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POKE GMOONSHINE 
 
 BY 
 
 I 
 
 J 
 
 LATHAM CORNELL STRONG 
 
 Author of " Castle Windows 
 
 NEW YORK 
 G. P. P UTNAM' S SONS 
 182 Fifth Avenue 
 1878 
 
 fr 
 
7^ s-^^ 
 
 Copyright, 1878, 
 
 BY , 
 
 L. C. STRONG. 
 
TO THE 
 
 PEOPLE OF THE LA MOILLE VALLEY 
 
 THIS VOLUME 
 
 IS RESPECTFULLY DEDICATED 
 
 BY THE AUTHOR. 
 
INTRO D UCTION. 
 
 If the New World is too new to have a history, it 
 is at least old enough to be rich in legend. It is 
 not so much the comparative poverty in tradition of 
 the scenes of Avhich he wrote that will always keep 
 Cooper second to Scott in the category of romance, 
 as it is Cooper's own inferiority to the '' veteran 
 chief of letters " in the literary faculty generally, 
 and specifically in the poetic faculty. It is well to 
 bear that in mind. Certainly Cooper's material was 
 abundant. And none of it is more romantic than 
 that which is furnished by the chivalry, at once, and 
 the cruelty, the perils, toils, triumphs, the inhuman 
 butcheries, and the quaint wilderness courtesies that 
 characterize the romantic struggle which we call the 
 " French and Indian wars." They seem dry enough 
 in Bancroft — the annals of those seven years ; but 
 if one " would have history familiar rather than 
 heroics" — as the author of the best familiar history 
 ever written has it — one may find interest enough, 
 
6 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 of intensity enough in the familiar stories that are 
 founded upon their events ; — '^ The Last of the Mohi- 
 cans" for one example. And of all the legends of those 
 romantic times, the best — the most romantic — that 
 I know of is told by the people who live now in the 
 Champlain valley. All that region, indeed, is redo- 
 lent of romance. It was the real battle ground of* 
 the North American Indians, where the Delaware 
 fought the Iroquois for generations. And when our 
 fathers, French and English, were settling their own 
 quarrels there — actively assisted on either side by 
 the mutual enmity of the red men — there were fewer 
 pioneers than panthers. But there was at least one 
 family of pioneers. About it and its fortunes the 
 dwellers in the La Moille valley are soberly garru- 
 lous to-day. To a stranger, such as I was a year or 
 more ago when I visited the valley, they protest 
 vehemently the truth of many strange incidents con- 
 cerning this legend. Many of thern undoubtedly 
 are true. All of them, and notably the essential 
 spirit of the legend itself, are extremely romantic. 
 If of all simple stories the old ones are the best, no 
 one surely need desire a more touching tale than 
 that old story of love and grief which deals with 
 the strug-gle between one's mistress and one's honor. 
 
INTRODUCTION. 7 
 
 That is the strain which runs through the tale that 
 these pleasant folk tell for fact. 
 
 As I said, much of it is fact. So far as I have 
 sifted it — its historical unimportance and its ro- 
 mantic interest both naturally check very laborious 
 examination — there is this much of history in it at 
 all events: In 1757 or thereabouts a young French 
 noble, Francois Du Bois, came to these shores to join 
 his regiment under Dieskau. His family, as many 
 other noble families at that time, were Huguenots, 
 and the radical nature of their Protestantism, and 
 their hostility to the then temporal powers, had of 
 course their levelling tendencies. As one result 
 therefrom young Du Bois when he left France left 
 also by the banks of the Rhone a lovely but not 
 high-born maiden, to whom he had plighted his troth. 
 Soon after his departure Clemence herself followed 
 him, her father Emil La Moille being suddenly ban- 
 ished from France. La Moille pushed his way along 
 the sound till he reached the Huguenot settlement 
 of New Rochelle, thence with an Indian guide he 
 made his way northward toward the St. Lawrence, 
 halting and settling in a fertile valley now bearing 
 his name, situate on the eastern shore of Champlain. 
 There they were pioneers indeed. Some years after 
 
8 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 Du Bois ran across their cabin, and the lovers ex- 
 changed their vows anew. The battle of Bloody 
 Pond — then called Rocky Pond — near Lake George, 
 followed soon, and near there ; and after Dieskau's 
 final defeat and retreat came separation, and a pros- 
 pect of only hope deferred, for fond hearts. So Du 
 Bois deserted. Whenever w^as that struggle ended 
 differently in romance or in reality? Whence heavy- 
 heartedness, heavier even then the former sense of 
 separation that seemed unbearable, and fate remain- 
 ing resistless, becomes relentless also. Through a 
 faithful Indian guide, Onewaska, Clemence hides 
 her hunted lover, dishonored, but more passion- 
 ately loved as man perhaps, than ever he had been 
 adored as hero. Onewaska guides them to a cave 
 in Poke o' Moonshine Mountain, so called on ac- 
 count of a deep crevasse in its rocks, through which 
 the rising moon casts its light. Thither she repairs 
 daily, her parents, if suspicious, at least ignorant of 
 her movements. One morning she left them, and 
 returned no more. Her hound came back with 
 fragments of a letter intertwisted with his collar; it 
 was in her handwriting, but undecipherable. Years 
 afterwards old La Moille, overtaken by a thunder- 
 storm in the mountains, sheltered himself beneath 
 
INTRODUCTION. 9 
 
 the projecting rocks of the secret cave. There he 
 picked up a necklace that had been his daughter's ; 
 and on further search some gilt lace was found, and 
 better evidence still that what was once a cavern 
 only, had become a charnel house as well. The 
 people of the La Moille valley have much more 
 concerning this simple story to tell the trustful 
 stranger, but it is not to my purpose to dwell here 
 upon their traditions. They have a lake which they 
 call ^' Onewaska Lake," and the most adventurous 
 of them still see spooks in "the Cavern of Shadows" 
 after dark, wherefore they have placed before its 
 entrance a little cross, and devout people kneel and 
 whisper prayers at its foot. 
 
 Upon this plaintive piece of history — the story is 
 plaintive and pathetic, is it not ?— and upon its sur- 
 roundings of shadowy traditions, I have built a little 
 tale in verse. I have not hampered what sugges- 
 tions my fancy had to offer me by any strictness of 
 adherence to the legend. If it has seemed too 
 sombre, I have felt perfect freedom to make it 
 brighter; if parts of it have seemed tame, I have 
 not hesitated to try to quicken their interest. And 
 besides this I have not contented myself with the 
 material which the legend contains. I have not 
 
I o INTR OD UC riON. 
 
 only '' gathered a posie of other men's flowers," but 
 must acknowledge that I have bound up with them 
 not a few of my own. Upon the whole, so far as 
 accuracy is concerned, I have been deliberately un- 
 scrupulous. The kind reader of this introduction 
 has a key to what follows, but I fear that he must 
 read my verses if he cares to unlock their meaning, 
 as well as to estimate them as verses. I trust he 
 may not find it too hard work. If he becomes 
 drowsy, let him at least note that he escapes irri- 
 tation. , * L. C. S. 
 
PART I. THE CABIN AMONG THE FINES. 
 FART II. THE RE AIM OF THE EVENING STAR. 
 
 FART III FOKE 0' MOONSHINE. 
 
 « 
 
 FART IV. THE CA VERN OF SHADOWS. 
 
POKE O' MOONSHINE. 
 
 THE DREAM. 
 
 The roses nodded and fell asleep 
 
 By the porter s lodge — d er the donjon keep^ 
 
 The peacock basked — on the turrets old, 
 
 The banners drooped with drowsy fold, 
 
 And across the courtyard the mullioned windows 
 
 Flamed diamond panes of burnished gold. 
 
 This by the Rhone when the days were spent 
 In court and camp, and in tournament, 
 
 When the maid to the minstrel beneath her bower. 
 
 Would fling from her bosom the pas sio7t- flower, 
 A nd lean from the half shut vine-clad lattice, 
 
 The moonlight slanting athwart the tower. 
 
 When the rose-light fretted the silver gloom. 
 
 Through the deep-stained panes of the banquet-room. 
 
 And the lank court-poet with long hair sat 
 
 And sang of Arthur and Astolat ; 
 
 A nd the noisy magpies about the gables. 
 
 Chattered and gossiped of this and that. 
 
14 THE DREAM. 
 
 When about through the munmiring luoodland wound 
 
 Gaily the pageant with hawk or hoiind^ 
 
 WJien the faiun, as the doe from Jier covert spriing,- 
 
 Followed with silk ears backward filing, 
 
 A 7td the wild-fowl poised on the top-oak branches 
 
 Over tJie mountain torrent swung. 
 
 A n old chateau, by the river Rhone, 
 
 With its gleaming porch through the ivy shone 
 
 The white moss-rose, and the gentian blue, 
 
 With the t2clip and tiger-lily greiv 
 
 By the wi7iding walks, while about the terrace, 
 
 Hundreds of birds ijt the old oaks flew. 
 
 This night the fill moon softly sJwne 
 With gray-cold pallor on scarp and stone ; 
 The oriel windows it lightly kissed, 
 But changed them to rose and. to amethyst. 
 While against the blue, the quaint old towers 
 Were faintly frosted with silver mist. 
 
 A t the banquet board, in the spacious hall. 
 Prince, priest, and nobles were gathered, all 
 In gloss of pearl, and in satin-shine. 
 In waving plumes, and in samite fine, 
 To quaff the health of tJie neiv-bom master 
 In blood-red fiagons of Flemish wine. 
 
THE DREAM. 1$ 
 
 High words they spake in accents bold, 
 Fair fame and fortune brig] it foretold, 
 And the laugh zvent round at the meriy jest, 
 And jocund tales were told with zest. 
 While the minstrel sang to the clink of glasses 
 Some hero-song for each higJi-born guest. 
 
 But as midnight bells on the old clock-toiver 
 
 Were slowly chiming the miditight hour, 
 
 A t the ivied zvindow a shape was seen, 
 
 Hoodless and robed in gaberdine, 
 
 Whose head was shrouded as with a mantle 
 
 Of snozv-white hair, through the leafage green. 
 
 And it spake in tones that were loud — a^td low — 
 And far — like the zvinds that come and go 
 By the A utumn hearth in the old cJiateau : — 
 
 " Unzvelcome, my friends, is the icy breath 
 And the cold white hand of the monarch Death ! 
 His palace is porched with scidptured grace ; 
 His chambers are marvels of satin and lace ; 
 And his servants astir in their quaint old fashion 
 Are moving and moving from place to place. 
 
 Ye are summoned to join the ghastly crowd 
 That silently moves with cross and shroud, 
 Through that pillared porch whose steps lead all 
 To the marvelous chambers narrow and small, 
 Where the rusted spade, and the jewelled scepter 
 Lie side by side in the entrance-hall^ 
 
1 6 THE DREAM. 
 
 It ceased — and only the moonlight shone 
 Aslant the pavement of polisJied stone ; 
 The lights zvere out — and a dull cold stare 
 Lay in the eyes of the still shapes tlie^'e. — 
 Aiid Silence reigned in that mid^tight chamber ^ 
 A nd Death leaned back in a banquet chair ! 
 
PROLOGUE. 
 
 The laughing sun romped through the world, 
 Shaking its long locks drenched with gold, 
 And the blue sea glistened beyond the line 
 Of the meadows rippling with shade and shine, 
 In a sweet sad summer of long ago — 
 In a summer of legend and song that flow 
 In my rhyme like a brook by rock and tree, 
 Half shadow and sun to a silent sea — 
 A legend that seems like a wild strange dream 
 Of the mountain path, and the forest stream — 
 A song that is sad as the lone sea-bird's. 
 When it seeks its mate with plaintive words. 
 
 She sat by the shore of the summer seas. 
 
 Where the sun-mist slants through the red-barked 
 
 trees, 
 A-weaving her basket of shells and willow, 
 Alone in her tent by the blue sea-billow — 
 A wrinkled old crone in hat and feather. 
 Weaving and grieving for days together ; 
 Or seeking the curious blue sea-shells 
 On the smooth white beach, where the fisherman 
 
 dwells ; 
 
1 8 PROLOGUE. 
 
 'Twas a strange old story, the tale she told 
 One eve, when I crossed her palm with gold,- 
 When the moonlight touched with a radiance rare 
 Her poor bowed form, and her long sleek hair. 
 
PART /. 
 
 THE CABIN AMONG THE PINES. 
 
I. 
 
 To the deep blue waters of Lake Champlain, 
 
 Through still dark forests, by fields of grain, 
 
 With wild mad laughter, or low sad song, 
 
 Over cascade rocks where the shore grows strong, 
 
 A river in shadow and sun flowed down. 
 
 Far up through glimpses of green and brown. 
 
 Of oak-twined ivy, and prone dead trees, 
 
 There was buiJded long summers and summers ago, 
 
 (When the hiss of the bullet, and twang of the bow 
 
 Were heard from shelter of verdure and vine,) 
 
 A bark-thatched cabin of cedar and pine. 
 
 And the rose looked back, as it clambered above it. 
 
 With its burden of sweets that the black bees covet, 
 
 And the meadow-sweet lifted, with quick shy look. 
 
 Its pink-and-white face near the forest brook. 
 
 From under the bay-berry tufts of the glade. 
 
 Where the ground-bird nests in the warm green 
 
 shade ; 
 And the gray squirrel scowled, and chattered its 
 
 wrath. 
 As it shunned in its hurry the red deer's path ; 
 While the hermit-thrush sang from its cool retreat, 
 A flute-like melody low and sweet ; 
 And paths led on to cool shy nooks, 
 And under wild vines, with a hush of brooks. 
 
2 2 THE CABIN AMONG THE FINES. 
 
 And hither in frontier days, 'tis said, 
 
 Emil La Moille from his fair France fled, 
 
 A Huguenot exile, with wife and child, 
 
 From a southern clime to a northern wild— 
 
 By thrift and toil, long seasons through 
 
 Their tillage to goodly acres grew ; 
 
 And their lives were fretted by few grave cares, 
 
 And peace, and plenty, and content were theirs— 
 
 Save to one who mourned with a pale sad face. 
 
 And a breaking heart — who could find no trace 
 
 Of her soldier-lover on this wild strange shore. 
 
 Fair Clemence La Moille by the cabin door. 
 At her spinning faltered — the blue bright shore, 
 And the sweet calm sky of a clear June day. 
 Had lured her thoughts from her task away ; 
 And her heart returned with its weight of pain 
 To one she had longed for, and sought in vain. 
 And her bird from its wicker-cage leaned, and list 
 
 -ened, 
 And bent its head, while its keen eyes glistened, 
 Li rapturous glee at its wild swift song. — 
 As fair as the pearl-white lilies that throng 
 A kingdom of waters with glimmer of June, 
 When waters are still, and the curved moon 
 O'er the black deep sails with a golden keel. 
 Was this brave young girl at her spinning-wheel. 
 
