INDIAN COURTSHIP.
BY MRS. MARY EASTMAN.
Show me a brighter sceneOn our beautiful earth, or where fairies dream!*****Tell me where, rocked by the billows high,The sea-bird pierces the gorgeous sky,Where the moonbeams rest on the ocean wave—Where dies the sun o'er the crystal cave.Where the bell sounds sweet o'er the desert sand,Like matins that ring in a far-off land.Where the mountain heaves with its angry voice,And the lava speeds with its fiercest course;Where the glaciers glance by the sunbeam's ray,And the avalanche bursts with resistless sway.Yet show me a brighter, a fairer sceneOn our beautiful earth, or where spirits dream,Than here! where the leaves of the large trees lave,As their boughs are bent to the river's wave;Than here! where night and the white stars come,Their watch to keep o'er the Indian's home.Now o'er the waters brightGlides his canoe,Throbbing his warrior heart,Maiden! for you.Roused from your dreamy sleep,Bend low and list;Not once has his well-known treadYour loving heart missed.Not far from the wigwam doorRests he awhile—But from far has he journeyedTo meet your bright smile.He speaks to your heartBy the flute's slightest sound,And its low notes are echoedBy that heart's wildest bound.He knows if you love himYou'll surely come forth,And modestly plight himA maiden's pure troth.Then come! he will talkOf his sweet forest home,Which you will make brighter;Come! maiden, come!You move not. Ah! woman,He will not despair:He has medicine tiedIn the braids of his hair.Love-medicine, boundIn the white deer's soft breast,'Twill charm you at lastOn his bosom to rest.Should he wait for your comingThis fair night in vain,No faint heart has he—He will charm you again.A spell he will castOn your slight graceful form;Then, wrapped in your blanket-robe,Maiden, you'll come.To your parents he'll presents give:Bright things and new—Ah! young wives are bought and soldAmong Indians too.Then, from the mother's sideYou will go forth,The star of a warrior's home,The light of his hearth.Come! ere the morning starLures him away;He must meet with the wise menWhen breaks the blue day.Your soft voice must greet himEre homeward he turn,Then close to his throbbing heartCome, maiden, come!
Show me a brighter sceneOn our beautiful earth, or where fairies dream!*****Tell me where, rocked by the billows high,The sea-bird pierces the gorgeous sky,Where the moonbeams rest on the ocean wave—Where dies the sun o'er the crystal cave.Where the bell sounds sweet o'er the desert sand,Like matins that ring in a far-off land.Where the mountain heaves with its angry voice,And the lava speeds with its fiercest course;Where the glaciers glance by the sunbeam's ray,And the avalanche bursts with resistless sway.Yet show me a brighter, a fairer sceneOn our beautiful earth, or where spirits dream,Than here! where the leaves of the large trees lave,As their boughs are bent to the river's wave;Than here! where night and the white stars come,Their watch to keep o'er the Indian's home.Now o'er the waters brightGlides his canoe,Throbbing his warrior heart,Maiden! for you.Roused from your dreamy sleep,Bend low and list;Not once has his well-known treadYour loving heart missed.Not far from the wigwam doorRests he awhile—But from far has he journeyedTo meet your bright smile.He speaks to your heartBy the flute's slightest sound,And its low notes are echoedBy that heart's wildest bound.He knows if you love himYou'll surely come forth,And modestly plight himA maiden's pure troth.Then come! he will talkOf his sweet forest home,Which you will make brighter;Come! maiden, come!You move not. Ah! woman,He will not despair:He has medicine tiedIn the braids of his hair.Love-medicine, boundIn the white deer's soft breast,'Twill charm you at lastOn his bosom to rest.Should he wait for your comingThis fair night in vain,No faint heart has he—He will charm you again.A spell he will castOn your slight graceful form;Then, wrapped in your blanket-robe,Maiden, you'll come.To your parents he'll presents give:Bright things and new—Ah! young wives are bought and soldAmong Indians too.Then, from the mother's sideYou will go forth,The star of a warrior's home,The light of his hearth.Come! ere the morning starLures him away;He must meet with the wise menWhen breaks the blue day.Your soft voice must greet himEre homeward he turn,Then close to his throbbing heartCome, maiden, come!
Show me a brighter sceneOn our beautiful earth, or where fairies dream!
