Harvesting at Cullowhee, N. C.Harvesting at Cullowhee, N. C.Where the townhouse used to stand.Craggy Mountains, from near Asheville, N. C.Craggy Mountains, from near Asheville, N. C.Then the chieftain’s hope grew stronger,As he looked upon the sceneOf that splendid mountain forestWith its crest of evergreen;Like a black cloud in the winter,Spreads upon the mountainside,This the forest land primevalThat stands there in lordly pride,This the forest land primeval,Where the chieftains used to roam,Joined in chase of bear and bison,Once the red deer’s winter home.Black and deep and dense the forest,Steep and high the cliffside stands,Where the Cherokee once wanderedIn their wild nomadic bands.As they gazed upon the scenery,Weird and wild and full of awe,They were filled with consternationAt the sight both of them saw.Passing high up near the zenithLike an eagle in its flightCame the sound of wings and voices,On that moonlit autumn night.Voices like the rolling thunderCame resounding far and near,And the meteoric flashesFilled them full of awe and fear;Till they trembled like the aspen‘Mid the tempest fierce and wild,Till it passes, then reposes,Calmly as a little child.Said the brave then to the chieftain,“This my token to depart,I must quickly make my exit,Though it grieves my soul and heartThus to leave you in the forest,Out upon the mountainside,Without hope or friend or shelter,With no one to be your guide;“These the Nunnahi in heaven,Come to lead me far away,Over hill and dale and valley,Toward the final close of day.You will miss me in the morning,Miss me at the noon and night,When I’m mounted on my pinionsAnd am lost to human sight.“Yet a moment I’m allottedTo transmit to you my will;High here on the Smoky MountainsNear the bright translucent rill,Let me tell you while life lingersIn the archives of my breast,Where you’ll find sweet OcconeecheeWhen my soul has flown to rest:“She still lingers in the forest,Near the sweet enchanted lake,Near the spirit land she lingers,Underneath the tangled brake.She holds all our myths and legends,Tales as told long years ago.Now I bid you leave me lonelyTo my fate of weal or woe.“Leave me quick, the spirits call me,Linger not within my sight,Hie thee quickly through the shadowsOf this crisp autumnal night.Tell our friend, sweet Occoneechee,That I’ve gone to join the bandOf the braves who have departedFor the happy hunting land.”Then a shadow passed between them,Like a cloud upon the sky,And the chief was separatedThere upon the mountain high,From his guide and friend forever,So his eye could never see.Whence he traveled, none returnethTo explain the mystery.Thus bereft of friend and neighbor,Whippoorwill began to wail,For some mystic hand to guide himBack into the trodden trail,Where some chief had gone before himIn the years that long had flown,Out upon the mystic ages,Now forgotten and unknown.But no spirit, sign or tokenCame from out the vista fair,Nothing saw, nor nothing heard he,Save the earth and scenery fair.As he stood and gazed in silence,Motionless and calm as death,Stillness reigned on hill and valleyAnd the chieftain held his breath,While he strained his ears and vision,Listening, looking here and there,Waiting, watching, simply trustingFor an answer to his prayer.Suddenly he heard the callingOf a voice so sweet and clear,That he answered, quickly answered,Though his heart was filled with fear.And the voice from out the forest,Called as calls the mating bird,In the bower in the springtime,Sweetest call that e’er was heard,Resonant comes, softly trilling,Sweetly to its lingering mate,In the silence of the forest,As they for each other wait.Then the chieftain bounded forward,Like a hound upon the trail,Thru the forest land primevalOver mound and hill and dale;Over ridge and rock and river,Thru the heath and brush and grass,Thru the land of the Uktena,Thru it all he had to pass.Till he reached the mystic region,Far back in the darkest glen,Near the lake of the enchantedOnly known to bravest men.Here the bear and owl and panther,Find a cure for every ill,Find life’s sweetest panacea,Near the sparkling crystal rill,High upon the Smoky MountainsResonant with Nature wild,For the wanderer from the distance,And the tawny Indian child.This the forest land primeval,Full of awe and dread and dreams,Full of ghouls and ghosts and goblins,Full of rippling crystal streams.From the stream down in the ravine,Came another gentle call,Like the chirping of the robin,In the hemlocks straight and tall.Once again the call repeated,Then a sudden little trillFloated out upon the breezes,From beside the crystal rill.Then the chieftain whistled keenlyLike a hawk upon the wing,When it soars above the mountain,On the balmy air of spring.Then another chirping, chirping,Came from deep down in the vale,And it floated up the mountainLike a leaf upon the gale.Now the chieftain, moved by caution,Watched and moved with greatest care,Down and thru the deepest gulches,Looking here, observing there,For the bird or beast or human,That could send out such a call,From the laurel near the fountainAnd a splendid waterfall.Suddenly his heart beat faster,At the sight which came to view,Through the opening in the laurelAs it parts to let him thru.She was bathing feet and ankles,Arms and hands she did refreshIn the iridescent splendor,Of the fountain cool and fresh.Then he bounds forth quick to greet her,E’er she sees him by her side,She the maiden true and holy,Who was soon to be his bride.“O, I see you, Occoneechee!”“And I see you, Whippoorwill!”Were the greetings that they whisperedAs they met there near the rill.They were married in the morning,He the groom and she the bride,And they lived in bliss together,Many years before they died;Now their spirits dwell together,Near the hidden mystic shore,Of the lake back in the shadowsSince their wanderings are o’er.And at night the legends tell us,You can hear a man and brideHold converse of trail and travel,High upon the mountainside;And the soul of Occoneechee,Lingers near the rippling rill,High upon the Smoky Mountains,With her lover Whippoorwill.