 Her thoughts were tuned to some low sad strain, 
 Her eyes were lifted in silent pain. 
 
THE CABIN AMONG THE FINES. 23 
 
 And she saw as one sees in a vision the past, 
 
 And only those dear dead days at the last — 
 
 For the dead rise up in our paths and fade 
 
 Away in a twilight realm of shade ! 
 
 So the earth grew weary and over-sad, 
 
 And the forests in purple and black were clad, 
 
 And the cascades sang, as the white nuns sing. 
 
 When their dead by night to the tomb they bring, 
 
 And the sky seemed tearful with bended head, 
 
 And white hands crossed, as the long days fled. 
 
 Yet scarce three times had the robins flown, 
 
 Or the buds into sweet-lipped roses blown. 
 
 Or warmth had allured from his wintry lair 
 
 To the wild bees covert, the white-toothed bear, 
 
 Since her lover had left fair France and her. 
 
 You could hear the quail from the thicket whirr, 
 
 You could see the deer by the runways olden', 
 
 Browsing knee-keep in the lilies golden. 
 
 Uplift their frontlets, and snuff the breeze 
 
 With timid start — aloft in the trees, 
 
 From its lone pine look-out, that bright June morning, 
 
 You could hear the sentinel crow give warning. 
 
 Then a flapping of wings in the gusty pines. 
 
 And the stamp of a rabbit amid the vines. 
 
 You could hear the call of the bugles float 
 
 In stirring echoes from hills remote. 
 
 Where the French flag waved in the morning breeze. 
 
 And the white tents gleamed through the forest trees, 
 
24 7'HE CABIN AMONG THE PINES. 
 
 And bronzed brave men of resolute will 
 Moved hither and thither by wood and hill, 
 Or lounged by twos in the pine-tree shade, 
 And day and night by river and glade, 
 Like keen-eyed foxes stealthy and slow, 
 'Their Indian warriors sought the foe. 
 
 Through vine-bridged trees of the forest old, 
 The shade was spun into webs of gold, 
 And an owl from his oak in the bosky dell, 
 Looked down, a fur-eared sentinel, 
 As two by two, strong, bearded men 
 Rode forth from camp into glade and glen. 
 With Onewaska their Indian guide. 
 And one was old, and the one beside, 
 Bore hardy strength in his sun-browned face, 
 And sinewy limbs — and one could trace 
 A knightly line with a royal right, 
 When kings were heroes, and rode in fight. 
 
 Through woods where the lightly-sandalled breeze 
 
 Whistled the weird songs of the seas, 
 
 And rocks leaned over with outstretched hands. 
 
 Like giants staggering in the sands. 
 
 Onward they rode in sun and mist. 
 
 And their waving plumes the light airs kissed. 
 
 And bright were the scabbards that clanged at heel — 
 
 One wore at his belt the Scottish steel 
 
 That had served a hero at Flodden Field ; 
 
THE CABIN AMONG THE FINES. 25 
 
 And one there was whose ancestral shield 
 Hung high on baronial walls in France, 
 From the times of knighthood and old romance. 
 And his heart was set to a sunny clime, 
 When courtly honors beguiled his time, 
 And the gardens sang to a blue June sky 
 Their song of summer, as the days went by, 
 And bright eyes murmured unspoken words. 
 
 Save the rippling of waters, and jargon of birds, 
 The jests that were bandied, and tales that went 
 
 round. 
 The deep forest arches scarce echoed a sound. 
 An eagle above, in its proud mid-flight. 
 Cleft the mountain air — from a far-off height, 
 A waterfall flashed till it reached a dell 
 Where billows of foliage rose and fell ; 
 And the air was warm, and the forest old 
 Was bathed in a mist of gray and gold. 
 And all day long, till the sun went down 
 And the valleys grew dark, and the hills burned 
 
 brown, 
 They followed a path through the blue-gray wood. 
 They tented where softly the solitude 
 Steals over the senses with breath of balm. 
 Where airs are cool, and the skies are calm. 
 And afar in the hills, they could faintly hear 
 The echoed wolf's-cry far and near. 
 But the flute-faint melody gurgling low, 
 
2,6 THE CABIN AMONG THE FINES. 
 
 As the waves danced on in their pebbly flow, 
 Lulled lids to slumber, and thought to rest 
 In that far near haven that each loved best. 
 
 Morn silvered the ebony gates of night — 
 Then cathedral forests were bathed in light. 
 Each leafy mosque with its worshipping throng 
 Was tranced in color, and thrilled with song ; 
 As aroused from their slumbers with sudden start, 
 They rose and listened, and stood apart, . 
 At a faint far sound, while a curling smoke 
 Wound up through the slanting shades of oak ; 
 They leaned and listened with rifles low. 
 Then bent with cautious tread and slow. 
 Through hemlocks green with their sunless rack 
 To a rock-rent boulder that barred their track. 
 No stealthy tiger in path of prey, 
 Ere moved more wary or still than they, 
 As upward they crept o'er the matted moss 
 Of the rock wide-rifted, and seamed across. 
 
 From fields of clover a breeze of bloom 
 Greeted their senses — in light and gloom. 
 They beheld rich meadows, where birds outflew 
 From thick-leaved foliage bright with dew. 
 A squirrel took flight in a lonesome oak 
 Mid-meadow, and lightly the lifted smoke 
 Of a vine-leaved cabin like incense curled 
 To the still blue sky from a fair new world. 
 
THE CABIN AMONG THE FINES. 27 
 
 Like a fading rose in its first day's sun, 
 Like a song unfinished that's scarce begun, 
 As cold as the marble that leans to the moon. 
 And as pale as the lily's pearl lustre of June, 
 Lay Clemence La Moille as the soldiers stood 
 At her father's door in that green wild wood. 
 For her eyes were closed as in pallid sleep 
 When He stands near, and when stern men weep, 
 And the sun dies out in the darkened air. 
 
 Some kindly words, and a silent prayer. 
 An old man's blessing, a promise, and then 
 With careful step these brave strong men 
 Went forth in the cool dim woods^again 
 To track the foe by the blue Champlain. 
 
 But one looked down with bended head. 
 
 Whose weary eyes in their sad look said 
 
 Some words unspoken — some passing chance 
 
 Had borne him perhaps to his own loved France, 
 
 To one who was moaning and weeping alone 
 
 Where the willows bend o'er the river Rhone. 
 
 But low is the call of the wandering dove 
 
 For its missing mate in its first fond love, 
 
 And sad is the cry of the fleeing river 
 
 When shadows pursue it, and black racks quiver, 
 
 And its white arms reach to the brave strong sea ! 
 
28 THE CABIN AMONG THE FINES. 
 
 A listening ear by the black oak tree, 
 
 Held close to the ground, and the stealthy pace 
 
 Of a shadowy outline, a war-streaked face. 
 
 That bent to the breeze of the early dawn, 
 
 Then rose to the light, and again was gone. 
 
 The tramping of hoofs in the timber, a line 
 
 Of gun-wagons breaking the dead-wood pine, 
 
 A glimmer of sabres, a jangling of spurs. 
 
 And the dipping of flags through the black-limbed 
 
 firs. 
 The rumble and rustle through forest and glen 
 For the army of Dieskau was moving again. 
 Low-floated the note of the bugle, and shrill 
 Was the cat-bird'call from the distant hill. 
 Where the red man signalled the forest trail. 
 Long lines of steel flashed up the vale. 
 Through miles of foliage in the sun, 
 Like the glint of seas till the day was done. 
 
 The lisp of the leaves in the murmuring dells, 
 
 To Francois DuBois was tike village bells 
 
 In the vale of the Rhone, with each cottage and 
 
 fold 
 Like snow of the mountains in meadows of gold. 
 And somehow it seemed, as he sat in a glade. 
 Where trees wrought color from sun and shade, 
 ' On the tented floor, that the far-away chime 
 Was nearer and dearer to-day than the time 
 When he faltered farewell at the churchyard stile. 
 
THE CABIN AMONG THE FINES. 29 
 
 He saw her again, as when many a mile 
 
 From the spot looking back, he could see, as one sees 
 
 In a mist a white form disappear in the trees, 
 
 And somehow the ghost of that radiant child 
 
 Of the cabin below in the wilderness wild 
 
 Would follow, and turn with such sad pleading face, 
 
 Her eyes unto his that he fain would retrace 
 
 His steps to her door — and then the white tents, 
 
 The march of the morrow, and eager suspense 
 
 Put back the resolve, and his thoughts would flee 
 
 To a far bright shore by the bleak blue sea. 
 
 Thus musing, he bowed with curious care 
 
 O'er a quaint bound volume of vellum rare, 
 
 A Huguenot Bible, rich, quaint, and old, 
 
 Inlaid with ebony, pearl, and gold, 
 
 Her parting gift ere the sea and sun 
 
 And sky were blended and seemed as one, 
 
 And the ship sped away to the distant shore. 
 
 Though few were the words that the fly-leaf bore, — 
 
 To Francois Du Bois from Clemence La Moille — 
 
 They cheered him through seasons of peril and toil. 
 
 And she wore on her bosom a locket set 
 
 With gems that he gave as an amulet 
 
 One eve when the minster-bells were ringing. 
 
 And elfland boats on the waves were swinging, 
 
 And hearts were light by the river Rhone, 
 
 Bufalas, the joy of the past had flown 
 
 And life was weary, and the world was lone ! 
 
30 THE CABIN A MONG THE PINES. 
 
 He rose at a sign from his faithful guide 
 Onewaska, and sought the tumbhng tide 
 Where the water was wedged with rocky ledges, 
 And surf-pools foamed in the black-green sedges, 
 And the red man pointed with eager hand 
 To the embers strown on the reach of sand 
 Where the foe had encamped — 
 
 '' 'Tis a league and a day 
 To the rise of the lake where the bended bay 
 Is hollowed and round like a day-old moon" — 
 And the scout half knelt in the waning noon, 
 With his hair flung back, and his dark face red 
 With paint, as he lifted a black-plumed head, 
 And stretched an arm to the northern pines — 
 " And yonder encamped are the White Chief's lines, 
 Whose braves are looking with pale suspense. 
 To Williams' warriors who hasten hqnce 
 By forest and chasm and stormy dell." — 
 Thus spake the scout, and his glad words fell 
 On the heart of Du Bois with a glow of strength ; 
 He yearned for the battle and knew at length 
 The quiet that maddened a soldier's zeal, 
 Was soon to be broken by clash of steel. 
 
THE CABIN AMONG THE PINES. 31 
 
 The red moon shone in the billowy trees 
 
 Where white tents glimmered like white-capped seas ; 
 
 Through aisles of the forest moved martial men. 
 
 Hither and thither by hill and glen, 
 
 In the bustle of toil, ere the march began. 
 
 Brown shadows hovering in the van — 
 
 A black face peering through tangled vines 
 
 The shimmer of muskets among the pines, 
 
 The gleam of cannon, and flash of brand. 
 
 In fringe of cedar, the quick command 
 
 From column to front through the forest wide, 
 
 In murmur low like a rising tide — 
 
 The cry of halt by a winding hill. 
 
 As the war-whoop sounded afar, and shrill, 
 
 And died away in the distant glades. 
 
 A ripple of steel in the forest shades, 
 
 The rattle of drums in the deep defile. 
 
 Where the sunlight creeps with a sullen smile. 
 
 Through a poplar grove with its moving troops, 
 
 The horses tethered in champing groups 
 
 At the rear to the wagons drawn in line, 
 
 In fields of hemlock and stunted pine. 
 
 Then a puff of smoke from the hills beyond, 
 
 And Dieskau's force is at Rocky Pond. — 
 
 In a narrow crescent the troops were filed, 
 
 By boulder, and brook, and thicket wild, 
 
 As the foe approached — 
 
 Then the battle broke 
 Like lightning crashing through lines of oak ! 
 
32 THE CABIN AMONG THE PINES, 
 
 From rocky covert, and leafy lane, 
 
 Out flashed a tempest of leaden rain, 
 
 While down from the hills, through smoke and flame, 
 
 The cannon thundered with deadly aim. 
 
 At times the bugle call rang out. 
 
 Above the gorge, and the battle shout 
 
 Of the English foe rose shrill, and loud — 
 
 At times was lifted a billowed cloud. 
 
 And the smoke-grimed foe, by flank and front 
 
 Beset, still bore the battle brunt. 
 
 With stubborn energy and will. 
 
 And stormed the French by rock and hill. 
 
 The aged chief King Hendrick spurned 
 
 The loud recall, while hotly burned 
 
 His wrath as fell his troops behind. 
 
 His snowy locks streamed in the wind. 
 
 He clenched his blade with bloody hand, 
 
 And bade his dusky warriors stand. 
 
 He strode a giant in the fight ! 
 
 As rends a tempest in its might 
 
 The sinking vessel's shroud and sail. 
 
 So wavered neath the hissing hail 
 
 The English under the sweeping storm. 
 
 Where lifted a bluff its ragged form. 
 Where clasped the brook with phantom hands 
 The huge black rocks above the sands, 
 And through the gorge, on either side. 
 The straggling pines leaned to the tide, 
 
THE CABIN AMONG THE FINES. 2>Z 
 
 And quivered under the crash and smoke, 
 The fight in its deadly fury broke. 
 The woods were bitten, and bruised, and torn, 
 Their jagged Hmbs were white and worn 
 By screaming shot, where shapes crept down 
 From rock to rock Hke shadows brown, 
 With their faces streaked the battle red. 
 Here Onewaska his warriors led 
 To the shore, and along the dusky wood, 
 Where Du Bois in the conflict still withstood 
 The foe with a few brave, hardy men. 
 Then the war-whoop echoed along the glen. 
 And a yell rang out like the eagle's scream, 
 As the foemen met by the blood-tinged stream. 
 And backward the English line was prest. — 
 Like chariots rolling along the west, 
 When black the rack, and the sea gulls cry, 
 And white clouds scurry across the sky, 
 The thunder of battle now rumbled and fell, 
 And rose, and was echoed in forest and dell. 
 
 A lone form towered beside a rock 
 Whose front was cleft by the battle shock, 
 Where bullets tore through the deep divide, 
 And were flattened against its granite side. 
 With fircling sabre in deadly fray, 
 Du Bois still kept the foe at bay, 
 But with bandaged brow, and with garments stained, 
 And flecked with blood, his strength had waned, 
 
34 THE CABIN AMONG THE PINES. 
 
 And he staggered and smote with feeble might, 
 
 As one who but dimly sees the light. 
 
