What cares she that her people hate And his give back without abate?

What cares she that he is not Sioux?

If he but keep his promise true!

She sings an old song, pa.s.sion-laden By many a dead Dahkota maiden:

_O where is my lodge--my love?

O where is the lord of my breast?

Reveal me, Great Spirit above, The arms where my pa.s.sion may rest!

Brave warriors are thick as the leaves That follow the wind in the fall; Each maiden may think she receives The smile of the n.o.blest of all;

But I know a chief who can slay The panther and bear with his hand,-- As warm and as proud as the day, And braver than all in his band.

In his sinewy arms I shall rest, And hear his voice call me "sweet dove!"

O he is the lord of my breast!

With him is my lodge and my love!_

She stops! She turns with sudden start, With troubled eyes and beating heart, To the frowning bluffs, where warlike cries And sound of savage revel rise.

The warriors of her tribe are there, All dancing in the firelight glare.

Their spears with reeking scalps are clad, Their thoughts are blood, their brains are mad; Each yelling brave now only knows Fierce hatred for his ancient foes.

They boast of all their deeds of might, Of secret slaughter, deadly fight, And woe to him who comes to meet The lonely maid, Wenonah sweet, If they his paddle's dip shall hear Or after learn his presence near.

When their wild revel, to her fright, Rose wilder with the fall of night, She stole away and gained this place To see again her lover's face.

She gazes on the distant sh.o.r.e, But all is quiet as before.

Again she sings, her flute-like tones So low that were the very stones On which she rests her feet possessed With sense to hear, what she confessed In tuneful cadence would be lost To them, for well she knows the cost For him who loves her, if her thought Be told aloud, and so there naught Breaks on the air but melody.

If sung in words, her song would be:

_My love is strong, my love is brave, His heart is warm and true; He soon will come across the wave And bear me in his light canoe, To be his queen and slave._

_To me he bowed his eagle plume, He tamed his eagle eye, And vowed his love would life consume If I refused with him to fly, His teepee to illume.

O come, my chief! I watch--I wait!

I give up all for thee; If thou wilt have an alien mate, Wenonah longs that one to be, That she may share thy fate.

Come quickly, love, but make no sound, My people are thy foes, If thou shouldst here by them be found A warrior's death thy life would close, Thy soul be skyward bound.

What then would poor Wenonah do If she were left alone?

She scarce would see the hand that slew Ere she would raise her death-chant tone, And with thee perish too!_

She scans the echoing cliff once more, Then turns to view the farther sh.o.r.e, And bending low she strives to hear Some sound to tell her he is near.

O'er all there seems to fall a hush As tender as her cheek's warm blush.

So firmly rooted to the spot-- As if she had all things forgot-- She looks like some wild, charm-bound elf, As lifeless as the moon itself.

But no! the parted lip and eye Of flashing fire such thoughts belie, And well and eloquent avow The soul beneath that rigid brow.

O virgin heart! O pa.s.sion bright!

That fills a glance with beauty's light.

O Wenijishid, happy thou, Who surely will not tarry now!

A moment thus--then up she springs, And now the song she softly sings Floats o'er the water from her lip To meet the constant, noiseless dip Of Wenijishid's paddle blade.

How swift to greet the faithful maid He comes! She waits, 'tween joy and fear, While on he glides, each stroke more near.

Love gives him more than wonted strength, And on the beach he leaps at length.

With trembling joy, with artless grace, She springs into his glad embrace.

Within her brave young hero's arms Forgot are all her past alarms.

One rapturous kiss with quick impress,-- His burning hands her locks caress,-- And then they gaze, at love's sweet will, Eye into eye with answering thrill!

"Wenonah, darling, since we met, Not once could I that smile forget Which told me (more than words could tell) The hopes that made this bosom swell Were fair in our great Spirit's sight.

He, ere another moon's swift flight, Shall bid me take thee to my home And joy in thee, no more to roam."