Harvesting at Cullowhee, N. C.Harvesting at Cullowhee, N. C.Where the townhouse used to stand.Craggy Mountains, from near Asheville, N. C.Craggy Mountains, from near Asheville, N. C.Then the chieftain’s hope grew stronger,As he looked upon the sceneOf that splendid mountain forestWith its crest of evergreen;Like a black cloud in the winter,Spreads upon the mountainside,This the forest land primevalThat stands there in lordly pride,This the forest land primeval,Where the chieftains used to roam,Joined in chase of bear and bison,Once the red deer’s winter home.Black and deep and dense the forest,Steep and high the cliffside stands,Where the Cherokee once wanderedIn their wild nomadic bands.As they gazed upon the scenery,Weird and wild and full of awe,They were filled with consternationAt the sight both of them saw.Passing high up near the zenithLike an eagle in its flightCame the sound of wings and voices,On that moonlit autumn night.Voices like the rolling thunderCame resounding far and near,And the meteoric flashesFilled them full of awe and fear;Till they trembled like the aspen‘Mid the tempest fierce and wild,Till it passes, then reposes,Calmly as a little child.Said the brave then to the chieftain,“This my token to depart,I must quickly make my exit,Though it grieves my soul and heartThus to leave you in the forest,Out upon the mountainside,Without hope or friend or shelter,With no one to be your guide;“These the Nunnahi in heaven,Come to lead me far away,Over hill and dale and valley,Toward the final close of day.You will miss me in the morning,Miss me at the noon and night,When I’m mounted on my pinionsAnd am lost to human sight.“Yet a moment I’m allottedTo transmit to you my will;High here on the Smoky MountainsNear the bright translucent rill,Let me tell you while life lingersIn the archives of my breast,Where you’ll find sweet OcconeecheeWhen my soul has flown to rest:“She still lingers in the forest,Near the sweet enchanted lake,Near the spirit land she lingers,Underneath the tangled brake.She holds all our myths and legends,Tales as told long years ago.Now I bid you leave me lonelyTo my fate of weal or woe.“Leave me quick, the spirits call me,Linger not within my sight,Hie thee quickly through the shadowsOf this crisp autumnal night.Tell our friend, sweet Occoneechee,That I’ve gone to join the bandOf the braves who have departedFor the happy hunting land.”Then a shadow passed between them,Like a cloud upon the sky,And the chief was separatedThere upon the mountain high,From his guide and friend forever,So his eye could never see.Whence he traveled, none returnethTo explain the mystery.Thus bereft of friend and neighbor,Whippoorwill began to wail,For some mystic hand to guide himBack into the trodden trail,Where some chief had gone before himIn the years that long had flown,Out upon the mystic ages,Now forgotten and unknown.But no spirit, sign or tokenCame from out the vista fair,Nothing saw, nor nothing heard he,Save the earth and scenery fair.As he stood and gazed in silence,Motionless and calm as death,Stillness reigned on hill and valleyAnd the chieftain held his breath,While he strained his ears and vision,Listening, looking here and there,Waiting, watching, simply trustingFor an answer to his prayer.Suddenly he heard the callingOf a voice so sweet and clear,That he answered, quickly answered,Though his heart was filled with fear.And the voice from out the forest,Called as calls the mating bird,In the bower in the springtime,Sweetest call that e’er was heard,Resonant comes, softly trilling,Sweetly to its lingering mate,In the silence of the forest,As they for each other wait.Then the chieftain bounded forward,Like a hound upon the trail,Thru the forest land primevalOver mound and hill and dale;Over ridge and rock and river,Thru the heath and brush and grass,Thru the land of the Uktena,Thru it all he had to pass.Till he reached the mystic region,Far back in the darkest glen,Near the lake of the enchantedOnly known to bravest men.Here the bear and owl and panther,Find a cure for every ill,Find life’s sweetest panacea,Near the sparkling crystal rill,High upon the Smoky MountainsResonant with Nature wild,For the wanderer from the distance,And the tawny Indian child.This the forest land primeval,Full of awe and dread and dreams,Full of ghouls and ghosts and goblins,Full of rippling crystal streams.From the stream down in the ravine,Came another gentle call,Like the chirping of the robin,In the hemlocks straight and tall.Once again the call repeated,Then a sudden little trillFloated out upon the breezes,From beside the crystal rill.Then the chieftain whistled keenlyLike a hawk upon the wing,When it soars above the mountain,On the balmy air of spring.Then another chirping, chirping,Came from deep down in the vale,And it floated up the mountainLike a leaf upon the gale.Now the chieftain, moved by caution,Watched and moved with greatest care,Down and thru the deepest gulches,Looking here, observing there,For the bird or beast or human,That could send out such a call,From the laurel near the fountainAnd a splendid waterfall.Suddenly his heart beat faster,At the sight which came to view,Through the opening in the laurelAs it parts to let him thru.She was bathing feet and ankles,Arms and hands she did refreshIn the iridescent splendor,Of the fountain cool and fresh.Then he bounds forth quick to greet her,E’er she sees him by her side,She the maiden true and holy,Who was soon to be his bride.“O, I see you, Occoneechee!”“And I see you, Whippoorwill!”Were the greetings that they whisperedAs they met there near the rill.They were married in the morning,He the groom and she the bride,And they lived in bliss together,Many years before they died;Now their spirits dwell together,Near the hidden mystic shore,Of the lake back in the shadowsSince their wanderings are o’er.And at night the legends tell us,You can hear a man and brideHold converse of trail and travel,High upon the mountainside;And the soul of Occoneechee,Lingers near the rippling rill,High upon the Smoky Mountains,With her lover Whippoorwill.