 He faltered, and madly rose the yell 
 
 As upon him the furious redskins fell 
 
 With grasping fingers, and bloody blade — 
 
 When a crash of rifles along the glade — 
 
 A groan of anguish — a stifled breath — 
 
 And the shriek of triumph was hushed in death ! 
 
 Onewaska leaned at the soldier's side, 
 
 And staunched his wounds by the rippling tide, 
 
 Where the boughs hung over with foliage spun 
 
 In tremulous meshes of shade and sun, 
 
 And the sounds of the battle grew faint and low, 
 
 In the gloaming woods where the fleeing foe. 
 
 Routed, and beaten by wood and gorge. 
 
 Were seeking the shores of the blue Lake George. 
 
 The moonlight shone on the hilltops brown, 
 
 On quiet hamlet, and peaceful town, 
 
 It fretted the silken sails that gleam 
 
 Where the nodding waters drouse and dream ; 
 
 It slanted athwart the old gray wall 
 
 Of the village church, with its turret tall. 
 
 And broke into splendor on cities old, 
 
 With flame of silver, and cloud of gold, * 
 
 But shuddered in glades made red with blood, 
 
 Where waters gurgled a crimson flood, 
 
 Where shapes lay stretched on sward and sand, 
 
THE CABIN AMONG THE FINES. 35 
 
 With ghastly face and outstretched hand, 
 
 With drabbled locks, and sightless eyes, 
 
 Upturned in death to the midnight skies ; 
 
 On the pale young face, so fresh and fair 
 
 Of the drummer boy with tangled hair, 
 
 Like a child at rest in the land of dreams. 
 
 It trembled to touch with its pallid beams, 
 
 The corse of the red-skin, stark and black, 
 
 Half crouched in the thicket, with head thrown back, 
 
 And warriors prone in the rocky beds. 
 
 Whose lone ghosts sat with bended heads, 
 
 It shrank from the black-lipped mouths of steel, 
 
 Where dark shapes lay neath the cannon's wheel — 
 
 And the death spectre's dragon wings, outspread 
 
 O'er the corse-strewn forest, were drenched and red ! 
 
 The tinkle of bells in meadows of green, 
 
 A breeze of blossoms and eglantine ! 
 
 To tufts of clover the brotvn bees clung, 
 
 And sw^arms of birds in the pine tree swung. 
 
 The butterflies down by the cool sweet spring. 
 
 Basked in the shingle with restless wing. 
 
 And robins as lordly as kings at ease, 
 
 Fluttered their red cloaks in the trees — 
 
 The laughing waters with leap and run, 
 
 Tossing their white caps in the sun. 
 
 Plunged in the gorge where the black rat sleeps, 
 
 And the blinking owl from the dead oak peeps. 
 
 And the earth seemed fair, and the skies leaned o'er 
 
$6 THE CABIN AMONG THE FINES. 
 
 To Clemence again at her cabin door, 
 
 And whispered of hope, of some haven blest, 
 
 Where sorrows are lulled to forgetful rest. 
 
 And she sat where the sunlight drifted down' 
 
 Through a vine-leaf glimmer of purple and brown, 
 
 But her cheeks were wan, and her lifted eyes 
 
 Were filled at sight of the blue bright skies, 
 
 And the sweet green earth, and the cool deep trees, 
 
 With their drowsy murmur of birds and bees, 
 
 But it oft grew bright with its light of old 
 
 As she pressed a locket of pearl and gold 
 
 To her quivering lips, for her thoughts had flown 
 
 To the churchyard stile by the river Rhone. — 
 
 For the vines reach up in the summer air 
 
 Their delicate fingers with silent prayer 
 
 To their lover the sun, and the lilies white. 
 
 From still black waters at hush of night, 
 
 With bowed heads grieve for the midnight moon. 
 
 For love lies bleeding by night and noon ; 
 
 And the nightingale mourns in the purple eves, 
 
 By the darkling stream, till the falling leaves 
 
 Are sandalled with silver footprints through 
 
 The winding paths of the forest blue. 
 
 Her hound lay dozing beside the door, 
 
 And the warm light shimmered along the shore 
 
 In a mellow mist, where the drooping boughs 
 
 Hung heavy through long hot hours adrowse. 
 
 TVas a rare sweet day, and in shade and shine, 
 
 The noon air glimmered like golden wine. 
 
THE CABIN AMONG THE FINES. 37 
 
 And Clemence beheld as in some half dream, 
 
 A form that followed the winding stream, 
 
 And a wald sweet melody filled her heart, 
 
 As it stood at her side, when with feverish start 
 
 She lifted her hands, flung back her hair, 
 
 And with joyful cry on the startled air. 
 
 Fainting, was clasped in her lover's arms. 
 
 A love that lingers, a life that charms. 
 
 The world is praising the long years through, 
 
 Of patience sweet, and devotion true. 
 
 The angels chant, and the stars respond, 
 
 And the song is echoed from worlds beyond 
 
 In trembling accents adown the skies. 
 
 From the shining porches of Paradise ! 
 
 She turned to the glowing face above, 
 
 Her fond eyes beaming with speechless love, 
 
 And forgotten all were the restless years, 
 
 The breaking heart, and the silent tears, 
 
 And above her the skies shone bright and blue, 
 
 And her bird in its wicker cage peeped through 
 
 And rufHed its voice in a storm of song. 
 
 That the brown woods echoed the whole day long. 
 
 Enchanted now were the wild-wood pines— 
 
 The cabin seemed, with its tangled vines, 
 
 Some dryad-covert amid the trees 
 
 And filled with its own bird melodies, 
 
 And hearts were happy that golden day. — 
 
 The mother her knitting had flung away. 
 
38 THE CABIN AMONG THE PINES. 
 
 At sight of his face, and eager, sped 
 
 To greet the one she had mourned as dead ; 
 
 And the father came from the meadow-lot, 
 
 In haste and his new-mown hay forgot ; 
 
 And the birds went singing through all the land ; 
 
 The fairy-caps nodded by rock and sand 
 
 To the daisies, and down through the summer sun 
 
 With breezy gossip the story spun. — 
 
 But the strange surprise of Francois Du Bois 
 Was mingled in tumult of love and joy, 
 And not till the history strange was told 
 Of both since the sunny days of old, 
 Could his heart divest from the twilight years, 
 Its burden of tremulous hopes and fears. 
 And half forgot were the wounds he bore, 
 And a warmth of color his features wore. 
 For trembling arms were about him thrown 
 In the joy of a love that was all his own ; 
 And the fair young face, and the brimming eyes 
 Upturned to his, with their sweet surprise. 
 Brought back the dream of the far-off years 
 A dream of love in a joy of tears ! 
 
PAR T II. 
 
 THE REALM OE THE EVENING STAR. 
 
II. 
 
 Mountains mantled in brown and blue — 
 The noiseless dip of a dark canoe 
 On Champlain's evening waters still — 
 And the tv/ilight-bosomed whippoorwill ! 
 
 I catch a glimpse of an eagle plume, 
 Where silver boats of the lilies gleam, 
 A glimpse of a wigwam through the gloom. 
 Where the dark blue waters silent dream, 
 And the mountain dusk of the forest far 
 Is thrilled by the twinkle of one bright star 
 As Evening comes in her robes of mist 
 Sparkling with gold and with amethyst — 
 A glimpse of a wampum-belted brave 
 Solemnly crouched at a wigwam door. 
 Where softly the deer-skin curtains wave. 
 And a squaw leans looking adown the shore, 
 With her coal-black tresses backward thrown, 
 And a face as brown as Sienna stone. 
 I see strange shadows that lean, and list. 
 And scan the lake through the twilight mist. 
 Till the stars outcreep from their homes to meet 
 Their lovers, the waves, in a passion sweet, 
 
42 THE REALM OF THE E VENING STAR. 
 
 And the lilies withdraw in their snow-white camps, 
 At the signal lights of the fire-fly lamps. 
 
 Away to the north on the dusky lake, 
 
 Like the borealis in nights of snow, 
 
 Now bright, now dim, like rapids that break 
 
 Through light and shade in their flash and flow, 
 
 A rare snow radiance fills the blue ; 
 
 And the golden peak of a swift canoe 
 
 Breaks through the mist, and cleaves the dark, 
 
 Like Amphitrite's diamond bark ; 
 
 And a dim white shape, outstretching stands 
 
 At the prow, with tremulous misty hands, 
 
 And streaming hair that upon the wind, 
 
 A wavering flame leaves far behind. 
 
 And across the black lake waters still. 
 
 It glides away in the mountain shades, 
 
 Till its flickering form by the western hill, 
 
 Is lost, like a setting star that fades. 
 
 The red man stands or\ a reach of shore, 
 
 With lifted arm, and with bended head. 
 
 And the squaw sits moaning beside the door 
 
 Of the lodge, with a heart that is filled with dread, 
 
 For they say in the dusk of the sorrowing eves, 
 
 'Tis the Poke o' Moonshine Wraith that leaves 
 
 Its home in the mountain dells afar. 
 
 Its haunts in the realm of the Evening Star, 
 
 Its grounds where the river of life runs through 
 
 Deep meadows of orange, and mountains blue ; 
 
THE REALM OF THE EVENING STAR. 43 
 
 But it comes to lead them to foreign strands, 
 To death, and despair of their sunny lands, 
 To fields where the White Man's foot is not, 
 To a land where sorrow is soon forgot. 
 To a sea where the waves their requiem roar, 
 •And their bleached bones toss on a strange new 
 shore ! 
 
 A form outlined on the midnight moon 
 
 Stood still as a shape that is hewn from stone. 
 
 Stood still where the waters by night and noon. 
 
 And all the days of the season moan. 
 
 And mingle, their tears till the storm is done, 
 
 And clutch their hands in the crystal sands, 
 
 And toss their white locks in the sun. 
 
 Where a huge rock black uplifted stands, 
 
 Onewaska stood like a sentry lone, 
 
 Stood watching the waves where the moonlight 
 
 shone. 
 His trusty rifle was at his side, 
 But his eyes were fixed on the slumbering tide, 
 Till afar at the edge of the distant shore. 
 In a ripple of light where the moon bent o'er 
 A reach of the woodland branching low. 
 He caught a signal, and bending slow. 
 Dropped softly down to the smooth beach sand. — 
 
 'Twas the Moon of the Tasseled Maize, and the land 
 Was thrilled and filled with the glow of wine. 
 
44 THE REALM OF THE EVENING STAR. 
 
 And the earth was asleep in its mist and shine, 
 And the waves ^ were swinging the sweet nights 
 
 through 
 In drowsy content, as the sun-maids do 
 In their moonUt hammocks by tropic streams. 
 Low-lullaby-rocked in a land of dreams. 
 
 Onewaska leaned to the trembling wave 
 His bark canoe, and his noiseless hand 
 The paddle took, and with purpose brave. 
 Shot smoothly out from the shining sand. 
 The moonlight shone on his feathered crest, 
 On his belt of wampum, and beaded breast. 
 And touched his rifle with silver sheen. 
 But scarce was the bark midway between 
 The shadowy shores, ere an arrow sped 
 Once, twice, and thrice by the chieftain's head, 
 And still the wake of the waters whirled 
 In bubbling eddies that hissed, and curled, 
 Like serpents athwart the bended oar. 
 When a demon ydl, from the further shore, 
 And the crack of a rifle the silence broke ; 
 And still with noiseless and patient stroke, 
 Onewaska bent to his task amain. 
 Till the friendly shore of the bright Champlain 
 Was reached, when he leaped to the rocky hill, 
 And sounded the war whoop wild and shrill ! 
 
THE REALM OF THE E VENING STAR. 45 
 
 He plunged in the forest where tented pines 
 
 Were silvered with mist, where the tangled vines 
 
 With trailing amber had webbed the wood, 
 
 Till he reached a cavern where Solitude 
 
 On her stony seat her net-work weaves. 
 
 Oft peeping sly from beneath the leaves 
 
 At the moon, and the lake, and the chanting shore. 
 
 But his heart, as he crossed the threshold o'er, 
 
 Was strangely filled with a nameless fear. 
 
 The sudden perception, unlearned, untold, 
 
 When the sense is felt of a presence near 
 
 That touches the soul with its fingers cold, 
 
 Whose eyes unseen in the darkness, trace 
 
 The secret thoughts in the passive face. 
 
 In the cavern the darkness seemed to rise 
 
 In waves, that surged like wings that stir 
 
 The air where bats in the black nights whir 
 
 Through ruins old, and the moon comes not. 
 
 Nor the faintest gleam of the blue bright skies. 
 
 And strange shapes seemed to haunt each spot, 
 
 As Onewaska the passage strode. 
 
 By v/inding halls of his wild abode, 
 
 To a room where the moonlight broken falls 
 
 Through sky-lit clefts in the cavern walls. 
 
 And sitting down on his bear-skin bed, 
 
 A knot he lit by the tinder-box. 
 
 When up from the corners, and overhead. 
 
 His giant shadow among the rocks 
 
 Uneasy hovered from side to side. 
 
 Out reaching far through the arches wide. 
 
46 THE REALM OF THE EVENING STAR. 
 
 By a bit of glass in the rough wall set, 
 
 His face he streaked with the battle paint. 
 
 He circled his breast with beads of jet, 
 
 And fashioned the eagle feathers quaint 
 
 In a bristling crest from head to heel. 
 
 There were blotches staining the sharp blue steel 
 
 Of his scalping knife, and his wampum belt 
 
 With its burden black that he scarcely felt, 
 
 Was hung like the fringe of the tamarack. 
 
 He rose and the shadow was at his back, 
 
 And weirdly glowering to and fro, 
 
 And filling the place with fantastic shades 
 
 That shrunk and rose in the lurid glow, 
 
 Like a camp-fire dance in the Indian glades. 
 
 The red moon low in the western hills 
 
 Was sinking, as Onewaska stood 
 
 On the mountain slope, where the fresh air thrills 
 
 The sense with draughts of the balsam wood. 
 
 His path led on through a deep ravine 
 
 That was mantled and tangled with evergreen 
 
 And with shrubs of cedar, and hanging vines ; 
 
 While above him bristled the mountain pines 
 
 Like cloaked ghosts watching the pass below. 
 