Show me a brighter scene
On our beautiful earth, or where fairies dream!
*****
Tell me where, rocked by the billows high,The sea-bird pierces the gorgeous sky,Where the moonbeams rest on the ocean wave—Where dies the sun o'er the crystal cave.Where the bell sounds sweet o'er the desert sand,Like matins that ring in a far-off land.Where the mountain heaves with its angry voice,And the lava speeds with its fiercest course;Where the glaciers glance by the sunbeam's ray,And the avalanche bursts with resistless sway.Yet show me a brighter, a fairer sceneOn our beautiful earth, or where spirits dream,Than here! where the leaves of the large trees lave,As their boughs are bent to the river's wave;Than here! where night and the white stars come,Their watch to keep o'er the Indian's home.
Tell me where, rocked by the billows high,
The sea-bird pierces the gorgeous sky,
Where the moonbeams rest on the ocean wave—
Where dies the sun o'er the crystal cave.
Where the bell sounds sweet o'er the desert sand,
Like matins that ring in a far-off land.
Where the mountain heaves with its angry voice,
And the lava speeds with its fiercest course;
Where the glaciers glance by the sunbeam's ray,
And the avalanche bursts with resistless sway.
Yet show me a brighter, a fairer scene
On our beautiful earth, or where spirits dream,
Than here! where the leaves of the large trees lave,
As their boughs are bent to the river's wave;
Than here! where night and the white stars come,
Their watch to keep o'er the Indian's home.
Now o'er the waters brightGlides his canoe,Throbbing his warrior heart,Maiden! for you.Roused from your dreamy sleep,Bend low and list;Not once has his well-known treadYour loving heart missed.
Now o'er the waters bright
Glides his canoe,
Throbbing his warrior heart,
Maiden! for you.
Roused from your dreamy sleep,
Bend low and list;
Not once has his well-known tread
Your loving heart missed.
Not far from the wigwam doorRests he awhile—But from far has he journeyedTo meet your bright smile.He speaks to your heartBy the flute's slightest sound,And its low notes are echoedBy that heart's wildest bound.
Not far from the wigwam door
Rests he awhile—
But from far has he journeyed
To meet your bright smile.
He speaks to your heart
By the flute's slightest sound,
And its low notes are echoed
By that heart's wildest bound.
He knows if you love himYou'll surely come forth,And modestly plight himA maiden's pure troth.Then come! he will talkOf his sweet forest home,Which you will make brighter;Come! maiden, come!
He knows if you love him
You'll surely come forth,
And modestly plight him
A maiden's pure troth.
Then come! he will talk
Of his sweet forest home,
Which you will make brighter;
Come! maiden, come!
You move not. Ah! woman,He will not despair:He has medicine tiedIn the braids of his hair.Love-medicine, boundIn the white deer's soft breast,'Twill charm you at lastOn his bosom to rest.
You move not. Ah! woman,
He will not despair:
He has medicine tied
In the braids of his hair.
Love-medicine, bound
In the white deer's soft breast,
'Twill charm you at last
On his bosom to rest.
Should he wait for your comingThis fair night in vain,No faint heart has he—He will charm you again.A spell he will castOn your slight graceful form;Then, wrapped in your blanket-robe,Maiden, you'll come.
Should he wait for your coming
This fair night in vain,
No faint heart has he—
He will charm you again.
A spell he will cast
On your slight graceful form;
Then, wrapped in your blanket-robe,
Maiden, you'll come.
To your parents he'll presents give:Bright things and new—Ah! young wives are bought and soldAmong Indians too.Then, from the mother's sideYou will go forth,The star of a warrior's home,The light of his hearth.
To your parents he'll presents give:
Bright things and new—
Ah! young wives are bought and sold
Among Indians too.
Then, from the mother's side
You will go forth,
The star of a warrior's home,
The light of his hearth.
Come! ere the morning starLures him away;He must meet with the wise menWhen breaks the blue day.Your soft voice must greet himEre homeward he turn,Then close to his throbbing heartCome, maiden, come!
Come! ere the morning star
Lures him away;
He must meet with the wise men
When breaks the blue day.
Your soft voice must greet him
Ere homeward he turn,
Then close to his throbbing heart
Come, maiden, come!