Harvesting at Cullowhee, N. C.Harvesting at Cullowhee, N. C.Where the townhouse used to stand.Craggy Mountains, from near Asheville, N. C.Craggy Mountains, from near Asheville, N. C.Then the chieftain’s hope grew stronger,As he looked upon the sceneOf that splendid mountain forestWith its crest of evergreen;Like a black cloud in the winter,Spreads upon the mountainside,This the forest land primevalThat stands there in lordly pride,This the forest land primeval,Where the chieftains used to roam,Joined in chase of bear and bison,Once the red deer’s winter home.Black and deep and dense the forest,Steep and high the cliffside stands,Where the Cherokee once wanderedIn their wild nomadic bands.As they gazed upon the scenery,Weird and wild and full of awe,They were filled with consternationAt the sight both of them saw.Passing high up near the zenithLike an eagle in its flightCame the sound of wings and voices,On that moonlit autumn night.Voices like the rolling thunderCame resounding far and near,And the meteoric flashesFilled them full of awe and fear;Till they trembled like the aspen‘Mid the tempest fierce and wild,Till it passes, then reposes,Calmly as a little child.Said the brave then to the chieftain,“This my token to depart,I must quickly make my exit,Though it grieves my soul and heartThus to leave you in the forest,Out upon the mountainside,Without hope or friend or shelter,With no one to be your guide;“These the Nunnahi in heaven,Come to lead me far away,Over hill and dale and valley,Toward the final close of day.You will miss me in the morning,Miss me at the noon and night,When I’m mounted on my pinionsAnd am lost to human sight.“Yet a moment I’m allottedTo transmit to you my will;High here on the Smoky MountainsNear the bright translucent rill,Let me tell you while life lingersIn the archives of my breast,Where you’ll find sweet OcconeecheeWhen my soul has flown to rest:“She still lingers in the forest,Near the sweet enchanted lake,Near the spirit land she lingers,Underneath the tangled brake.She holds all our myths and legends,Tales as told long years ago.Now I bid you leave me lonelyTo my fate of weal or woe.“Leave me quick, the spirits call me,Linger not within my sight,Hie thee quickly through the shadowsOf this crisp autumnal night.Tell our friend, sweet Occoneechee,That I’ve gone to join the bandOf the braves who have departedFor the happy hunting land.”Then a shadow passed between them,Like a cloud upon the sky,And the chief was separatedThere upon the mountain high,From his guide and friend forever,So his eye could never see.Whence he traveled, none returnethTo explain the mystery.Thus bereft of friend and neighbor,Whippoorwill began to wail,For some mystic hand to guide himBack into the trodden trail,Where some chief had gone before himIn the years that long had flown,Out upon the mystic ages,Now forgotten and unknown.But no spirit, sign or tokenCame from out the vista fair,Nothing saw, nor nothing heard he,Save the earth and scenery fair.As he stood and gazed in silence,Motionless and calm as death,Stillness reigned on hill and valleyAnd the chieftain held his breath,While he strained his ears and vision,Listening, looking here and there,Waiting, watching, simply trustingFor an answer to his prayer.Suddenly he heard the callingOf a voice so sweet and clear,That he answered, quickly answered,Though his heart was filled with fear.And the voice from out the forest,Called as calls the mating bird,In the bower in the springtime,Sweetest call that e’er was heard,Resonant comes, softly trilling,Sweetly to its lingering mate,In the silence of the forest,As they for each other wait.Then the chieftain bounded forward,Like a hound upon the trail,Thru the forest land primevalOver mound and hill and dale;Over ridge and rock and river,Thru the heath and brush and grass,Thru the land of the Uktena,Thru it all he had to pass.Till he reached the mystic region,Far back in the darkest glen,Near the lake of the enchantedOnly known to bravest men.Here the bear and owl and panther,Find a cure for every ill,Find life’s sweetest panacea,Near the sparkling crystal rill,High upon the Smoky MountainsResonant with Nature wild,For the wanderer from the distance,And the tawny Indian child.This the forest land primeval,Full of awe and dread and dreams,Full of ghouls and ghosts and goblins,Full of rippling crystal streams.From the stream down in the ravine,Came another gentle call,Like the chirping of the robin,In the hemlocks straight and tall.Once again the call repeated,Then a sudden little trillFloated out upon the breezes,From beside the crystal rill.Then the chieftain whistled keenlyLike a hawk upon the wing,When it soars above the mountain,On the balmy air of spring.Then another chirping, chirping,Came from deep down in the vale,And it floated up the mountainLike a leaf upon the gale.Now the chieftain, moved by caution,Watched and moved with greatest care,Down and thru the deepest gulches,Looking here, observing there,For the bird or beast or human,That could send out such a call,From the laurel near the fountainAnd a splendid waterfall.Suddenly his heart beat faster,At the sight which came to view,Through the opening in the laurelAs it parts to let him thru.She was bathing feet and ankles,Arms and hands she did refreshIn the iridescent splendor,Of the fountain cool and fresh.Then he bounds forth quick to greet her,E’er she sees him by her side,She the maiden true and holy,Who was soon to be his bride.“O, I see you, Occoneechee!”“And I see you, Whippoorwill!”Were the greetings that they whisperedAs they met there near the rill.They were married in the morning,He the groom and she the bride,And they lived in bliss together,Many years before they died;Now their spirits dwell together,Near the hidden mystic shore,Of the lake back in the shadowsSince their wanderings are o’er.And at night the legends tell us,You can hear a man and brideHold converse of trail and travel,High upon the mountainside;And the soul of Occoneechee,Lingers near the rippling rill,High upon the Smoky Mountains,With her lover Whippoorwill.
Harvesting at Cullowhee, N. C.Harvesting at Cullowhee, N. C.Where the townhouse used to stand.Craggy Mountains, from near Asheville, N. C.Craggy Mountains, from near Asheville, N. C.Then the chieftain’s hope grew stronger,As he looked upon the sceneOf that splendid mountain forestWith its crest of evergreen;Like a black cloud in the winter,Spreads upon the mountainside,This the forest land primevalThat stands there in lordly pride,This the forest land primeval,Where the chieftains used to roam,Joined in chase of bear and bison,Once the red deer’s winter home.Black and deep and dense the forest,Steep and high the cliffside stands,Where the Cherokee once wanderedIn their wild nomadic bands.As they gazed upon the scenery,Weird and wild and full of awe,They were filled with consternationAt the sight both of them saw.Passing high up near the zenithLike an eagle in its flightCame the sound of wings and voices,On that moonlit autumn night.Voices like the rolling thunderCame resounding far and near,And the meteoric flashesFilled them full of awe and fear;Till they trembled like the aspen‘Mid the tempest fierce and wild,Till it passes, then reposes,Calmly as a little child.Said the brave then to the chieftain,“This my token to depart,I must quickly make my exit,Though it grieves my soul and heartThus to leave you in the forest,Out upon the mountainside,Without hope or friend or shelter,With no one to be your guide;“These the Nunnahi in heaven,Come to lead me far away,Over hill and dale and valley,Toward the final close of day.You will miss me in the morning,Miss me at the noon and night,When I’m mounted on my pinionsAnd am lost to human sight.