 Over fallen oaks where the tall weeds grow, 
 He kept his trail while around him seemed 
 Weird forms to hover like one that has dreamed 
 And awakened, and seen in the dead of night, 
 
THE REALM OF THE EVENING STAR. 47 
 
 Strange shapes take wing in a silent flight, 
 So cautiously threading the winding glade, 
 He had scarcely journeyed a league ere afar, 
 A thin mist lifted that shaped the shade. 
 And whitened, and waned, like a dying star. 
 Now clear, now faint, in the hush of the night, 
 Till outlined full in his startled sight, 
 With a seeming true that is borne of faith. 
 He beheld as one who beholds the dead, 
 Before him the Poke o' Moonshine Wraith 
 With its streaming hair, and its lifted head. 
 As it turned its tremulous misty hand 
 To the west in the path of the Silent Land. 
 Like a drift of stars that is faint and dim 
 And far, toward the nethermost shore the light 
 Grew pale, and faded below the rim 
 Of the western sky, and was lost to sight. 
 And now from the upland the gleam of morn 
 Shot all the orient twilight through, 
 And the trees were blended like blades of corn, 
 And bended and crossed on the dusky blue. 
 
48 THE REALM OF THE E VENING STAR. 
 
 In the early day as the sun uprose 
 
 And burned through the bleak blue mountain's shade 
 
 Where the river wild through the still wood flows, 
 
 The lovers strolled through the leafy glade, 
 
 By the winding shore, and their love was sweet. 
 
 And the waters listened, and laughed, and ran, 
 
 And the birds looked down as wise birds can, 
 
 When hearts are mated, and meet, and greet 
 
 In a thrill of passion, the wide world o'er. 
 
 And the song is sung that was sung before 
 
 Of the love that is sweet in a world that is young. 
 
 That the stars still sing, and will ever sing. 
 
 That the days and the nights in their joy have sung, 
 
 That the earth in its rapture is echoing. 
 
 And she looked in the sun-browned face above, 
 
 Her small hand clasped in his, and birds 
 
 Still listened and echoed their murmured words. 
 
 The vines depended, and curtained the sun, 
 
 The arras bright that the spiders spun. 
 
 Was beaded with myriad drops of dew 
 
 Of every color, and tint, and hue. 
 
 The sky came down close overhead 
 
 Close down among the listening trees, 
 
 The warm blue sky of birds and bees 
 
 And hushed the words that the lovers said. 
 
 To the strain of its own sweet melodies. 
 
 Where the foliage deep that the passing breeze 
 
 Had parted, and where tall lifted rocks 
 
THE REALM OF THE EVENING STAR. 49 
 
 Were overhung with the fairy phlox, 
 
 And fox-glove blossoms, above and below, 
 
 The lovers stood in the underglow, 
 
 Of the leaf-hid sun, with its glimmer of gold, 
 
 That trembled aslant in the cedars old. 
 
 When a startled rabbit the thicket sought 
 
 With lifted ears, and a bird flew out 
 
 Of the smoke-tree's cloud, where overhead, 
 
 A streak'd face hovered with eager look, 
 
 Then lightly down by the bounding brook, 
 
 Onewaska leaped with noiseless tread. 
 
 Toward the distant camp in the northern pines. 
 He lifted a hand : — • 
 
 " Ere the red moon shines, 
 Or another sun on the mountain lifts. 
 Where wigwams white through a fringe of fern. 
 Uprise and gleam like snow-topped drifts. 
 They seek the young white brave's return. — 
 'Tis the White Chief's words that the foemen stand 
 In walls of rock, where the warriors swarm 
 By the blue lake shore of the northern land, 
 Like leaves that whirl in the forest storm." 
 
 And slowly Du Bois by the winding shore, 
 
 Retraced his path to the cabin door, 
 
 And Clemence thus in her sweet way spoke : — 
 
 " Like the vine that is reft from the mountain oak, — 
 
 And as sad as the wave by the wild sea sands. 
 
50 THE REALM OF THE EVENING STAR. 
 
 That reaches and bends with beseeching hands, 
 
 To its heaven, to thee will a fond heart turn, 
 
 And all the days in its anguish yearn 
 
 For thy presence sweet, till thy task is done ; 
 
 For the light of my life seems overcast. 
 
 And a cloud has darkened and deadened the sun, 
 
 And the dream has faded away at last ! " 
 
 And she bowed her head — and with sad surprise 
 He clasped her face with his hands, and so 
 Looked down in her lifted and tearful eyes, 
 With sorrowing heart — and his words were low :- 
 
 " You will come betimes in the silent eves 
 To this rocky shore when the days are lone. 
 You will know that a heart in its passion grieves 
 In a far off camp where the night winds moan. 
 And wild waves toss in a sad unrest. 
 When stars outcreep from the sky and fall 
 And are clasped to the trembling waters breast, 
 And the black night's wings are bended o'er, 
 Thy form will rise in my dream, and stand. 
 As mine will come with outstretched hand, 
 To thee from the dusk of a distant shore. 
 
 You will come when the morning woods awake, 
 And a bridge of mist and sun shines through 
 The trees, and betwixt the leaves and lake, 
 And on and across the tangled blue 
 
THE REALM OF THE EVENING STAR, 5: 
 
 You will greet my spirit, as I will thine, 
 Till the weary season of strife is done, 
 Till the clouds have drifted across the sun. 
 When years of content will be thine and mine ! " 
 
52 THE REALM OF THE EVENING STAR, 
 
 " She is fair" — he said — " as the tulip fair 
 That leans to the sun, hot summer days, 
 As tall and fair as the sun-browned maize 
 With its tilted plume in the dreamy air; 
 And as brave as the doe that spurns the path, 
 And stands at bay in the mountain glen ; 
 She is strong as the black wolf in its wrath 
 When its haunt is hounded by eager men ; 
 Her bronzed face lifted in storm and sun 
 And round limbs bent to the bended bow, 
 Are firmer and fairer and modelled as one 
 As perfect as ever the earth may know. 
 She leaps and rides with loosened rein 
 Her reckless steed along the plain, 
 And seems a black cloud in the flight, 
 That passes on in a flash of light ; 
 She stands a shape of silent stone, 
 She waits beside her wigwam lone. 
 And arches o'er her banded brow 
 An arm of bronze, with clasp of gold, 
 She watches for her lover now, 
 Through branches of the forest old. 
 And the moonlight nestles in her hair, 
 
THE REALM OF THE EVENING STAR. 53 
 
 And the low waves chant her beauty rare, 
 And the night winds murmur ' MonaHe' 
 Ever waiting alas for me ! " 
 
 " He is brave" — she said, as her swift canoe 
 
 Sped lightly over the waters blue — 
 
 " As the mountain lion beside its prey. 
 
 And as fiercely grand as a bear at bay 
 
 When the war-whoop echoes in cries afar 
 
 Through gorge and glen like a white ghost's wail ; 
 
 He is proud as the son of the Morning Star 
 
 When he comes in armor of burnished mail 
 
 And rests his lance in the mountain pines. 
 
 He is tender as one whom the stars have nursed 
 
 Where the soft lake sings, and the white moon shines. 
 
 Ere the land by the White Man's foot was cursed, 
 
 Or the sea made red by the blood of braves, 
 
 Or the green wood mounded with dead men's graves. 
 
 He is leaning and looking across the mere 
 
 From his mountain covert, and scarce a bird 
 
 Has fluttered abroad, that he hath not heard, 
 
 Or will sing to-night, that he will not hear ; 
 
 He is peering through spaces of cloud and moon 
 
 O'er waves that plash on the quiet shore, 
 
 And Hfts and listens to catch the rune 
 
 Of the swirl of keel, and the dip of oar. 
 
 And ' Onewaska' the low waves say, 
 
 And the mountain breeze in the moonlit leaves, 
 
 * Onewaska' murmurs, and far away. 
 
54 THE REALM OF THE EVENING STAR. 
 
 A lone bird sings in his sleep and grieves, 
 And calls for his mate, as my heart seeks mine, 
 By lake and mountain in cloud and shine." 
 
 I sing a song of the days of old. 
 
 When the red man reached through the midnight 
 
 wold, 
 And looked and turned to the phantom crowds 
 Of faces white in the moonlit clouds. 
 When the lake waves reddened at set of sun, 
 And the wise men shook their heads and said *. — 
 '^ Too soon will the days of our race be run, 
 And the waters be blended and choked with red, 
 And the women are weaving our battle shrouds ! " 
 
 Of a time when the streak-faced warrior lay 
 In path of the white man, crouched for prey, 
 When feathered arrows cleft the leaves, 
 And hands that reached from lapping waves 
 With drabbled scalp-tufts stained and black 
 A moment shook defiance back ! 
 And the weeping mother rocked, and wrung 
 Her hands as one who wildly grieves. 
 When Grief is dumb and hath no tongue. 
 And lone ghosts sat by nameless graves ! 
 
 Lake George ! where the waters blend and break 
 
 In tinkling melodies strange and low ; 
 
 Where bright shapes dance in the golden wake 
 
THE REALM OF THE EVENING STAR. 55 
 
 Of the elf-boats gliding to and fro ! 
 At the mountain shore of the blue Lake George 
 Where huge rocks lay by the dimpled tide, 
 Lay broken and cleft through a yawning gorge, 
 Du Bois peered down where the faithful guide 
 Onewaska toiled up the blackened wall. 
 Around him uplifted the cedars tall 
 Huge trunks in columns like ancient shrines. 
 Like temples built to the worshipped suns. 
 While crows flew out of the open pines. 
 Like souls of the long dead priests and nuns. 
 And hoarsely the voice of the whippoorwill 
 Fled down the lake from hill to hill. 
 As Onewaska the summit gained 
 Where the wide lake stroked by the golden breeze, 
 Stretched bright and cool as the sunset waned, — 
 When they bent their steps through the gloaming 
 trees. 
 
 Is it the sense of a silence tender — 
 Is it the moon in its tresses white, 
 With Angers delicate-shaped and slender, 
 Tangled in leaves of the sweet still night. 
 That dreamily touched the heart of the lover ? 
 While Sorrow a chaplet of nightshade weaves. 
 And a sad face seems in the gloom to hover. 
 And fond arms reach through the trembling leaves ? 
 
56 THE REALM OF THE EVENING STAR. 
 
 Sweet shades of quiet restful wood, 
 Balm-breathing drowsy solitude 
 Kissed tired lids to slumber deep, 
 As crooning v/aves lull winds to sleep. 
 And Onewaska softly crept 
 Below the night-tranced leaves, and stood, 
 Where waters still their vigil kept. 
 And murmured to the sleeping wood. 
 Deep through the forest wilds he strode, 
 He brushed aside the pendent screen 
 And branching boughs of evergreen ; 
 By babbling brooks that lightly flowed 
 And tumbled through the moonlit caves 
 And clefts of rocks to shining waves 
 He journeyed far with silent pace. 
 
 Below upon the shore, a face 
 
 Uplifted in the hush of night — 
 
 A form that gracefully did lean 
 
 Half in the shadow and the light 
 
 Of moonshine swung in branches green. 
 
 Her long black hair fell to the waist, 
 
 Brown deer-skin leggings her limbs encased. 
 
 And her arms were circled with broad gold bands ; 
 
 Her fringed robe fashioned by woman's hands,^ 
 
 Was belted and buckled with beaded leather, 
 
 And bear-claw pendants her bosom graced, 
 
 And her head was plumed with the raven feather. 
 
THE REALM OF THE EVENING STAR. $7 
 
 She stood at the bow of the bark canoe, 
 
 On the shining sands, as she scanned the shore, 
 
 And bent with a beating heart and true, 
 
 For the silent step, or the dipping oar 
 
 Of her lover, until the leaf-screened wood 
 
 Was parted, and Onewaska stood 
 
 So brave, and tall, to her lifted eyes. 
 
 She could dream of nothing so proudly fair. 
 
 As she looked in his face, with head sidewise, 
 
 And hands held out with a pleading air. 
 
 Where the rocks look down like ill-shaped crowds 
 
 Of gnomes made mute, and like a dream. 
 
 Where deep in the water the drifted clouds 
 
 Like forests of pearl in the black depths seem, 
 
 Onewaska speeded the swift canoe. 
 
 In the bow sat the dark skinned Monalie, 
 
 And the winds were hushed, but the wavelets blue 
 
 Sang low at the prow in a plaintive plea. 
 
 As of weird distress to the white faced moon ; 
 
 And side by side to the watery rune, 
 
 A white light followed the forest trees. 
 
 Like the diamond peak of a blue-born star, 
 
 That breaks on the sight in the steel-bright seas, 
 
 Li the blaze of the northern lights afar. 
 
 A troubled look on the red man's face 
 Half stifled pride, half mute despair, 
 A look that seemed with sudden care 
 And pain to find abiding place. 
 
58 THE REALM OF THE EVENING STAR, 
 
 He pleaded not with lifted hands, 
 Nor bowed his head as if in prayer, 
 His soul arose as one that stands 
 Entreating not, nor overproud. 
 But wrapt in thought as in a shroud. 
 And calmly trustful looked, nor stirred, 
 Nor made a sign, nor uttered word. 
 
 They saw the wild swan in the reeds 
 
 Outreach and look with timid gaze, 
 
 And heard amid the tangled weeds 
 
 The moving deer that bent to graze 
 
 Where lily-pads outspread the tide. 
 
 They talked as lovers talk, and sighed 
 
 With passion wild as forest mates, 
 
 Their loves were pure, and strong their hates, 
 
 And no one* can or dare deny 
 
 The truth, that naught can e'er divide 
 
 Such love or scorn, such noble pride. 
 
 Who yield to fate, nor fear to die ! 
 
 They leaned with passion sweet and wild, 
 
 And trembling loved as nature loves. 
 
 Yet with a spirit undefiled. 
 
 Their love was pure as that of doves. 
 
 O region of lovers in passionate song, 
 Thy groves and meadows are haunts divine. 
 Thy skies are blended the dear days long 
 With clouds that are thrilled as with rosy wine 
 O bright hours fleeting with love and song, 
 
THE REALM OF THE EVENING STAR, 59 
 
 When hearts are tranced with a passion true, 
 What bhss is thine, and what legends throng 
 The olden haunts that are ever new ! 
 
 Let lips meet lips in kisses fond, 
 Let eyes be filled in tearful swoon, 
 The measure of the years beyond 
 Is. reckoned not by moon and moon. 
 The Autumn may be sad and sere, 
 Or fruited in its brown and gold, 
 Love may endure but through the year, 
 Or live when happy days are old ! 
 
 The stars came down as in a cloud. 
 
 As through a mist, a silent crowd — 
 
 Their peeping pleasant faces shone 
 
 Behind the forest's mantle gray. 
 
