lesentnof Class -PS 3,:^ .^1 t!Dfie Hegentr of iHultnomaf) Jf alls legenb of Jttultnomajj Jf alls( BY B>usisin WUHamion ^mttf) We are told by the Indians this Legend ; How Pestilence, Sickness and Woe left the tribe ; But Valor, Glory, Power were lost them forever more. PORTLAND, OREGON THE IRWIN-HODSON COMPANY 1905 COPYRIGHTED 1905 BY MRS. SUSAN W. SMITH ISebitateb TO ELIZABETH TOWNE LISCHEN M. MILLER J. T. SHELTON The triumvirate of friends who are in part responsible for the thoughts herein expressed. jforetdorb HE GREATEST of all the cascades that beautify the magnificent cliiFs of the Upper Columbia is ^* Multnomah Falls." The water dashes fearlessly, boldly down a precipice eight hundred feet high, and then, as if exhilarated by the leap, takes another (forty foot) plunge. To a lover of nature, this cascade alone would more than repay the long journey across the continent. The waters are con- stantly supplied by the melting snow and are as clear as crystal. Through the beautiful crystal white spray one sees the grey rocks and boulders, covered with every tint and shade of nature's green ; here and there a bit of brown, and yellow, and red ; of moss, and fern, and flower, the tall fir trees lovingly sheltering all, ever pointing the way to heaven — a scene never to be forgotten. The only regret is that one cannot with words depict one -thousandth part of the beauty, the charm, of such a scene. It beggars even the artist's brush. All the cliffs and falls of the Columbia are rich in Indian legendry and enchantment, and each has its pretty tragic story. There are several about ** Multnomah Falls." I like best the one I have chosen for the theme of the following poem. It illustrates so perfectly the fact that all the cruelty of man to man has been the outcome of acting under strong excitement, usually caused by some person or persons, for selfish purposes : That God speaks to man only when he meditates '^ In the Silence." Cfje Hegenti of ilultnomai) Jf allsf The tom-toms beat! The night is wild! The storm is fierce ! The winds Are singing nature's requiem. A soul returns to God. The Great Spirit is angry. He has hidden his face From his children. With his love The light has gone. Sorrow, Sickness^ pestilence, and death Have come to the tribe, once Mighty and great in the love Of him they have angered : their God. So tom-toms resound! And the chief of the tribe. The medicine men, the seers, The prophets, are in council assembled. They plead for mercy in vain. This time as a sacrifice, A pure maiden is demanded. No earthly sin must stain her brow — Innocence her crown of thorns! Zeal and Love Divine must form her cross, And the spear thrust in her side The pestilence of her people. Have we Christians the only God? Did the Father not give his love To any of his children Ere Christ came to save ? Were all Of the millions of souls who lived Upon this beautiful earth, Were they all — all lost? Forever damned? Do Christians dare question The mercy of God, Who has been worshipped From the beginning And will be until the end? Heathens — we are taught to call them — To their Father, the " Great Spirit," have come; With sorrow and grief they are laden. Will He not listen to them ? The seers see a vision ! The prophets hear a voice ! Has it not ever been so with The suffering children of men ? " God demands a sacrifice ! One for the many slain/' The Great Spirit has heard Their prayers. The seers, the prophets Have spoken. But where can A maiden be found. Innocent, pure, and saintly, A willing sacrifice ? When, when, ye children of men. Will ye understand the Father? When will ye keep the golden rule — - Live the wondrous Love Divine ? When comprehend that each one Must have his Gethsemane, Must bear his cross, his burden — Not sacrifice his brother ? When will the church this lesson teach? When will humanity hearken To this truth — that love supreme, Joy, peace, good will, is the birthright Of all who so liveth. After the storm the peaceful calm Tired Nature has fallen asleep And rests. Her dreams of joy, Of love, of peace, are reflected O'er hill, vale, and river. Drink in, my soul, this beautiful scene, Dwell in my heart forever. A cliff magnificent, sublime. Looks down on a mighty river. Solemn it stands in its grandeur. The river, in peaceful repose, at rest. In the light of the harvest moon o Smiles to itself with pride as it notes The picture so fair on its bosom — Of quiet dell and shady nooks, Dimpled 'tween crags and rocks ; Of lofty peaks ; of the Proud, magnificent mountain All its own — by the law of reflection. Soft, yet clear, I hear a voice That whispers unto me. Humanity is but the image of God Reflected in the River of Life, my dear. When hate, passion, the surface rufiles. When winds of adversity blow. The picture is marred, distorted. Lost to view — till Christ Calms the tempest with, "Peace! Be still!'' Hark ! A soft tread breaks the stillness. So light it seemeth part of the silence. It is Multnomah, the old chief's daughter. She stands in the light of the moon's white rays. No adornment save her pearly white robe; It has caught the silvery light in its folds And gleams and shines like the stars. So fair, so fair a sight is Multnomah, The princess of noble and high degree. The pride of the Willamettes is she. She stands on the brink of a precipice ; Eight hundred feet below The river flows, calm, serene. She feels no fear ; love, perfect love. Is hers for her brethren dear. Her pure and lovely spirit illumines Her features so fair; she murmurs, "Great Spirit, ^The Oracle' has spoken; You are angry with my people ; You demand a sacrifice of a pure An undefiled maiden. Will I, Great Spirit, suffice? Look into my heart ; only love is there. Look into my soul ; only peace. Accept me. Dear Father, some token give." She folds her hands across her breast, She lifts her eyes to heaven. One moment her form sways, then falls. Who knows what the token given? Copyright by T. L. Carland MULTNOMAH FALLS Behold! A miracle! Her form As it falls is changed in a moment, "In the twinkling of an eye/' To the emblem, to man, Of life, purity, spirit. And ever adown the mountain side. As long as the world shall be. This beautiful, crystal white water shall fall In memory — in memory. The pearly gates swing open ; The skies gleam red, blue and gold, The reflection of rubies, Of sapphires, topaz, pearls. Man says, "The sun is rising." Short-sighted man. A soul Returns to its maker — to the Beautiful city above. Nature from her repose awakens, Beholds the glorious cascade All aglow with colors of morn. She whispers, "Multnomah." The gentle breeze bears the whisper Far away to the children of men; In their hearts it lives, a sweet dream. To guide them to "Multnomah Falls." V ^ .t'fX., ' / ' '**'