“Yet a moment I’m allottedTo transmit to you my will;High here on the Smoky MountainsNear the bright translucent rill,Let me tell you while life lingersIn the archives of my breast,Where you’ll find sweet OcconeecheeWhen my soul has flown to rest:“She still lingers in the forest,Near the sweet enchanted lake,Near the spirit land she lingers,Underneath the tangled brake.She holds all our myths and legends,Tales as told long years ago.Now I bid you leave me lonelyTo my fate of weal or woe.“Leave me quick, the spirits call me,Linger not within my sight,Hie thee quickly through the shadowsOf this crisp autumnal night.Tell our friend, sweet Occoneechee,That I’ve gone to join the bandOf the braves who have departedFor the happy hunting land.”Then a shadow passed between them,Like a cloud upon the sky,And the chief was separatedThere upon the mountain high,From his guide and friend forever,So his eye could never see.Whence he traveled, none returnethTo explain the mystery.Thus bereft of friend and neighbor,Whippoorwill began to wail,For some mystic hand to guide himBack into the trodden trail,Where some chief had gone before himIn the years that long had flown,Out upon the mystic ages,Now forgotten and unknown.But no spirit, sign or tokenCame from out the vista fair,Nothing saw, nor nothing heard he,Save the earth and scenery fair.As he stood and gazed in silence,Motionless and calm as death,Stillness reigned on hill and valleyAnd the chieftain held his breath,While he strained his ears and vision,Listening, looking here and there,Waiting, watching, simply trustingFor an answer to his prayer.Suddenly he heard the callingOf a voice so sweet and clear,That he answered, quickly answered,Though his heart was filled with fear.And the voice from out the forest,Called as calls the mating bird,In the bower in the springtime,Sweetest call that e’er was heard,Resonant comes, softly trilling,Sweetly to its lingering mate,In the silence of the forest,As they for each other wait.Then the chieftain bounded forward,Like a hound upon the trail,Thru the forest land primevalOver mound and hill and dale;Over ridge and rock and river,Thru the heath and brush and grass,Thru the land of the Uktena,Thru it all he had to pass.Till he reached the mystic region,Far back in the darkest glen,Near the lake of the enchantedOnly known to bravest men.Here the bear and owl and panther,Find a cure for every ill,Find life’s sweetest panacea,Near the sparkling crystal rill,High upon the Smoky MountainsResonant with Nature wild,For the wanderer from the distance,And the tawny Indian child.This the forest land primeval,Full of awe and dread and dreams,Full of ghouls and ghosts and goblins,Full of rippling crystal streams.From the stream down in the ravine,Came another gentle call,Like the chirping of the robin,In the hemlocks straight and tall.Once again the call repeated,Then a sudden little trillFloated out upon the breezes,From beside the crystal rill.Then the chieftain whistled keenlyLike a hawk upon the wing,When it soars above the mountain,On the balmy air of spring.Then another chirping, chirping,Came from deep down in the vale,And it floated up the mountainLike a leaf upon the gale.Now the chieftain, moved by caution,Watched and moved with greatest care,Down and thru the deepest gulches,Looking here, observing there,For the bird or beast or human,That could send out such a call,From the laurel near the fountainAnd a splendid waterfall.Suddenly his heart beat faster,At the sight which came to view,Through the opening in the laurelAs it parts to let him thru.She was bathing feet and ankles,Arms and hands she did refreshIn the iridescent splendor,Of the fountain cool and fresh.Then he bounds forth quick to greet her,E’er she sees him by her side,She the maiden true and holy,Who was soon to be his bride.“O, I see you, Occoneechee!”“And I see you, Whippoorwill!”Were the greetings that they whisperedAs they met there near the rill.They were married in the morning,He the groom and she the bride,And they lived in bliss together,Many years before they died;Now their spirits dwell together,Near the hidden mystic shore,Of the lake back in the shadowsSince their wanderings are o’er.And at night the legends tell us,You can hear a man and brideHold converse of trail and travel,High upon the mountainside;And the soul of Occoneechee,Lingers near the rippling rill,High upon the Smoky Mountains,With her lover Whippoorwill.
Harvesting at Cullowhee, N. C.Harvesting at Cullowhee, N. C.Where the townhouse used to stand.Craggy Mountains, from near Asheville, N. C.Craggy Mountains, from near Asheville, N. C.Then the chieftain’s hope grew stronger,As he looked upon the sceneOf that splendid mountain forestWith its crest of evergreen;Like a black cloud in the winter,Spreads upon the mountainside,This the forest land primevalThat stands there in lordly pride,This the forest land primeval,Where the chieftains used to roam,Joined in chase of bear and bison,Once the red deer’s winter home.Black and deep and dense the forest,Steep and high the cliffside stands,Where the Cherokee once wanderedIn their wild nomadic bands.As they gazed upon the scenery,Weird and wild and full of awe,They were filled with consternationAt the sight both of them saw.Passing high up near the zenithLike an eagle in its flightCame the sound of wings and voices,On that moonlit autumn night.Voices like the rolling thunderCame resounding far and near,And the meteoric flashesFilled them full of awe and fear;Till they trembled like the aspen‘Mid the tempest fierce and wild,Till it passes, then reposes,Calmly as a little child.Said the brave then to the chieftain,“This my token to depart,I must quickly make my exit,Though it grieves my soul and heartThus to leave you in the forest,Out upon the mountainside,Without hope or friend or shelter,With no one to be your guide;“These the Nunnahi in heaven,Come to lead me far away,Over hill and dale and valley,Toward the final close of day.You will miss me in the morning,Miss me at the noon and night,When I’m mounted on my pinionsAnd am lost to human sight.“Yet a moment I’m allottedTo transmit to you my will;High here on the Smoky MountainsNear the bright translucent rill,Let me tell you while life lingersIn the archives of my breast,Where you’ll find sweet OcconeecheeWhen my soul has flown to rest:“She still lingers in the forest,Near the sweet enchanted lake,Near the spirit land she lingers,Underneath the tangled brake.She holds all our myths and legends,Tales as told long years ago.Now I bid you leave me lonelyTo my fate of weal or woe.