 And upward twinkled where a zone 
 
 Of broad-leaved water-lilies lay. 
 
 Where strong-armed brave and dusky maid 
 
 As strong with passion and with pride. 
 
 Along the shore in cloud and shade, 
 
 Still floated on the weedy tide. 
 
 And still upon the farther shore, 
 
 A phantom stood with rested oar, 
 
 A white star flamed upon its brow, 
 
 It stood upon a shining prow, — 
 
 It raised its hands — and ghost and bark 
 
 Grew faint, and vanished in the dark ! 
 
6o THE REALM OF THE EVENING STAR. 
 
 The diamond peak of the morning star 
 
 Had withdrawn in the Hquid depths of blue, 
 
 And the orient ghmmer on cliff and scar 
 
 Of the mountains, quivered a rosy hue. 
 
 As the chieftain stood in the tented pines, 
 
 Where the white brave slumbered the night before. 
 
 But he looked in vain for the sleeping face. 
 
 And turned and sought some sign, or trace. 
 
 Till he found the trail through tangled vines. 
 
 And mossy rocks to the shingled shore ; 
 
 And kneeling, he crept by the shallow waves. 
 
 And peered in bleached and cone-washed caves, 
 
 But caught no further sound or sign. 
 
 Again he followed, with head bent low. 
 
 The footsteps up through fern and vine, 
 
 Till he stood at last in the misty glow 
 
 On the mountain-top, and scanned the land 
 
 With swift keen glance beyond, below. 
 
 And down beside the sullen sand. 
 
 Again he bent him to the trail. 
 
 Again upon the shore he knelt — 
 
 A bird flew down on the shining shale 
 
 From across the lake, were the heron dwelt, 
 
 And ducks sailed sIoav from gloomy caves, 
 
 A black fleet on the morning waves. 
 
 But naught else stirred in the cooling breeze. 
 
 Save the leaves, and the waves, and the golden bees. 
 
THE REALM OF THE EVENING STAR. 6 1 
 
 From marts of trade, from the city's life, 
 
 From success, misfortune, or brooding ills, 
 
 From the mansion proud, from the street of strife, 
 
 Come forth with me to the reaching hills. 
 
 To the mountains grand as cloud-realms are, 
 
 To the waving meadows that shine like seas. 
 
 To the blue dark forests and fields afar. 
 
 Where nature haunts the gloaming trees 
 
 With shape and song, sun-born, and feel 
 
 The strength of freedom, the glory grand, 
 
 Where waters glisten like bristling steel. 
 
 And march, vast armies, from land to land ! 
 
 Behold, men move with panther pace. 
 
 Through templed trees with curtains hung, 
 
 They move like Islam priests among 
 
 Beleagured walls by foes beset. 
 
 Behold, a reaching silent face 
 
 Above the mountain parapet 
 
 Of rock, is peering down the plain ! 
 
 With hand stretched back, he crouches low, 
 
 His cheeks are smeared with the battle-stain. 
 
 He peers, and listens, and rises slow. 
 
 He beckons back through a maze of trees, 
 
 Where red men swarm as dense as bees, 
 
 And cautious lean and look below. 
 
 Where white tents glisten in the glades, 
 
 And martial men move to and fro. 
 
 And sunbeams flash from polished blades! 
 
62 THE REALM OF THE EVENING STAR. 
 
 Black shadows flitting from tree to tree, 
 
 The war-whoop shrill, the rifle-smoke. 
 
 The rush of men like the rush of sea 
 
 In the tempest's first mad lightning-stroke — 
 
 The eager soldiers with sudden start 
 
 Crouching and forming in lines apart, 
 
 A fall — a moan — a defiant shriek, 
 
 A bronzed hand clutched in tangled hair, 
 
 A dead stained face by a shallow creek. 
 
 Swift arrows cleaving the trembling air, 
 
 A tumbling form on the mountain side. 
 
 The death-yell blending with the blast 
 
 Of crackling arms in the battle-tide, 
 
 A frail white form with hands held fast 
 
 To pulsing side, and eyes upturned. 
 
 As if they saw their home at last. 
 
 And were content to bide the fray. 
 
 With some sweet thoughts of yesterday, 
 
 Ere ever battle-signs were learned. 
 
 And all the woods are green and fair. 
 
 As if no battle-cloud had burst. 
 
 As if the land had not been cursed 
 
 By war, and woe, and dumb despair ! 
 
 But the bird has flown from its nesting vine, 
 
 And the brook is stained with a crimson streak, 
 
 And the vulture ghoul, in the lofty pine. 
 
 Looks down with an eager eye and beak. 
 
 The brown-eyed doe with glance of fear, 
 
THE REALM OF THE EVENING STAR. (i2> 
 
 Has hid her in the densest shade — 
 
 And spectral shadows in the air, 
 
 Seem battHng on as in the glade ! 
 
 And all the chantings of the tre^s 
 
 Are blended in a wail of pain, 
 
 For men are lying on the plain. 
 
 With bloody lips, by twos and threes 
 
 Who turn from Death in silent speech, 
 
 In mute, but agonizing reach 
 
 Of hands, as to a leech or priest, 
 
 To soothe their pain, or shrive their sins, 
 
 Ere all the hope of life has ceased. 
 
 And that strange world beyond begins. 
 
 ^ -:f -X- . -K- 
 
 The moon through the star leaved oaks came down 
 With lances trailed through the forest shades, 
 And the hills were purple, and fields were brown. 
 Where the tasselled maize with its lifted blades 
 That w^ere curved, and shone in the blue moon's 
 
 glow. 
 Stood still like men crouched close and low. 
 The moon came under the reaching vines. 
 Where a camp-fire blazed in the cool night breeze, 
 And about through a reddened space of pines. 
 Strange shapes were sitting beneath the trees 
 And a medicine-man by a wigwam door, 
 Huge buffalo horns, a bear-skin cloak, 
 And an owl-shaped face, in the weird light wore. 
 And his tom-tom the distant echoes woke, 
 
64 THE REALM OF THE EVENING STAR. 
 
 While their hoarse wild song in that mountain dellj 
 
 Was answered afar by the panther's yell. 
 
 Strange shapes were bowing beneath the trees, 
 
 And backward and forward, and to and fro, 
 
 Were chanting, with wildest grotesqueries. 
 
 Some Indian edda in voices low — 
 
 And the white waves murmured along the shore. 
 
 Strange shapes sped out on the moonlit waves — 
 
 In a fleet of canoes were swarthy braves, 
 
 Who turned the prows where the trees bend o'er 
 
 From the mountain fastness their shadows black, 
 
 Like the reaching shape of a moonless rack ; 
 
 And the hoarse low chanting grew wild and weird, 
 
 And the tom-tom sounded the dark woods through, 
 
 And fiercer and hoarser the chanting grew. 
 
 Till above in the depths of the gloom appeared 
 
 A pale faint light like a cold white star. 
 
 That flickered and rose majestic and grand, 
 
 And stood like an angel in realms afar, 
 
 With its streaming hair, and its lifted hand ! 
 
 Behold -there are men who would die content 
 Were life not sweet, or were that the end. 
 But their race exists and without a friend. 
 And their days in their own rude way are spent ; 
 And they follow their star through mist and rain, 
 With little of pity from this poor world, 
 For the wrath of men in their greed of gain. 
 Like a bolt of flame at their race is hurled ! 
 
THE REALM OE THE EVENING STAR, 65 
 
 Behold, there are ranks of the dead that raise 
 Appeahng hands, be it right or wrong ; 
 Twixt Avhite or red, let the endless days 
 Of the future judge for the weak or strong. 
 We may plant a foot on the dead man's sod, 
 May mourn its existence, and call it Fate, 
 But the truth is as just as the laws of God, 
 Our lives are too short for revenge or hate ! 
 
 Not the chant of the braves, where the pale moort 
 
 shines. 
 Nor the prayer for the spirit disturbed of rest. 
 Could appease the wraith in the mountain pines. 
 As it floated away to the far-off west. 
 Weave shrouds for your raiment, bow down as to 
 
 one 
 Whom the far stars worship, and wild seas praise, 
 'Tis the land of the white man, from sun to sun, 
 And the earth hath not an abiding place 
 For you or for yours, 'neath the wide blue skies. 
 Fold arms and go forth, and with downcast eyes, 
 From homes ye inhabit, from regions made dear, 
 From scenes that are fond as our own loves are, 
 Go forth in your strength to your far-off sphere, 
 To the blue bright realms of the Evening Star ! 
 
PART III. 
 POKE O'MOONSHINE. 
 
III. 
 
 ^Let us sit where the blue mountain glistens, and 
 
 with silver lips the breeze 
 Pipes low in the reeds and listens to the grand songs 
 
 of the seas ; — 
 To the west are the white walled regions of turret, 
 
 and tower, and dome, 
 That glow with the grandeur of legions to-day as 
 
 'twere ancient Rome; 
 To the northward are hamlet and village, and hills 
 
 blending green with the gold, 
 Where acres of orchard and tillage, in billows of 
 
 blossoms, are rolled ; 
 But yesterday hill-side and meadow were planted 
 
 with dragons' teeth. 
 And women lay prone in the shadow of homes on a 
 
 blood-stained heath ! 
 
 *Twas when the noontide shadows lay 
 In drifts of sunshine about the door — 
 •When the shepherd pipings of merle and jay, 
 Through the slumbrous heat of the droning day, 
 From the golden woods blew down the shore, 
 That against her cabin casement screened 
 By the twinkling vines, in slumber leaned 
 
70 FOKE 0' MOONSHINE. 
 
 Fair Clemence La Moille, and the warm air seemed 
 
 To fill with its dreamy life the place ; 
 
 And she heard as alone in the forest low, 
 
 The silver horns of the elfin chase, 
 
 And the tinkle of bridle-reins, and so 
 
 To a melody faint and afar, she dreamed : — 
 
 A II draped in black was the ancie^it hall 
 
 Where a warrior lay 'neath a red cross pall 
 
 Amort in the candlestick' s moonlight mist 
 
 That the Virgin' s face with its soft light kissed ; 
 
 And alcove d knights, from the blue-staiited whtdows^ 
 
 Were tinged with pearl and with amethyst. 
 
 And a shrouded form through the portals passed^ 
 
 Its long hair streamed in the dismal blasts 
 
 It moved as one without fear or dread, 
 
 A nd Clemence beheld, as it turned its head, 
 
 And glided by in the purple shadows. 
 
 Her own pale self in tJie sheeted dead I 
 
 She beheld it enter the banquet room 
 Through an arras hung in the dusky gloom. 
 Each nook some zveird shape seemed to hide ; 
 A7id the cornice-carvings were eager-eyed, 
 And seemed to clutch their pinions, peering 
 With hush of fright through the arches wide. 
 
POKE a MOONSHINE. 7 1 
 
 And two by two tlrrough court and hall, 
 
 By Gothic pillar, and ' scutcheoned ivall, 
 
 Through a wide old chapel to sacred ground 
 
 Slowly a black-cowled cortege wound, 
 
 And the sculptured dead in their marble splendor. 
 
 Seemed to arise i7i the gloom profound. 
 
 A faint light pencilled the mildewed stone. 
 
 From the loop-hole grates of the chapel lone ; 
 
 A7id Jiollozv echoes like footfalls fell 
 
 Of the dead at the tones of tJie abbey bell — 
 
 And Jier awed heart, stilled by an aw fid presence y 
 
 Was bowed with the sense of a solem?i spell. 
 
 On an open tomb in the transept near. 
 With its dust-staifted banner, and axe, and spear, 
 They laid their burden, and backward rolled 
 The heavy cloth with its brede of gold, 
 Revealing the dead in its gleaming garments. 
 And saintly lilies white and cold. 
 
 But lo ! while they looked, a glorious 
 
 From the grave streamed upward pure and white ; 
 
 It shone where the saints their vigils keep 
 
 On lord and lady in statued sleep. 
 
 And illumined the marble angels leajiing 
 
 Beneath tJie corbels, in slumber deep. 
 
72 POKE 0' MOONSHINE. 
 
 Flower-of-light zvas oer them shed, 
 
 A glory fell on the pallid dead, 
 
 As ever at moondaivn you see at nighty 
 
 A garden a-tremble zvith dew-drops bright, 
 
 The broken colnmns zvith faded garlands, 
 
 Were f-inged zvith a tremulous violet light. 
 
 A nd she sazv dark faces above look dozvn 
 
 From their portrait frames zvith a gloomy frown, 
 
 And afar through a pink silk arras, where 
 
 The bajtquet viands zvere spread, the glare 
 
 Of candelabra zvax-lights glimmered 
 
 On ivied zvindow and pavement square. 
 
 A nd she saw from an ashen feast uprise 
 With white mute lips, and with glassy eyes. 
 Prince, priest, and nobles, and poise their wine, 
 And stare at a bowed shape at a shrine, 
 At her other self, where the grave-lights silvered 
 The silent shape hi its satin-shine. 
 
 She leaned a7td looked at the marble dead. 
 
 Ere the wax-lights zvaned, or the bright glare fled, 
 
 Ajid she saw through the gloom of the pallid smoke, 
 
 Francois Du Bois in martial cloak ; 
 
 A nd she strove to shriek but her voice was silent 
 
 And fainting, she tottered, and falling — 'woke I 
 
POKE a MOONSHINE. 73 
 
 And the sun came in through the nodding leaves, 
 And tangled itself in her golden hair ; 
 And a bird flew out of the harvest sheaves, 
 And swung on the plume of a pine mid-air. 
 A laugh, through the diamond-latticed vines, 
 Of the brook rang up, and a dragon-fly 
 Stopped short in its flight, then sped away 
 In jewelled lace, through the purple pines. 
 To a pool where the white-leaved lilies lay. 
 
 But a face looked up through a maze of green, 
 A form leaned over beside the sill, 
 Half-hid was her lover behind the screen, 
 Where she spied him standing alone and still. 
 And her heart took wings with her flying feet. 
 As she ran to the door with a smothered cry. 
 And her bright eyes flashed with a smile as sweet 
 As a love that bridges an earth and sky. 
 But he lifted her face with a sad strange air. 
 And pleadingly gazed in those features fair. 
 As a soul that is loth to impart its woe 
 When love so strong in the heart doth grow, 
 It would purchase its treasure were death the price 
 And yield e'en its honor a sacrifice. 
 
 The army had moved — Du Bois with shame; 
 Had tarnished the old ancestral name — 
 Deserter, and dead to his trust he stood 
 A fugitive there in the trackless wood ! 
 
