conflict,With its turmoil and its strife;And they journeyed ever eastward,Days and many a-waning moon,Crossing river, lake and prairie,Spreading field and broad lagoon.

Then they seized the spear and trident,

Bow and tomahawk and knife,

And they left the scenes of conflict,

With its turmoil and its strife;

And they journeyed ever eastward,

Days and many a-waning moon,

Crossing river, lake and prairie,

Spreading field and broad lagoon.

Saw the Wabash and Missouri,Cumberland and Tennessee,Saw the Holston in its beautyAnd the town of Chilhowee.Looked down on the Nolachucky,Saw Watauga’s crystal flowGleam from out the moon’s reflectionFrom the canyon’s depths below.

Saw the Wabash and Missouri,

Cumberland and Tennessee,

Saw the Holston in its beauty

And the town of Chilhowee.

Looked down on the Nolachucky,

Saw Watauga’s crystal flow

Gleam from out the moon’s reflection

From the canyon’s depths below.

Neptune, who pervades the water,Ne’er beheld a holier sightThan this happy, hopeful chieftainDid that crisp autumnal night.While he looked upon the waterBright and pure and crystalline,Fairest land and purest waterMortal eye had ever seen;

Neptune, who pervades the water,

Ne’er beheld a holier sight

Than this happy, hopeful chieftain

Did that crisp autumnal night.

While he looked upon the water

Bright and pure and crystalline,

Fairest land and purest water

Mortal eye had ever seen;

He beheld there in his visionSuch a Naiad divine,That he put forth his endeavors,That he might the maid entwine;But she flew back like a phantom,Back into the crescent wave,From the presence of the chieftainAnd the relegated brave;

He beheld there in his vision

Such a Naiad divine,

That he put forth his endeavors,

That he might the maid entwine;

But she flew back like a phantom,

Back into the crescent wave,

From the presence of the chieftain

And the relegated brave;

Flew back from him and departedAnd was lost to human eye;All that now lay out before himWas the stream and earth and sky.Full of disappointing beauty,Was the earth and sky and stream,When divested of the grandeurOf the vision and the dream.

Flew back from him and departed

And was lost to human eye;

All that now lay out before him

Was the stream and earth and sky.

Full of disappointing beauty,

Was the earth and sky and stream,

When divested of the grandeur

Of the vision and the dream.

Then he rambled through the mountainsOver crag and rugged steep,Through the laurel bed and ivyBy exertion did he creep;Through the hemlock and the balsamUnder oak and birchen tree,Gazing through the heath before himIf perchance that he might see

Then he rambled through the mountains

Over crag and rugged steep,

Through the laurel bed and ivy

By exertion did he creep;

Through the hemlock and the balsam

Under oak and birchen tree,

Gazing through the heath before him

If perchance that he might see

In the dim, dark, hazel distance,Far out on the mountainsideOcconeechee, pure and lovely,Whom he longed to make his bride;Make his bride and dwell there with her‘Mid aspiring peak and dome;Longed to have her sit beside him,In his peaceful mountain home.

In the dim, dark, hazel distance,

Far out on the mountainside

Occoneechee, pure and lovely,

Whom he longed to make his bride;

Make his bride and dwell there with her

‘Mid aspiring peak and dome;

Longed to have her sit beside him,

In his peaceful mountain home.

Wandered through the Craggy mountainsWhere no human foot had trod,And no eye had yet beheld it,Save the eye of Nature’s God.For the spreading tree and forestGrew from out the virgin soil,And was free from all intrusionsOf the white man’s skill and toil.

Wandered through the Craggy mountains

Where no human foot had trod,

And no eye had yet beheld it,

Save the eye of Nature’s God.

For the spreading tree and forest

Grew from out the virgin soil,

And was free from all intrusions

Of the white man’s skill and toil.

Now their speed was much retarded,Trails once plain were now unkept,And the chief and brave lamentingLaid themselves down there and wept;Wept for chiefs like Uniguski,Sequoya and Utsala,In the land of TuckaleecheeAnd for friends like Wil-Usdi.1

Now their speed was much retarded,

Trails once plain were now unkept,

And the chief and brave lamenting

Laid themselves down there and wept;

Wept for chiefs like Uniguski,

Sequoya and Utsala,

In the land of Tuckaleechee

And for friends like Wil-Usdi.1

Turning from his grief and sorrowFor the chiefs of long ago,Ceasing all his deep repiningFrom the burden of his woe,Looking far o’er hill and valleyHe beheld the gilded domeOf the Smokies in the distance,Near old Junaluska’s home.

Turning from his grief and sorrow

For the chiefs of long ago,

Ceasing all his deep repining

From the burden of his woe,

Looking far o’er hill and valley

He beheld the gilded dome

Of the Smokies in the distance,

Near old Junaluska’s home.

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