“Leave me quick, the spirits call me,Linger not within my sight,Hie thee quickly through the shadowsOf this crisp autumnal night.Tell our friend, sweet Occoneechee,That I’ve gone to join the bandOf the braves who have departedFor the happy hunting land.”Then a shadow passed between them,Like a cloud upon the sky,And the chief was separatedThere upon the mountain high,From his guide and friend forever,So his eye could never see.Whence he traveled, none returnethTo explain the mystery.Thus bereft of friend and neighbor,Whippoorwill began to wail,For some mystic hand to guide himBack into the trodden trail,Where some chief had gone before himIn the years that long had flown,Out upon the mystic ages,Now forgotten and unknown.But no spirit, sign or tokenCame from out the vista fair,Nothing saw, nor nothing heard he,Save the earth and scenery fair.As he stood and gazed in silence,Motionless and calm as death,Stillness reigned on hill and valleyAnd the chieftain held his breath,While he strained his ears and vision,Listening, looking here and there,Waiting, watching, simply trustingFor an answer to his prayer.Suddenly he heard the callingOf a voice so sweet and clear,That he answered, quickly answered,Though his heart was filled with fear.And the voice from out the forest,Called as calls the mating bird,In the bower in the springtime,Sweetest call that e’er was heard,Resonant comes, softly trilling,Sweetly to its lingering mate,In the silence of the forest,As they for each other wait.Then the chieftain bounded forward,Like a hound upon the trail,Thru the forest land primevalOver mound and hill and dale;Over ridge and rock and river,Thru the heath and brush and grass,Thru the land of the Uktena,Thru it all he had to pass.Till he reached the mystic region,Far back in the darkest glen,Near the lake of the enchantedOnly known to bravest men.Here the bear and owl and panther,Find a cure for every ill,Find life’s sweetest panacea,Near the sparkling crystal rill,High upon the Smoky MountainsResonant with Nature wild,For the wanderer from the distance,And the tawny Indian child.This the forest land primeval,Full of awe and dread and dreams,Full of ghouls and ghosts and goblins,Full of rippling crystal streams.From the stream down in the ravine,Came another gentle call,Like the chirping of the robin,In the hemlocks straight and tall.Once again the call repeated,Then a sudden little trillFloated out upon the breezes,From beside the crystal rill.Then the chieftain whistled keenlyLike a hawk upon the wing,When it soars above the mountain,On the balmy air of spring.Then another chirping, chirping,Came from deep down in the vale,And it floated up the mountainLike a leaf upon the gale.Now the chieftain, moved by caution,Watched and moved with greatest care,Down and thru the deepest gulches,Looking here, observing there,For the bird or beast or human,That could send out such a call,From the laurel near the fountainAnd a splendid waterfall.Suddenly his heart beat faster,At the sight which came to view,Through the opening in the laurelAs it parts to let him thru.She was bathing feet and ankles,Arms and hands she did refreshIn the iridescent splendor,Of the fountain cool and fresh.Then he bounds forth quick to greet her,E’er she sees him by her side,She the maiden true and holy,Who was soon to be his bride.“O, I see you, Occoneechee!”“And I see you, Whippoorwill!”Were the greetings that they whisperedAs they met there near the rill.They were married in the morning,He the groom and she the bride,And they lived in bliss together,Many years before they died;Now their spirits dwell together,Near the hidden mystic shore,Of the lake back in the shadowsSince their wanderings are o’er.And at night the legends tell us,You can hear a man and brideHold converse of trail and travel,High upon the mountainside;And the soul of Occoneechee,Lingers near the rippling rill,High upon the Smoky Mountains,With her lover Whippoorwill.
Harvesting at Cullowhee, N. C.Harvesting at Cullowhee, N. C.Where the townhouse used to stand.Craggy Mountains, from near Asheville, N. C.Craggy Mountains, from near Asheville, N. C.Then the chieftain’s hope grew stronger,As he looked upon the sceneOf that splendid mountain forestWith its crest of evergreen;Like a black cloud in the winter,Spreads upon the mountainside,This the forest land primevalThat stands there in lordly pride,This the forest land primeval,Where the chieftains used to roam,Joined in chase of bear and bison,Once the red deer’s winter home.Black and deep and dense the forest,Steep and high the cliffside stands,Where the Cherokee once wanderedIn their wild nomadic bands.As they gazed upon the scenery,Weird and wild and full of awe,They were filled with consternationAt the sight both of them saw.Passing high up near the zenithLike an eagle in its flightCame the sound of wings and voices,On that moonlit autumn night.Voices like the rolling thunderCame resounding far and near,And the meteoric flashesFilled them full of awe and fear;Till they trembled like the aspen‘Mid the tempest fierce and wild,Till it passes, then reposes,Calmly as a little child.Said the brave then to the chieftain,“This my token to depart,I must quickly make my exit,Though it grieves my soul and heartThus to leave you in the forest,Out upon the mountainside,Without hope or friend or shelter,With no one to be your guide;“These the Nunnahi in heaven,Come to lead me far away,Over hill and dale and valley,Toward the final close of day.You will miss me in the morning,Miss me at the noon and night,When I’m mounted on my pinionsAnd am lost to human sight.“Yet a moment I’m allottedTo transmit to you my will;High here on the Smoky MountainsNear the bright translucent rill,Let me tell you while life lingersIn the archives of my breast,Where you’ll find sweet OcconeecheeWhen my soul has flown to rest:“She still lingers in the forest,Near the sweet enchanted lake,Near the spirit land she lingers,Underneath the tangled brake.She holds all our myths and legends,Tales as told long years ago.Now I bid you leave me lonelyTo my fate of weal or woe.“Leave me quick, the spirits call me,Linger not within my sight,Hie thee quickly through the shadowsOf this crisp autumnal night.Tell our friend, sweet Occoneechee,That I’ve gone to join the bandOf the braves who have departedFor the happy hunting land.”Then a shadow passed between them,Like a cloud upon the sky,And the chief was separatedThere upon the mountain high,From his guide and friend forever,So his eye could never see.Whence he traveled, none returnethTo explain the mystery.Thus bereft of friend and neighbor,Whippoorwill began to wail,For some mystic hand to guide himBack into the trodden trail,Where some chief had gone before himIn the years that long had flown,Out upon the mystic ages,Now forgotten and unknown.But no spirit, sign or tokenCame from out the vista fair,Nothing saw, nor nothing heard he,Save the earth and scenery fair.As he stood and gazed in silence,Motionless and calm as death,Stillness reigned on hill and valleyAnd the chieftain held his breath,While he strained his ears and vision,Listening, looking here and there,Waiting, watching, simply trustingFor an answer to his prayer.Suddenly he heard the callingOf a voice so sweet and clear,That he answered, quickly answered,Though his heart was filled with fear.And the voice from out the forest,Called as calls the mating bird,In the bower in the springtime,Sweetest call that e’er was heard,Resonant comes, softly trilling,Sweetly to its lingering mate,In the silence of the forest,As they for each other wait.Then the chieftain bounded forward,Like a hound upon the trail,Thru the forest land primevalOver mound and hill and dale;Over ridge and rock and river,Thru the heath and brush and grass,Thru the land of the Uktena,Thru it all he had to pass.Till he reached the mystic region,Far back in the darkest glen,Near the lake of the enchantedOnly known to bravest men.Here the bear and owl and panther,Find a cure for every ill,Find life’s sweetest panacea,Near the sparkling crystal rill,High upon the Smoky MountainsResonant with Nature wild,For the wanderer from the distance,And the tawny Indian child.This the forest land primeval,Full of awe and dread and dreams,Full of ghouls and ghosts and goblins,Full of rippling crystal streams.From the stream down in the ravine,Came another gentle call,Like the chirping of the robin,In the hemlocks straight and tall.Once again the call repeated,Then a sudden little trillFloated out upon the breezes,From beside the crystal rill.Then the chieftain whistled keenlyLike a hawk upon the wing,When it soars above the mountain,On the balmy air of spring.Then another chirping, chirping,Came from deep down in the vale,And it floated up the mountainLike a leaf upon the gale.Now the chieftain, moved by caution,Watched and moved with greatest care,Down and thru the deepest gulches,Looking here, observing there,For the bird or beast or human,That could send out such a call,From the laurel near the fountainAnd a splendid waterfall.Suddenly his heart beat faster,At the sight which came to view,Through the opening in the laurelAs it parts to let him thru.She was bathing feet and ankles,Arms and hands she did refreshIn the iridescent splendor,Of the fountain cool and fresh.Then he bounds forth quick to greet her,E’er she sees him by her side,She the maiden true and holy,Who was soon to be his bride.