74 POKE aMOONSHINE, 
 
 The army had moved — and the foemen's lines 
 Had crossed Lake George from hill to plain, 
 From Ticonderoga above the pines, 
 To the distant waters of Lake Champlain. 
 
 She heard his tale and with no mistrust. 
 
 She fondly gazed in the face above 
 
 She loved fair France and the cause so just, 
 
 But she knew no land in her lover's love. 
 
 And she knew no thought save love, and him, 
 
 For the sun wove measures of love and song, 
 
 And the stars leaned down through the arches dim, 
 
 With tender passion, the whole night long. 
 
 And she knew no grief as the days went by. 
 
 Save that of a longing, and waiting lone. 
 
 So she wept with joy at the tale he told. 
 
 And thought it better a thousand fold. 
 
 To have him always and all her own, 
 
 Than to yield him up in the cause to die. 
 
 There were strange shapes moving below the hill — 
 There were stealthy shadows that crept before — 
 He whispered some words, and her heart stood still 
 He grasped his sword with a brave man's will. 
 And scanned the edge of the winding shore. 
 Then he clasped her close with affection fond, 
 And sought the rocks, and the water's rim. 
 To hide his trail in the woods beyond. 
 And glided away in the forest dim. 
 
POKE O'MOONSHINE. 75 
 
 And Clemence sat at her spinning wheel, 
 And cheerily sang to the winding reel : 
 
 O love may come and love may go, 
 Sing low, bird, to the listening trees, 
 The knight-at-arms zuill the fair maid zvoo. 
 And ride away to the distant seas. 
 While merrily minster -be Us are ringing. 
 
 Life is short and seasons fade. 
 Sing my beauty-bird and low, 
 O stay him not in the green wood shade 
 Let the knight on his snow-white charger go, 
 A lonely bell at the kirk is ringing. 
 
 Pixies hide where the roses blozv. 
 Sweet bird sing in the garden zvide, 
 O trust them not for the old chateau 
 Can never harbor the peasant-bride — 
 Hearts are flow" rets in thistles swinging. 
 
 Faith is quick, but alas the zvoe ! 
 Low, bird, warble a sad lozv strai^t. 
 Over the seas with the breeze zvill go 
 The ships that will never come back again — 
 And a mourifiU voice in the zvaves is singing. 
 
 The faithless lover will kiss thy lips. 
 Sing bird, low, in the branches green. 
 
76 POKE 0' MOONSHINE. 
 
 His heart is cold and his zu hit e face slips 
 Away from thine nor again is seen 
 A nd sinfitl sorrow the heart is wri?iging / 
 
 The door was darkened — a group of men — 
 
 Bronzed, war-streaked braves at the threshold stood. 
 
 To seek Du Bois by hill and glen, 
 
 They had left his camp in the northern wood, 
 
 They had come from the white chief's tent afar, 
 
 They had guided their path by the northern star, 
 
 They had followed the trail by moon and sun, 
 
 To the cabin here — and their task was done. 
 
 '' I have him not" — and the maiden's eyes 
 
 Demurely shone with a strange surprise — 
 
 '' Francois Du Bois in the distant pines. 
 
 Is seeking to-day the white chief's lines" 
 
 But they heard her not, nor cared to hear, 
 
 For a brave had bent to the ground an ear, 
 
 Had caught the trail through the grass that led 
 
 Away where the mountain waters sped. 
 
 And wary and crouched where the shores w^ere cleft, 
 
 He followed the track that the white brave left. 
 
 But in vain. For the water but laughed, and ran, 
 
 And scampered with joy, through the noisy dell, 
 
 And gave not its secret to maid or man, 
 
 That it held in its bosom guarded well. 
 
 So the brave returned, and in converse low, 
 
 The warriors waited, nor deigned to stir, 
 
POKE O'MOON SHINE. 77 
 
 And Clemence knew that her lover now 
 
 Was hunted and barred from her home and her. 
 
 You could drowsily hear in the warm south breeze 
 
 Oar-dip, leaf-stir, and the rumbling bees 
 
 Droning and moaning through golden leaves, 
 
 The far bright skies, these sunset eves 
 
 Were filled with color and bridged below 
 
 From mountain to mountain, with Autumn haze 
 
 Of orange and blue, to the far sea sand, 
 
 O'er which to the beautiful summer-land 
 
 The dead braves pass through weary days 
 
 Of war and famine — as wise men know. 
 
 Onewaska sped to his swift canoe 
 With his dusky bride in the evening still ; 
 They had fled the gloomy forest through 
 By foes pursued by stream and hill. 
 And his lips were curved in bitter mood ; 
 His breast was naked to the -waist, 
 And warily he scanned the wood. 
 The maiden, brave, was eager-faced, 
 Her black hair falling to the breeze, 
 Her round arms bended to the oar, 
 As swift the bark shot from the shore, 
 And cleft the gloom of shadowed trees. 
 His brow was tense with purpose brave, 
 His eye like lightning flashed its wrath 
 As back it sought the winding path 
 
yS POKE 0* MOONSHINE. 
 
 That led them to the fateful wave. 
 He saw the foe with stealthy pace, 
 Creep down the rocks, and turn a face, 
 And rise with yell of fierce attack. 
 He hurled a wild defiance back 
 While clouds of arrows filled the space. 
 
 Alas, the darkness of that hour 
 To that brave chief who bravely stood 
 The black prow to the western wood, 
 While arrows fell a ceaseless shower 
 About the one he loved so well ! 
 
 With fainting heart he heard the yell 
 Of triumph from the swarming shore — 
 Alas ! he saw with lifted eyes 
 The bright star of his life grow dim, 
 And faint and fade above the skies 
 That grew so dark and strange to him. 
 He clasped her closer to his heart 
 As if to catch the dreaded dart 
 That flashed across the water's crest- 
 Alas, with fatal aim and true. 
 It followed swift the lone canoe, 
 That held its prow toward the west — 
 It came as comes the flash amain. 
 When clouds are black with blinding rain, 
 And hissing, pierced the maiden's breast ! 
 Sinking, she reached out trembling hands 
 
POKE a MOONSHINE. 79 
 
 As if to speak — in vain she tried — 
 The hght as of some brighter lands 
 Shone in her eyes, and so — she died ! 
 With one arm clasped about her form, 
 He raised a clenched fist to the foe, 
 It held the scalp-lock of a chief 
 His arm had slain in fight below. 
 His brow in mingled ire and grief, 
 Was clouded like a gathered storm. 
 And never yell of rage or pain 
 Gave utterance to such wrath before — 
 As twilight shadows drowned the shore 
 And stars looked down on hill and plain. 
 
8o POKE O'MOONSHINE. 
 
 Up the vine-clad rocks that bloom and break 
 
 Into purple blossoms, and glow like wine, 
 
 P>om the sandy shore of the silent lake, 
 
 A form is gliding through clouds of pine, 
 
 And sheen of oaks, in the sunset-shine. 
 
 Its face is haggard, and worn, and white, 
 
 It gazes back with shuddering heart. 
 
 And at sound of a frightened bird in flight, 
 
 It grasps its sword with sudden start 
 
 While the blood mounts quick to a care-worn face ; 
 
 And it seems to hear in the quiet air. 
 
 The murmur of voices everywhere. 
 
 As of men who would seek its hiding-place. 
 
 Du Bois was weary and fain to seek 
 
 Onewaska's cave in the mountain lone, 
 
 He had heard the Indian warrior speak 
 
 Of its gloomy depths to man unknown, 
 
 And its weird old halls and chambers wide 
 
 That opened a shrine of shelter now 
 
 As the pendent branches he brushed aside, 
 
 And the moonlight silvered the mountain's brow. 
 
POKE 0' MOON SHINE. ' 8 1 
 
 Arches of granite, and mildewed halls 
 By his torch's flare on his dazed eyes shone, 
 And corridors wound through wide old walls 
 Where bats hold revelry night and noon. 
 And the gloom of a dungeon-darkness falls. 
 
 There were shapes like crouching mummies there, 
 
 And dreary monks in silent prayer, 
 
 And prone black forms with dead-like stare 
 
 Shone ghastly as through a coffin-lid, 
 
 And his shadow hovered in and out, 
 
 And behind the dripping arches hid ; 
 
 He spoke and his voice came back a shout, 
 
 And the word was bandied to and fro, 
 
 With laughter through the arches low. 
 
 And close beside him, the columned stone 
 
 A sentry seemed of giant mould. 
 
 And his heart was chilled with the silence cold, 
 
 For his conscience smote him sad and lone, 
 
 As his thoughts flew back to the army lines. 
 
 Where the white tents gleamed in the moonlit pines. 
 
 He stood in a cloistered cliamber small. 
 
 Where the starlight shone through the rifted wall. 
 
 And where Onewaska's forest bed 
 
 Of panther-skins on the rock was spread ; 
 
 He climbed above where the stars peeped through. 
 
 And beheld afar through the mists of night. 
 
 The forests old, and the waters blue. 
 
 With the trail of the moon in the ripples bright. 
 
82 POKE aMOONSHINE, 
 
 He lay on his couch, and a shadow down 
 From the ceiling peered with a face a-frown, 
 And wrinkled wings that his fancy weaved 
 From the gloomy walls that were seamed and cleaved. 
 
 Rest came at last in slumbrous swoon, 
 The bat-shapes merged in the pallid moon, 
 And a warm light down from the window shone 
 Of an old chateau, by the river Rhone ; 
 And voices faint in a far-off chime 
 Of melody floated the waters o'er. 
 From a twinkling kirk on a distant shore, 
 As his heart went back to the olden time. 
 
 He was murmuring over again his vows 
 
 To Clemence under the willow boughs 
 
 By the river-side, when a face looked up 
 
 From the broad green leaves of the lily-cup. 
 
 Grotesque and dim, when with sudden scream 
 
 The maiden fled — and with eyes a-stare 
 
 Du Bois arose and forgot the dream, 
 
 At the sound of a wail, as of wild despair, 
 
 Afar in the depths of the cavern lone. 
 
 By archway tall of dripping stone. 
 
 He threaded the winding passage through, 
 
 And stood stone still, as upon his sight, 
 
 A vision rose, where the moonlight blue 
 
 Crept through the shadows of the night, 
 
 In a slanted bar, far overhead. 
 
POKE O'MOONSHINE. 83 
 
 Before him was sitting a dusky brave, 
 Beside the mound of a new-made grave, 
 WaiUng the weird chant of the dead, 
 He saw in the hght, Onewaska's face, 
 As he weaved his body to and fro, 
 Clad in the gloom of weeds and woe — 
 Then slow withdrew from the mournful place. 
 
 The sun stole in through the cavern gloom 
 
 And wove into light its threads of gold, 
 
 As he woke and rose from his pallet cold, 
 
 To behold in battle-paint and plume, 
 
 Onewaska, under the arch of stone. 
 
 A strange sad light in his black eyes shone. 
 
 But he made no sign, and he spake no word. 
 
 And the story sad that the soldier told. 
 
 With a stolid face, and a cold heart heard. 
 
 Then he lifted a hand with a saddened air, 
 
 And took from a shelf his humble fare 
 
 Of the mountain, and spread it before his guest 
 
 And he bade him here in the cavern rest. 
 
 Nor stir abroad, for the foemen lay 
 
 By rock and lake, both night and day. 
 
 He had covered the trail, as oft before 
 
 He had led them afar through vine and wood, 
 
 And had swum the lake to the mountain shore, 
 
 A league below, where an old fort stood. 
 
 Dismantled in ruin, and old, and gray. 
 
 He would seek the cabin among the pines. 
 
84 POKE a MOONSHINE. 
 
 Each eve and return by the morning star, 
 Each day he would follow by certain signs, 
 The warriors who sought his return afar. — 
 Then he grasped his rifle, and overhead, 
 With wary look through the tree-tops bent. 
 He crept through the vines that overspread 
 The rocks, and down through the forest went. 
 
 Like the dust of roses scattered abroad. 
 With clinging hues all gold and red, 
 The sky was spread from star to star, 
 Along the horizon, and overhead, 
 With drifted clouds in tangled lines. 
 As about the cabin among the pines. 
 The Indians moved with stealthy tread. 
 Sometimes among the moving vines. 
 Above the rocks a raven cawed ; 
 Sometimes was heard above the hill. 
 The low far note of the whippoorwill ; 
 Sometimes the cat-bird from its place. 
 Where shrubs and rocks were dense and blue, 
 Piped low and clear, while peering through 
 The gloom of gray and black, a face 
 Kept wary watch the long day through. 
 
 Scarce an arrow-shr,)t from the cabin door, 
 Within a thicket's hollow fell 
 The waters of a rocky well 
 Sand-margined to the river shore. 
 
POKE aMOONSHINE. 85 
 
 Above it loomed a gray-green wall 
 
 Of moss and lichen to the woods, 
 
 That over-bent the towers tall 
 
 Of black rock seamed by ancient floods. 
 
 A winding path led to the spot, 
 
 And hither came each warrior brave. 
 
 And here each warrior found his grave. 
 
 Or each in turn his charge forgot. 
 
 Or onward passed through some green wood, 
 
 Perhaps to fields more fresh and fair, 
 
 'Twas never guessed, or reckoned where, 
 
 Nor fully known, or understood. 
 
 But you, if you had noted well. 
 
 Had seen the shadow in the trees, 
 
 That knew the lives of men like these, 
 
 Would scarce have marvelled that they fell 
 
 By one man slain, long years ago. 
 
 A shape, rock-hid, with bended bow — • 
 
 A whizzing shaft — a body prone — 
 
 A covered trail by stream, and stone — 
 
 A dead brave buried in the sand — 
 
 A form uplifted proud, and tall — 
 
 The face of Onewaska grand 
 
 In fierce revenge — and you know all. 
 
 And Clemence beheld each day withdraw 
 The Indian spies from the cabin door. 
 And she stood at her father's side, and saw 
 
S6 POKE O'MOONSHINE. 
 
 The red man go, and return no more, 
 
 But her face to the watchers gave no signs. 
 
 Her spinning-wheel at times stood still 
 
 As with beating heart she sought the hill, 
 
 And gazed afar through the distant pines. 
 
 And old nurse Ellie, whom three score years 
 
 Had lightly passed with tender glance, 
 
 Would soothe the poor girl's anxious fears 
 
 As of old in the garden walls of France — 
 
 And Clemence would kneel at her side and pray, 
 
 With uplifted eyes, as of old she prayed, 
 
 For her lover by mountain stream, or glade, 
 
 A wretched wanderer night and day — 
 
 And the mother would sit by the lonely hearth, 
 
 And drop her knitting, and mourn the fate 
 
 That had driven them hither, with cruel hate, 
 
 From the sunniest land of the fair green earth. 
 