Her trustful voice is low and clear, And sweetest music in his ear: "No chief is braver, none more bold Than he whose neck my arms enfold.

He dares the light the moonbeams make And danger courts for my poor sake.

Hark! Wenijishid, hearest thou not Those yells of warning? Though this spot Rests now beneath a peaceful spell, How long 'twill so we cannot tell.

Thy heart is big, and like a rock Will meet the blood-storm's awful shock; But I am weaker--and I fear For thee each moment thou art here.

Behold how now the moonlight meets And with a kiss each ripple greets; Wenonah's heart, o'erflowed with bliss, Is wholly thine, and thine her kiss."

The radiance mingled with the shade-- The murmur low by night winds made-- The rune, harmonious and complete, Of wavelets in their ceaseless beat-- The fragrance given of sleeping flower-- The brooding hush that fits the hour,-- With this fair scene all these are met To make the scene more lovely yet.

Wenonah's kiss would all confess, It gives to beauty holiness; The moments pa.s.sing seem to be Endowed with all eternity, And in this lonely spot, love found Brings the whole universe in bound!

But, hark! what sound the breezes bear Turning her gladness to despair?

Wenonah trembles like a reed, With hunted look she turns to plead: "O Wenijishid, leave me, quick!

For dangers gather round thee thick.

We are discovered, and thy death May hang upon each wasted breath.

Fly for thy life! Too late! too late!

Together we must meet our fate."

He smiles, and there with dauntless front Would meet the coming foemen's brunt; But she who will not leave his side Bears in her hand his warrior pride, And hopes of joyous life with her Are sweeter than the battle's stir.

His war-whoop's taunt rings through the glen, While answering come the cries of ten.

Wenonah clasps his brawny arm, And lest his love might come to harm He turns to where his birchen boat Seems chafing to be set afloat; And, ere their foes have gained the strand, The light canoe beneath his hand Leaps off before a foaming track.

He flings a yell of triumph back, And grimly smiles as on he flies To hear their disappointed cries; Yet lest they may too soon pursue, He urges on the flight anew.

He plies the paddle with a will, They skim the waves,--but swifter still A vengeful arrow cleaves the air, To sink between his shoulders bare.

The shock is cruel, and the blade Falls from his hand; his powers all fade Like thought, and plunging on his face, Deathlike he lies. Now to his place Wenonah springs; with bloodless lip, With gleaming eye and nervous grip, She works the paddle with a force Of which but love could be the source.

Beyond the range of bow, she flings The blade aside and fiercely brings Her wounded hero to her breast.

Now sadly called, now wildly pressed, He breathes at last a feeble sigh, And, feeling sure he will not die, She labors strongly, full of hope And nerved with any fate to cope.

She gains the sh.o.r.e, and stoutly bears Her chief through brush and wild beast lairs.

All through the night she speeds her flight.

To where his people's fires burn bright.

When friendly, helping hands are found, And she has given him to their care, She sinks upon the leafy ground, Panting like a hunted hare.

Her faithful powers have filled their task, Their sacred trust no more need ask, And now the goal is gained, they bind Oblivion's charm around her mind.

Young life is pliant, love will give A mighty motive still to live.

And when he wakes, with deep surprise He meets the dark and glorious eyes Of dear Wenonah on him bent In pa.s.sion's hope absorbed, content.

Since this took place it is not known How many changing moons have flown; Yet still, when Luna's rapiers bright Pierce through the tenuous robe of Night, And shining on the stilly sh.o.r.e Create again that scene of yore, Wenonah and her lover true Pa.s.s over in their white canoe; Their spirit forms unshadowed glide Across the rapid, glistening tide.

[Ill.u.s.tration]

Anpetusapa.

A LEGEND OF ST. ANTHONY FALLS.

'Tis autumn, and the breezes lift Their melancholy tones; 'Tis evening: through each pa.s.sing rift The stars, like precious stones In l.u.s.trous beauty (clouded soon), Sweet incense to the sight, Attend their white-robed mistress moon, Queen of romantic night.