“O, I see you, Occoneechee!”“And I see you, Whippoorwill!”Were the greetings that they whisperedAs they met there near the rill.They were married in the morning,He the groom and she the bride,And they lived in bliss together,Many years before they died;Now their spirits dwell together,Near the hidden mystic shore,Of the lake back in the shadowsSince their wanderings are o’er.And at night the legends tell us,You can hear a man and brideHold converse of trail and travel,High upon the mountainside;And the soul of Occoneechee,Lingers near the rippling rill,High upon the Smoky Mountains,With her lover Whippoorwill.
Harvesting at Cullowhee, N. C.Harvesting at Cullowhee, N. C.Where the townhouse used to stand.
Harvesting at Cullowhee, N. C.
Where the townhouse used to stand.
Craggy Mountains, from near Asheville, N. C.Craggy Mountains, from near Asheville, N. C.
Craggy Mountains, from near Asheville, N. C.
Then the chieftain’s hope grew stronger,As he looked upon the sceneOf that splendid mountain forestWith its crest of evergreen;Like a black cloud in the winter,Spreads upon the mountainside,This the forest land primevalThat stands there in lordly pride,This the forest land primeval,Where the chieftains used to roam,Joined in chase of bear and bison,Once the red deer’s winter home.Black and deep and dense the forest,Steep and high the cliffside stands,Where the Cherokee once wanderedIn their wild nomadic bands.As they gazed upon the scenery,Weird and wild and full of awe,They were filled with consternationAt the sight both of them saw.Passing high up near the zenithLike an eagle in its flightCame the sound of wings and voices,On that moonlit autumn night.Voices like the rolling thunderCame resounding far and near,And the meteoric flashesFilled them full of awe and fear;Till they trembled like the aspen‘Mid the tempest fierce and wild,Till it passes, then reposes,Calmly as a little child.Said the brave then to the chieftain,“This my token to depart,I must quickly make my exit,Though it grieves my soul and heartThus to leave you in the forest,Out upon the mountainside,Without hope or friend or shelter,With no one to be your guide;“These the Nunnahi in heaven,Come to lead me far away,Over hill and dale and valley,Toward the final close of day.You will miss me in the morning,Miss me at the noon and night,When I’m mounted on my pinionsAnd am lost to human sight.“Yet a moment I’m allottedTo transmit to you my will;High here on the Smoky MountainsNear the bright translucent rill,Let me tell you while life lingersIn the archives of my breast,Where you’ll find sweet OcconeecheeWhen my soul has flown to rest:“She still lingers in the forest,Near the sweet enchanted lake,Near the spirit land she lingers,Underneath the tangled brake.She holds all our myths and legends,Tales as told long years ago.Now I bid you leave me lonelyTo my fate of weal or woe.“Leave me quick, the spirits call me,Linger not within my sight,Hie thee quickly through the shadowsOf this crisp autumnal night.Tell our friend, sweet Occoneechee,That I’ve gone to join the bandOf the braves who have departedFor the happy hunting land.”Then a shadow passed between them,Like a cloud upon the sky,And the chief was separatedThere upon the mountain high,From his guide and friend forever,So his eye could never see.Whence he traveled, none returnethTo explain the mystery.Thus bereft of friend and neighbor,Whippoorwill began to wail,For some mystic hand to guide himBack into the trodden trail,Where some chief had gone before himIn the years that long had flown,Out upon the mystic ages,Now forgotten and unknown.But no spirit, sign or tokenCame from out the vista fair,Nothing saw, nor nothing heard he,Save the earth and scenery fair.As he stood and gazed in silence,Motionless and calm as death,Stillness reigned on hill and valleyAnd the chieftain held his breath,While he strained his ears and vision,Listening, looking here and there,Waiting, watching, simply trustingFor an answer to his prayer.Suddenly he heard the callingOf a voice so sweet and clear,That he answered, quickly answered,Though his heart was filled with fear.And the voice from out the forest,Called as calls the mating bird,In the bower in the springtime,Sweetest call that e’er was heard,Resonant comes, softly trilling,Sweetly to its lingering mate,In the silence of the forest,As they for each other wait.Then the chieftain bounded forward,Like a hound upon the trail,Thru the forest land primevalOver mound and hill and dale;Over ridge and rock and river,Thru the heath and brush and grass,Thru the land of the Uktena,Thru it all he had to pass.Till he reached the mystic region,Far back in the darkest glen,Near the lake of the enchantedOnly known to bravest men.Here the bear and owl and panther,Find a cure for every ill,Find life’s sweetest panacea,Near the sparkling crystal rill,High upon the Smoky MountainsResonant with Nature wild,For the wanderer from the distance,And the tawny Indian child.This the forest land primeval,Full of awe and dread and dreams,Full of ghouls and ghosts and goblins,Full of rippling crystal streams.From the stream down in the ravine,Came another gentle call,Like the chirping of the robin,In the hemlocks straight and tall.Once again the call repeated,Then a sudden little trillFloated out upon the breezes,From beside the crystal rill.Then the chieftain whistled keenlyLike a hawk upon the wing,When it soars above the mountain,On the balmy air of spring.Then another chirping, chirping,Came from deep down in the vale,And it floated up the mountainLike a leaf upon the gale.Now the chieftain, moved by caution,Watched and moved with greatest care,Down and thru the deepest gulches,Looking here, observing there,For the bird or beast or human,That could send out such a call,From the laurel near the fountainAnd a splendid waterfall.Suddenly his heart beat faster,At the sight which came to view,Through the opening in the laurelAs it parts to let him thru.She was bathing feet and ankles,Arms and hands she did refreshIn the iridescent splendor,Of the fountain cool and fresh.Then he bounds forth quick to greet her,E’er she sees him by her side,She the maiden true and holy,Who was soon to be his bride.“O, I see you, Occoneechee!”“And I see you, Whippoorwill!”Were the greetings that they whisperedAs they met there near the rill.They were married in the morning,He the groom and she the bride,And they lived in bliss together,Many years before they died;Now their spirits dwell together,Near the hidden mystic shore,Of the lake back in the shadowsSince their wanderings are o’er.And at night the legends tell us,You can hear a man and brideHold converse of trail and travel,High upon the mountainside;And the soul of Occoneechee,Lingers near the rippling rill,High upon the Smoky Mountains,With her lover Whippoorwill.