 But poor Aunt Ellie, with heart of love. 
 
 Would tenderly cherish her mourning dove, 
 
 And chase with legends of faith and grace 
 
 The tears away from the grief-worn face 
 
 Till Clemence would rise with a heart renewed 
 
 And strengthened by faith in her solitude. 
 
 The night was come with moon and mist, 
 The lamplight shone on the curtains red, 
 And about in the rafters overhead, 
 The hearthstone shadows would intertwist 
 Grotesque and dark through the cosy room, 
 
POKE a MOONSHINE. 87 
 
 And fade away in the further gloom — 
 
 The andirons stood on the polished floor 
 
 With shining faces of warmth and cheer, 
 
 And the russet and red fruit of the year 
 
 O'er-topped the barrels beside the door ; 
 
 On the log-built wall were crossed and hung 
 
 The quaint long rifles of long ago, 
 
 And alone in the corner the tall clock swung 
 
 Its moon-faced pendulum to and fro. 
 
 On the oaken shelves was the woven art 
 
 Of fabric fair from the busy loom, 
 
 More precious far to the father's heart, 
 
 Than hives of honey, or apple-bloom. 
 
 Or shocks of maize in the Autumn field, 
 
 For the housewife thrift of his daughter seemed 
 
 To express her content, since forced to yield 
 
 That fame and fortune of which he dreamed. 
 
 The old man sat by the chimney-side. 
 
 And his pipe wreaths rose in the drowsy air, 
 
 And were filled with a misty landscape fair 
 
 Of orchards, and brooks, and farm-lands wide ; 
 
 And nodding he drowsed — on the settle old, 
 
 Poor Clemence listened, with folded hands, 
 
 To the golden stories of fairer lands. 
 
 That old nurse EUie, to cheer her told. 
 
 With glasses a-nod at the table nigh. 
 
 Sat the mother with Bible upon her lap. 
 
 When upon the window a gentle tap 
 
 Was heard like the night winds rustling by. 
 
SS POKE aMOONSHINE. 
 
 The latch was lifted — against the moon, 
 Onewaska stood in paint and plume, 
 And his face had a weary look, and lone, 
 A moment so, half in the gloom, 
 As if a sudden pain had crossed 
 His heart, and left its burning trace — 
 For proud again, and erect, and tall, 
 As one who in battle-storm is tossed 
 In the arms of Death, uplifts a face 
 With an awful pride, and defies them all, 
 He seemed a king of ancient mould, 
 The haughtiest of a god-like race 
 And bravest of these men of old ! 
 
 He sat him down in the olden place 
 By the hearth, where the kettle in the glow 
 Of the embers red, rocked to and fro. 
 But in vain they scanned the stolid face. 
 For some brave word of the refugee. 
 Or the movements strange of the missing men ; 
 For few were the words that he uttered then. 
 And none knew less of the trail than he. 
 But the smile in the eyes of the maiden fair. 
 As she roused her hound from his fireside doze. 
 And her absent manner, and careless air. 
 Told more than her lips might dare disclose. 
 
 T'was late that night ere the friendly guest 
 Stole forth again on the forest trail, 
 
POKE a MOONSHINE. 89 
 
 And Clemence with trembling lips, and pale, 
 Her moonlit chamber sought for rest. 
 She flung her casement open wide, 
 Her long hair shimmered in the light, 
 And clothed in dainty robes of white 
 She seemed more fair than fairest bride 
 Might seem upon a bridal night. 
 Thus leaning to the mountain moon, 
 She listened to the mingled rune 
 Of water-falls, and chanting trees. 
 And lulling hush of melodies 
 Afar and faint by rock and stream. 
 Till thought took shape, as in a dream — 
 A purpose brave, but scarce defined. 
 With sudden joy possessed her mind. 
 And all her sky with peace was fraught, 
 And all the air was thrilled with wings. 
 And filled as with sweet whisperings 
 And comfort to her spirit brought. 
 
 Morn came with tinklings in the fold, 
 And meadows a-sparkle with webs of dew. 
 With bannered clouds, and with gates of .gold, 
 And with royal songs through the arches blue. 
 The birds flew under the blended leaves 
 Of purple, and crimson, and orange hue. 
 And all the broidery Autumn weaves 
 Hung tangled and heavy through forests old. 
 
90 POKE aMOONSHINE, 
 
 Now came the Indian-summer days 
 
 When violet colors fill the seas, 
 
 When ghostly horsemen storm the trees 
 
 With fibrous banners, and a haze 
 
 Of gold high-walls the hollow hills. 
 
 When goblets brimmed with sparkhng dew, 
 
 Are poised by elves, and to the rills, 
 
 The sprites and warlocks bid adieu. 
 
 When airy cradles swing in pines, 
 
 Dew-spangled through the pendent vines ; 
 
 When haunted ruins gray and old, 
 
 Are mellowed in a mist of gold. 
 
 When o'er the crumbling walls grotesque 
 
 The vines are wrought in arabesque, 
 
 And through the woods, the quiet eves, 
 
 The footfalls sound in crush of leaves ; 
 
 When tented witches warm the wine 
 
 That thrills the air with joy divine, 
 
 And Silence dreams to whispers low, 
 
 Of some sweet days of long ago, 
 
 When yellow bees sang down the thyme, 
 
 Their burden of a summer clime ; 
 
POKE a MOONSHINE. 91 
 
 And from the meadows, hot and dry, 
 Was heard the twang of harvest-fly, 
 And gossip of the babbling brooks ; 
 And elbow-deep in sunny nooks 
 You read a page, in quiet dale, 
 Of some serene Arabian tale. 
 
92 POKE a MOONSHINE, 
 
 Each morn they beheld the maid depart, 
 
 And cross the brook through the curtained vines, 
 
 Each eve she returned with happj^ heart. 
 
 To the mountain cabin among the pines. 
 
 And they marvelled much at her wayward will. 
 
 And they followed in vain her footsteps wild, 
 
 And their hearts grew sad with foreboding ill, 
 
 As they vainly questioned the weeping child. 
 
 Aunt EUie oft where the sunshine fell, 
 
 Stood on the threshold, with shading hand 
 
 To her poor old eyes, and long and well. 
 
 The winding paths of the mountain scanned. 
 
 At eve she would clasp her to her breast, 
 
 And strive the secret haunt to find. 
 
 But Clemence only begged to rest. 
 
 And surely wandered in her mind. 
 
 And sitting so, her dear old friend 
 
 Would sing her favorite song to her, 
 
 Till the golden vines would cease to stir, 
 
 And far star-blossoms bloom and ble'nd : 
 
 Ah me ! so many years ago, 
 
 It seemeth but a dream of mine — 
 
POKE 0\MOONSHINE. 93 
 
 My little one with cheeks aglow, 
 
 Merrily dancing to and fro, 
 
 Through shade, and shine, and eglantine — 
 
 All tne ! so ?nany years ago, 
 
 It seenieth but a dream of mine ! 
 
 It seemeth but a dream to me, 
 With all the birds about the door, 
 A nd leafy glimpse of rock and tree, 
 And laugJiter ringing cheerily. 
 As in the happy days of yore ; 
 It seemeth but a dream to me. 
 With all the birds about the door. 
 
 The zvinso me pansy tipt its hood 
 Of purple, through the creeping vine. 
 And slanting t J irough the leafy wood, 
 A swaying golden ladder stood 
 Of shade and shine and eglantine. 
 And sweet the dreamy solitude. 
 And drowsy shade of beech and pine ! 
 
 But now the house so sad and still, 
 Is old and falling to decay — 
 The forest path, the pleasant hill. 
 The spring where oft we drajik our fill, 
 Together, many a summer day. 
 No longer zvith their beauty thrill, 
 But like a dream have passed away. 
 
94 POKE O'MOONSHINE. 
 
 But yonder through the twinkling trees, 
 Where stands the forest gray and old, 
 Twixt mountain skies, and forest seas. 
 Is swaying lightly in the breeze, 
 A shifting ladder s bridge of gold ; 
 A nd through the mist the birds and bees 
 Glide in and out the forest old. 
 
 And sometimes when the day is done. 
 And evening clouds are all aglozu, 
 Far up the bridge of mist and sun, 
 I seem to hear my angel one 
 hi accents singing sweet and lozv — 
 ' Twas thus ere life was scarce 
 My darling left me long ago ! 
 
PAR T IV, 
 
 THE CA VERN OF SHADO WS. 
 
THE CA VERN OF SHADOWS. 97 
 
 An old witch hobbling up the stair, 
 With haggard eyes, and tangled hair, 
 Shakes back a crutch, and mumbles low 
 A curse upon this old chateau ; 
 This old cJiateau of ancient groimd, 
 V/hose lord once drove the devil out. 
 By sprinkling holy ivater roirnd 
 Its legendary walls about. 
 No owl upon its window sits, 
 No bat about its rafter flits. 
 And some have said, who should have known, 
 That by some occult spell, or sign. 
 The walls would crumble, stone by stone, 
 A bove this last lord of the line — 
 This martyr-hero of his line I 
 
98 THE CA VERN OF SHADO WS. 
 
 Du Bois walked wearily his round 
 Of columned court, and pavement gray, 
 As long hours slowly wore away, 
 And listened for the faintest sound 
 Of that fair world so still and far; 
 And lone as dungeon-chambers are, 
 They seemed to him as royal halls 
 Beside his dreary prison walls. — 
 
 He heard the trickling of the lin 
 
 Along the rock where dimly shone 
 
 The sunlight through the windowed stone 
 
 And once a cheery face looked in. 
 
 But changed its mind, and sat alone. 
 
 And feasted on its acorn fare. 
 
 The hum of bee, the chirp of bird, 
 
 A fly in sunshine on a leaf, 
 
 A living creature seen, or heard, 
 
 To him brought something of relief. 
 
 And in a measure banished care. 
 
 And Onewaska came, and went. 
 
 And brought him tidings from afar. 
 
 And thus the gleam of one fair star 
 
 Made bright his days of banishment. 
 
THE CA VERN OF SHADO WS. 99 
 
 So passed long days and nights of care, 
 And darkly gloomed the shadows down, 
 As if to mock and taunt him there, 
 With changing smile, or sudden frown. 
 But earth and sky grew fairer where 
 The sense could not their raiment touch, 
 And so it seemed in golden dreams, 
 He loitered down by sunny streams, 
 At whose bright shores he marvelled much. 
 
 He lay upon his couch of furs, 
 
 And saw in fancy on the wall 
 
 A city fair, with turrets tall, 
 
 And kneeling crowds of worshippers ; 
 
 Kiosque, and mosque, and minaret. 
 
 And all the thousand pictures traced 
 
 On rocks in lines and wrinkles chased. 
 
 As on the brow of ages set. 
 
 When through the wide dark hall beyond, 
 
 He heard his name in accents fond — 
 
 Up from his couch, with sudden start, 
 
 He rushed on Avings of love and fear — 
 
 He saw the one of all most dear. 
 
 And clasped her to his throbbing heart ! 
 
 Love finds its home in hut or hall. 
 And throws around the prison wall, 
 A radiance rare as stars that glow 
 Close-clustered aureoling all 
 
lOO THE CAVERN OF SHADOWS. 
 
 That erst was draped in gloom and woe ; 
 
 And in the humblest heart uplifts 
 
 The sight to visions more than glad. 
 
 Its blessings are the noblest gifts 
 
 That ever richest monarch had. 
 
 Bleak walls are changed to marble glare, 
 
 Rough stones to pavements polished fine, 
 
 Wild vines to curtains nestling fair 
 
 As damask in its golden shine. 
 
 So ail the myriad changing dreams 
 
 That haunt a lover's diamond skies, 
 
 Like sunbeams bright in summer streams, 
 
 Were prisoned in the maiden's eyes. 
 
 Each morn she crossed the threshold o'er, 
 
 And lightly fled the moments fleet 
 
 With mingled joy, and passion sweet, 
 
 As in the pleasant days of yore» . 
 
 Each eve she left him sad, and lone, 
 
 Still watching, through his door of stone, 
 
 Her fading form below the trees — • 
 
 As if some dear old melodies. 
 
 That one has heard betimes afar, 
 
 Had sudden ceased, or as a star 
 
 As silver fair, or rosy bright. 
 
 As Heaven's angel windows are. 
 
 At once had closed upon the sight, 
 
 So seemed her fading form to him, 
 
 A lonely watcher prison-walled, 
 
THE CAVERN OF SHADOWS. lOI 
 
 And by his conscience soul-enthralled 
 A captive to a tyrant grim. 
 
 So hours went by, of joy and grief, 
 The nights were long, the days were brief — 
 But failing strength, and oft the gleam 
 Of weary eyes, that dim again. 
 Seemed looking on as in a dream. 
 Smote Clemence with a thrill of pain, - 
 Who watched with sad solicitude ; 
 When laughing, he would chide her fears, 
 And kiss away her rising tears, 
 And feign a brave heroic mood. 
 
 Then Clemence to the need arose, 
 
 But scarcely dared her plans disclose, 
 
 To seek alone the wildwood pines, 
 
 Where lay afar the army lines, 
 
 And for her lover's crime for her. 
 
 She thought no zealous worshipper 
 
 Of shrine, or saint, could plead such prayer 
 
 For pardon, in her wild despair, 
 
 As she for one who yielded all 
 
 That man can yield — to rise, and fall. 
 
 And lose with all the bitter shame, 
 
 His honor, fortune, friends, and fame ! 
 
 When came the parting hour it seemed 
 As if her strength had failed at last, 
 
I02 THE CAVERN OF SHADOWS. 
 
 And all the joy of which she dreamed, 
 Was clouded now, and overcast, 
 Like summer skies by sudden storm. 
 She clung with feeble arms, to rest 
 Her head again upon his breast. 
 And shuddered at his wasted form ; 
 And weeping, gazed up in his face. 
 So pale, and thin, she scarce could speak- 
 Her choking voice was low and weak. 
 And sorrow seemed to fill the place 
 With all its gloomy train of woe. 
 He strove to utter words of cheer, 
 To drive away a foolish fear. 
 As wild and false as winds that blow. 
 But all in vain the words he said. 
 And ere his lips could utter more. 
 With one long yearning look, she fled, 
 And sadly sought the silent shore. 
 