Then the chieftain’s hope grew stronger,As he looked upon the sceneOf that splendid mountain forestWith its crest of evergreen;Like a black cloud in the winter,Spreads upon the mountainside,This the forest land primevalThat stands there in lordly pride,
Then the chieftain’s hope grew stronger,
As he looked upon the scene
Of that splendid mountain forest
With its crest of evergreen;
Like a black cloud in the winter,
Spreads upon the mountainside,
This the forest land primeval
That stands there in lordly pride,
This the forest land primeval,Where the chieftains used to roam,Joined in chase of bear and bison,Once the red deer’s winter home.Black and deep and dense the forest,Steep and high the cliffside stands,Where the Cherokee once wanderedIn their wild nomadic bands.
This the forest land primeval,
Where the chieftains used to roam,
Joined in chase of bear and bison,
Once the red deer’s winter home.
Black and deep and dense the forest,
Steep and high the cliffside stands,
Where the Cherokee once wandered
In their wild nomadic bands.
As they gazed upon the scenery,Weird and wild and full of awe,They were filled with consternationAt the sight both of them saw.Passing high up near the zenithLike an eagle in its flightCame the sound of wings and voices,On that moonlit autumn night.
As they gazed upon the scenery,
Weird and wild and full of awe,
They were filled with consternation
At the sight both of them saw.
Passing high up near the zenith
Like an eagle in its flight
Came the sound of wings and voices,
On that moonlit autumn night.
Voices like the rolling thunderCame resounding far and near,And the meteoric flashesFilled them full of awe and fear;Till they trembled like the aspen‘Mid the tempest fierce and wild,Till it passes, then reposes,Calmly as a little child.
Voices like the rolling thunder
Came resounding far and near,
And the meteoric flashes
Filled them full of awe and fear;
Till they trembled like the aspen
‘Mid the tempest fierce and wild,
Till it passes, then reposes,
Calmly as a little child.
Said the brave then to the chieftain,“This my token to depart,I must quickly make my exit,Though it grieves my soul and heartThus to leave you in the forest,Out upon the mountainside,Without hope or friend or shelter,With no one to be your guide;
Said the brave then to the chieftain,
“This my token to depart,
I must quickly make my exit,
Though it grieves my soul and heart
Thus to leave you in the forest,
Out upon the mountainside,
Without hope or friend or shelter,
With no one to be your guide;
“These the Nunnahi in heaven,Come to lead me far away,Over hill and dale and valley,Toward the final close of day.You will miss me in the morning,Miss me at the noon and night,When I’m mounted on my pinionsAnd am lost to human sight.
“These the Nunnahi in heaven,
Come to lead me far away,
Over hill and dale and valley,
Toward the final close of day.
You will miss me in the morning,
Miss me at the noon and night,
When I’m mounted on my pinions
And am lost to human sight.
“Yet a moment I’m allottedTo transmit to you my will;High here on the Smoky MountainsNear the bright translucent rill,Let me tell you while life lingersIn the archives of my breast,Where you’ll find sweet OcconeecheeWhen my soul has flown to rest:
“Yet a moment I’m allotted
To transmit to you my will;
High here on the Smoky Mountains
Near the bright translucent rill,
Let me tell you while life lingers
In the archives of my breast,
Where you’ll find sweet Occoneechee
When my soul has flown to rest:
“She still lingers in the forest,Near the sweet enchanted lake,Near the spirit land she lingers,Underneath the tangled brake.She holds all our myths and legends,Tales as told long years ago.Now I bid you leave me lonelyTo my fate of weal or woe.
“She still lingers in the forest,
Near the sweet enchanted lake,
Near the spirit land she lingers,
Underneath the tangled brake.
She holds all our myths and legends,
Tales as told long years ago.
Now I bid you leave me lonely
To my fate of weal or woe.
“Leave me quick, the spirits call me,Linger not within my sight,Hie thee quickly through the shadowsOf this crisp autumnal night.Tell our friend, sweet Occoneechee,That I’ve gone to join the bandOf the braves who have departedFor the happy hunting land.”
“Leave me quick, the spirits call me,
Linger not within my sight,
Hie thee quickly through the shadows
Of this crisp autumnal night.
Tell our friend, sweet Occoneechee,
That I’ve gone to join the band
Of the braves who have departed
For the happy hunting land.”
Then a shadow passed between them,Like a cloud upon the sky,And the chief was separatedThere upon the mountain high,From his guide and friend forever,So his eye could never see.Whence he traveled, none returnethTo explain the mystery.
Then a shadow passed between them,
Like a cloud upon the sky,
And the chief was separated
There upon the mountain high,
From his guide and friend forever,
So his eye could never see.
Whence he traveled, none returneth
To explain the mystery.
Thus bereft of friend and neighbor,Whippoorwill began to wail,For some mystic hand to guide himBack into the trodden trail,Where some chief had gone before himIn the years that long had flown,Out upon the mystic ages,Now forgotten and unknown.
Thus bereft of friend and neighbor,
Whippoorwill began to wail,
For some mystic hand to guide him
Back into the trodden trail,
Where some chief had gone before him
In the years that long had flown,
Out upon the mystic ages,
Now forgotten and unknown.
But no spirit, sign or tokenCame from out the vista fair,Nothing saw, nor nothing heard he,Save the earth and scenery fair.As he stood and gazed in silence,Motionless and calm as death,Stillness reigned on hill and valleyAnd the chieftain held his breath,
But no spirit, sign or token
Came from out the vista fair,
Nothing saw, nor nothing heard he,
Save the earth and scenery fair.
As he stood and gazed in silence,
Motionless and calm as death,
Stillness reigned on hill and valley
And the chieftain held his breath,
While he strained his ears and vision,Listening, looking here and there,Waiting, watching, simply trustingFor an answer to his prayer.Suddenly he heard the callingOf a voice so sweet and clear,That he answered, quickly answered,Though his heart was filled with fear.
While he strained his ears and vision,
Listening, looking here and there,
Waiting, watching, simply trusting
For an answer to his prayer.
Suddenly he heard the calling
Of a voice so sweet and clear,
That he answered, quickly answered,
Though his heart was filled with fear.
And the voice from out the forest,Called as calls the mating bird,In the bower in the springtime,Sweetest call that e’er was heard,Resonant comes, softly trilling,Sweetly to its lingering mate,In the silence of the forest,As they for each other wait.
And the voice from out the forest,
Called as calls the mating bird,
In the bower in the springtime,
Sweetest call that e’er was heard,
Resonant comes, softly trilling,
Sweetly to its lingering mate,
In the silence of the forest,
As they for each other wait.
Then the chieftain bounded forward,Like a hound upon the trail,Thru the forest land primevalOver mound and hill and dale;Over ridge and rock and river,Thru the heath and brush and grass,Thru the land of the Uktena,Thru it all he had to pass.
Then the chieftain bounded forward,
Like a hound upon the trail,
Thru the forest land primeval
Over mound and hill and dale;
Over ridge and rock and river,
Thru the heath and brush and grass,
Thru the land of the Uktena,
Thru it all he had to pass.
Till he reached the mystic region,Far back in the darkest glen,Near the lake of the enchantedOnly known to bravest men.Here the bear and owl and panther,Find a cure for every ill,Find life’s sweetest panacea,Near the sparkling crystal rill,
Till he reached the mystic region,
Far back in the darkest glen,
Near the lake of the enchanted
Only known to bravest men.
Here the bear and owl and panther,
Find a cure for every ill,
Find life’s sweetest panacea,
Near the sparkling crystal rill,
High upon the Smoky MountainsResonant with Nature wild,For the wanderer from the distance,And the tawny Indian child.This the forest land primeval,Full of awe and dread and dreams,Full of ghouls and ghosts and goblins,Full of rippling crystal streams.
High upon the Smoky Mountains
Resonant with Nature wild,
For the wanderer from the distance,
And the tawny Indian child.
This the forest land primeval,
Full of awe and dread and dreams,
Full of ghouls and ghosts and goblins,
Full of rippling crystal streams.
From the stream down in the ravine,Came another gentle call,Like the chirping of the robin,In the hemlocks straight and tall.Once again the call repeated,Then a sudden little trillFloated out upon the breezes,From beside the crystal rill.
From the stream down in the ravine,
Came another gentle call,
Like the chirping of the robin,
In the hemlocks straight and tall.
Once again the call repeated,
Then a sudden little trill
Floated out upon the breezes,
From beside the crystal rill.
Then the chieftain whistled keenlyLike a hawk upon the wing,When it soars above the mountain,On the balmy air of spring.Then another chirping, chirping,Came from deep down in the vale,And it floated up the mountainLike a leaf upon the gale.
Then the chieftain whistled keenly
Like a hawk upon the wing,
When it soars above the mountain,
On the balmy air of spring.
Then another chirping, chirping,
Came from deep down in the vale,
And it floated up the mountain
Like a leaf upon the gale.
Now the chieftain, moved by caution,Watched and moved with greatest care,Down and thru the deepest gulches,Looking here, observing there,For the bird or beast or human,That could send out such a call,From the laurel near the fountainAnd a splendid waterfall.
Now the chieftain, moved by caution,
Watched and moved with greatest care,
Down and thru the deepest gulches,
Looking here, observing there,
For the bird or beast or human,
That could send out such a call,
From the laurel near the fountain
And a splendid waterfall.
Suddenly his heart beat faster,At the sight which came to view,Through the opening in the laurelAs it parts to let him thru.She was bathing feet and ankles,Arms and hands she did refreshIn the iridescent splendor,Of the fountain cool and fresh.
Suddenly his heart beat faster,
At the sight which came to view,
Through the opening in the laurel
As it parts to let him thru.
She was bathing feet and ankles,
Arms and hands she did refresh
In the iridescent splendor,
Of the fountain cool and fresh.
Then he bounds forth quick to greet her,E’er she sees him by her side,She the maiden true and holy,Who was soon to be his bride.“O, I see you, Occoneechee!”“And I see you, Whippoorwill!”Were the greetings that they whisperedAs they met there near the rill.
Then he bounds forth quick to greet her,
E’er she sees him by her side,
She the maiden true and holy,
Who was soon to be his bride.
“O, I see you, Occoneechee!”
“And I see you, Whippoorwill!”
Were the greetings that they whispered
As they met there near the rill.
They were married in the morning,He the groom and she the bride,And they lived in bliss together,Many years before they died;Now their spirits dwell together,Near the hidden mystic shore,Of the lake back in the shadowsSince their wanderings are o’er.
They were married in the morning,
He the groom and she the bride,
And they lived in bliss together,
Many years before they died;
Now their spirits dwell together,
Near the hidden mystic shore,
Of the lake back in the shadows
Since their wanderings are o’er.
And at night the legends tell us,You can hear a man and brideHold converse of trail and travel,High upon the mountainside;And the soul of Occoneechee,Lingers near the rippling rill,High upon the Smoky Mountains,With her lover Whippoorwill.
And at night the legends tell us,
You can hear a man and bride
Hold converse of trail and travel,
High upon the mountainside;
And the soul of Occoneechee,
Lingers near the rippling rill,
High upon the Smoky Mountains,
With her lover Whippoorwill.