THE CAVERN OF SHADOWS. 103 
 
 High noon, and not a sound or stir 
 Save squirrels in the fallen leaves, 
 That lay about the mountain eaves 
 Where pine-tree plume, and hemlock burr 
 O'er-hung the wild and rocky shore. 
 And in the mellow dreaming air, 
 A silence dwelt as if the year 
 Were dead, and on its mantled bier 
 Were friendly sign and token rare 
 Of those who would return no more. 
 
 High noon, and not a sound or stir 
 Save leaves that rustled round the door; 
 And not a sign or sound of her 
 Who sought the lake the day before. 
 The soldier paced the gloomy place, 
 With anxious heart, and weary eye. 
 When suddenly the rift of sky 
 Was darkened by a savage face, 
 A bronze, and battle-painted face. 
 That peered a moment through the gloom 
 Then faded down the mountain wall — 
 A glimpse as of an eagle-plume. 
 Below the trees — and that was all ! 
 
I04 THE CAVERN OF SHADOWS. 
 
 The night came down with starry waves, 
 With purple glimmers in the west, 
 With wigwam-smoke of dusky braves, 
 Encamped along the mountains' crest, 
 With white tents gleaming through the pines, 
 Where camp fires flickered weirdly red, 
 But not a ray of light that shines. 
 Beamed on the lonely soldiers' bed ? 
 
 'Twas late when Onewaska came, 
 But wilder, fiercer shone the flame 
 That lit his eyes, as low he spoke. 
 Than camp-fire blaze, or flickering smoke ! 
 The French at last were on the trail. 
 And scarcely thrice the western wold 
 Would mingle with the sunset's gold, 
 Ere Dieskau's camp would hear the tale I 
 And scarcely thrice again would shine 
 That one star through yon lonely pine, 
 Ere comrades old with bated breath. 
 Would witness on the guarded plain. 
 Perhaps without a sigh of pain, 
 A soldier die a shameful death ! 
 O speed thee forest maiden fair, 
 Across the distant mountain speed. 
 And hasten to a lover's need 
 Who mourns thee in his wild despair ! 
 
THE CA VERN OF SHADOWS. 105 
 
 But vainly urged the chieftain then 
 His friend to seek the wave below, 
 He only said 'twere better so 
 To die and be forgotten, when 
 A heart is wed to want and woe. 
 And weak and ill, the soldier brave 
 Bade Onewaska go, nor wait, 
 But seek at once the trackless wave, 
 And leave him to a welcome fate. 
 
I06 THE CAVERN OF SHADOWS. 
 
 A warm mist on the templed hills, 
 And forest windows stained like blood, 
 Where leaves seemed drenched as with a flood 
 That trickled down in mountain rills — 
 Wide shafts of sunshine slanting through 
 The vale against the mountains grand. 
 And one lone eagle in the blue, 
 A silent watcher of the land ! 
 
 And Clemence strangely came and went 
 With pale face shadowed as in pain. 
 The Autumn days of sun and rain, 
 Within the forest wilds were spent, 
 ^ut no one could her secret share. — 
 Aunt Ellie watched with tearful eyes 
 Each morning down the distant glade, 
 Pier darling pass in light and shade. 
 And fade against the northern skies, 
 Within a realm of forest trees, 
 Where banners crimson in the air. 
 Seemed weirdly shaken by the breeze ; — 
 And voices hoarsely down the brook. 
 Seemed calling through the purple pines, 
 
THE CA VERN OF SHADOWS. 107 
 
 And through the window's scarlet vines, 
 A bird peeped in with frightened look. 
 
 One eve the heavens seemed to burn — 
 
 That twilight sad of long ago — 
 
 With all the vivid hues that glow, 
 
 When lone they waited her return, 
 
 And searched the gloomy forest through. 
 
 And called her name with piteous cry, 
 
 Until the stars above the blue 
 
 Had touched their crowns, and filled the sky, 
 
 And pines that ridged the mountains high 
 
 Looked prison-turrets black and tall. 
 
 The gloom of death seemed over all. 
 
 They sat beside the cabin door, 
 
 And vainly watched the silent shore 
 
 And strained to catch the slightest sound. 
 
 Or moving shape, among the trees. 
 
 At times, the weird voice of the breeze 
 
 With low and piteous wail, around 
 
 The lonely cabin floated by — 
 
 At times beyond the forest black, 
 
 The panther screamed its human cry, 
 
 That hill and mountain echoed back, 
 
 In jeering voices low and far — 
 
 And still as sleeping forests are. 
 
 At dead of night, they seemed more still 
 
 When that lone cry had ceased and died ; 
 
io8 THE CAVERN OF SHADOWS. 
 
 And faintly down the mountain side, 
 A half-moon shone above the hill. 
 
 Long hours they sat, or silent stood, 
 
 Or searched the wild and gloomy wood, 
 
 But all in vain — when lo, the sound 
 
 As of a rifle thrilled the air. 
 
 And faintly echoed from afar, 
 
 Died low away in depths profound ! 
 
 Nor sat they long in sorrow wild. 
 
 And anxious terror for their child. 
 
 Ere slowly up the rocky shore 
 
 A dark form came with outstretched hands, 
 
 Like some weird shape of other lands, 
 
 And staggered to the cabin door. 
 
 The life-blood pulsing fast and warm 
 
 Was trickling down his brow and cheek, 
 
 He lifted up a feeble arm, 
 
 And strove with piteous look to speak 
 
 Some anxious words but all in vain ! 
 
 They laid him in a moonlit space. 
 
 Beneath the curtained trees, and kneeled 
 
 To wipe away the cruel stain. 
 
 When to their eyes, the light revealed 
 
 Poor friendly Onewaskas' face ! 
 
 And now the sad voice of the breeze 
 Seemed sighing round his dying bed. 
 
THE CAVERN OF SHADOWS. 1 09 
 
 And softly seemed the trembling trees 
 To chant a death-song for the dead. 
 The brook in lonely cadence sung, 
 And sobbed its sorrow, and its woe, 
 And tinkling bells were softly rung 
 Among the shadowed rocks below ; 
 When suddenly he raised his head, 
 And leaning on his arm he seemed 
 To look beyond, as one that dreamed, 
 And dreaming, seemed to look and list, 
 And see some form in fields afar. 
 Perhaps the glory of a star, 
 Perhaps the streaming hair, and hand 
 Of one as bright as angels are, 
 Outstretching through a gathered mist, 
 To guide him to the spirit land. — 
 Then slow he turned his drooping head, 
 And to the dear ones at his side. 
 Some feeble words of warning said, 
 With gasping breath, and sank, and died ! 
 
I lO THE CA VERN OF SHADO WS. 
 
 A Sabbath eve upon the lake 
 
 That lay in silent hush of prayer, 
 
 In trembling trance of color, where 
 
 The sunset skies in brilliance break 
 
 A million changing shapes of gold 
 
 And crimson, on the waters blue. 
 
 A Sabbath eve where mountains old, 
 
 And forests lift unto the view, 
 
 Their clustered spires, and towers high, 
 
 With windows bright that open through 
 
 The Autumn foliage, to the sky ! 
 
 The French flag floated in the breeze 
 
 Above the camp amid the trees 
 
 That fringed the shore of blue Lake George. 
 
 Far up the rocks above a gorge. 
 
 The sentry paced his round, and scanned 
 
 The borders of the lake and land. 
 
 Below the wild and rocky height, 
 
 The gleaming troops were drawn in line, 
 
 Their colors rippling in the shine 
 
 Of sunset-sky, and waters bright, 
 
 Who kneeling bowed their heads in prayer ; 
 
THE CAVERN OF SHADOWS. Ill 
 
 Or listened to the pious priest 
 
 With upheld crucifix in air, 
 
 Until the sacred service ceased, 
 
 When flags were lifted, swords were drawn, 
 
 And to the vesper music low. 
 
 Along the twilight-shadowed lawn, 
 
 They marched with solemn step and slow. 
 
 A signal from the mountain shone, 
 And men of iron will, and brave. 
 Crouched peering o'er the silent wave, 
 Where lightly on the v/aters lone, 
 A swift canoe sped through the shade, 
 And onward through the darkness came 
 Into the light, its dipping blade 
 Reflecting back the camp-fire's flame. 
 Nearer and nearer, swift it bore 
 Still onward to the twinkling land. 
 And scarcely had it reached the sand. 
 Ere Clemence lightly touched the shore, 
 And like a frightened doe pursued 
 By hounds across the lake, and wood. 
 With beating heart her steps she bent 
 Swift to the brave Commander's tent — 
 Then kneeling low, his aid she sought 
 To save her lover from his fate. 
 To save him ere it be too late. 
 For she alone his woe had wrought, 
 And brought him to such sad disgrace. 
 
112 THE CA VERN OF SHADOWS. 
 
 She lifted up a tear-stained face — 
 Imploringly she raised her hands, 
 And like a shape from other lands 
 Her face was wan, her lips were white, 
 And strangely tender was the light 
 Of sorrow in her pleading eyes ! 
 
 The stern old Captain bade her rise 
 And clanged a half-drawn sabre back, 
 And strode the floor without a word — 
 The soldier's crime his wrath had stirred 
 And at the tale his brow grew black 
 With mingled anger and disdain — 
 Then, as he saw her standing there, 
 And thought of him without one stain 
 Of cowardice to mark his path, 
 He slow relented in his wrath, 
 And yielded to her pleading prayer. 
 But bade her speed at once and find 
 Her lover true without delay, 
 For he had only on that day 
 The warrant of the soldier signed ! 
 
 He chose at once his stoutest braves 
 To man the barge that, moored below, 
 Lay tossing on the restless waves. 
 And bade them on their errand go, 
 Nor stay the speed of bended oar 
 Across the gloomy waters far, 
 
THE CAVERN OF SHADOWS. 113 
 
 To reach the dark and distant shore, 
 And Champlain's gloomy wave, before 
 The rising of the morning star ! 
 
 The moon had cloaked a weary face, 
 
 And listless followed through the pines 
 
 The boat that crossed the twinkling space. 
 
 Beneath the overhanging vines 
 
 That screened the western shore — and still. 
 
 The night wore on with weary pace, 
 
 And not a sound from wood, or hill. 
 
 And Clemence sat with folded hands. 
 
 And trembling lips, as in despair, 
 
 Until upon the grating sands, 
 
 Th^ boat was drawn with cautious care, 
 
 Below the overhanging eaves 
 
 Of dark rock shrouded thick with leaves. 
 
 They pushed aside the pendent boughs. 
 The drooping limbs of trees adrowse, 
 That weirdly clutched them as they passed— 
 And over rocks that looked, and leaned, 
 In gathered hood and mantle screened 
 Like spectral shapes before them cast. 
 They toiled a long and lonesome way. — 
 Against the star-bright distant sky. 
 The mountains reared their stormy wall, 
 Before them in the moonlight lay 
 The Champlain waters rippling nigh. 
 In pine-tree shade of turrets tall. 
 
114 THE CAVERN OF SHADOWS. 
 
 Again to sound of dipping oar, 
 
 They lightly bounded down the lake, 
 
 And out and in the feeble wake 
 
 Of that bleak moon that streaked the shore, 
 
 They glided like a passing cloud. 
 
 The mist was woven in a shroud 
 
 Of trees, that glimmered through the dark 
 
 Of deftly woven fringe of trees, 
 
 As swiftly in the mountain breeze, 
 
 The waters whirled about the bark. 
 
 When sudden from the forest lone, 
 
 A faint light on the ripples shone ; 
 
 A white glare seemed to fill the skies. 
 
 Then crimson-winged, to sink and rise 
 
 With flames that shook defiant wrath, 
 
 And in a long and lurid path. 
 
 The fretted waters seemed to part. 
 
 When Clemence shrieked with sudden start. 
 
 And wildly called her parents' naijies — 
 
 For bright before her eyes afar, 
 
 That dimmed the light of moon and star, 
 
 She saw her cabin home in fianus ! 
 
 They stayed their bended oars to heed 
 The maiden, moaning faint and low, 
 When in a voice of utter woe. 
 She bade them to her lover speed ! 
 
 Her long hair loosened lightly kissed 
 A wild white face that in the glare. 
 
THE CA VERN OF SHADO WS. 1 15 
 
 Did seem like death, in its despair, 
 
 And like a ghost's through moon and mist. . 
 
 With eyes that wept not, in a grief. 
 
 So deep that e'en the bravest soul 
 
 Could not the starting tear control, 
 
 For woes that seemed to beg belief. 
 
 A lurid glare shot o'er the sky 
 
 And gloomy-windowed forests through, 
 
 And clouds of smoke uplifted high, 
 
 Spread black upon the pallid blue 
 
 And still the bark sped on its way, 
 
 And left the sad scene far below, 
 
 And onward through the gloom and glow, 
 
 It hastened till the break of day. 
 
 A morning bright with scarlet leaves. 
 And waves that lightly rise and fall, 
 With vines that down the mountain eaves. 
 Hang low upon the dew-bright wall ! 
 But weary comes the northern breeze. 
 With cold locks streaming in the trees. 
 It seeming mourns the days of old, 
 The days when summer skies were blue ; 
 It turns a weary face and cold 
 To thine, and sadly bids adieu. 
 
 With throbbing heart, the mountain lands 
 
 Were reached at last, and up the slope, 
 
 Poor Clemence climbed with trembling hands, 
 
1 16 THE CA VERN OF SHADO JVS. 
 
 Oppressed with fear, and faint of hope, 
 She pushed aside the leafy veil 
 That overhung the cavern door, 
 Where last she saw her lover, pale 
 With weary watching down the shore. 
 She stood, and listened through the gloom, 
 For some faint sound to cheer her heart, 
 Where Silence seemed to dwell apart 
 Within a cold and hollow tomb. 
 She peered into the depths afar, 
 With face as white as dead men's are, 
 When freezing terror clothed her round 
 And all her strength and reason fled — 
 Before her, stretched upon the ground, 
 She saw her hero, cold and dead ! 
 She strove to reach him, faint and weak, 
 With sorrows gathered like a storm* 
 And with one agonizing shriek. 
 Fell dead across his lifeless form ! 
 
 O evenmg hells of long ago, 
 
 Thy strains still echo faiizt and low,— 
 
 The white flocks graze upon the hill, 
 
 At sunset in the evenings still — 
 
 A nd beyond the meadozv the cuckoo lingers, 
 
 And across the moorland the whippoorwill I 
 
THE CAVERN OF SHADOWS. 117 
 
 Thy tender music softly falls 
 
 Across the misty tinder-walls 
 
 Of Memory, dim through cloistered trees — 
 
 A s faifit as far-off melodies 
 
 When star-bright isles of sunsets glisten 
 
 Along a dreamy depth of seas ! 
 

 
 
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