LEGEND OF LONG-POND; OR, LAKE OF THE GOLDEN CROSS.
BY FANNY FALES.
THE summer moon hung in the sky,
And sleeping in its sheen;
Long-Pond, watched by the angel stars,
Lay in its cradle green.
The little zephyrs gliding by,
Rocked it upon their way;
And saw the dimples come and go,
As of a child at play.
The beautiful white lilies bowed,
With folded hands, at rest;
As if they stole away to pray
Beneath the water's crest.
From the dim woods beyond, the doe
Came down her thirst to slake;
Her wild brown eyes, and graceful form,
Reflected from the lake.
What! does she list the huntsman's horn,
That thus she bounds away?
Turns she, with head erect and proud,
The noisy hounds to bay?
Nay, nay! 'tis but a swift canoe
Shoots from the coppice near;
Its light oars leave a silvery track
Upon the waters clear.
A pale, fair youth, one arm flung round
A maiden's form, is there;
The Saxon in his deep blue eyes,
And light-brown waving hair.
The full-orbed moon floods in its wanes,
The Indian maiden's face;
The rich blood tints her olive cheek,
Her form is full of grace.
Her black eyes, softer than the night,
Are turned to meet his own;
Her heart drinks in each loving word,
And deep impassioned tone.
"Listen, Lueka—little fawn,"
(His voice is sad and low;)
"Chide not with that imploring gaze;
To-morrow I must go!"
Her head drops slowly on her breast,
Veiled with her long black hair;
Love in that simple act confest,
Love, and almost—despair.
"Anoonk,[5] Lueka's heart will bleed,
The arrow 'neath its wing;
'Twill sit and mourn, 'twill droop and die,
It never more will sing.
"To-morrow is a little word,
But, oh, how big with woe!
Did poor Lueka hear or dream,
'To-morrow I must go?'
"Lueka, list, my bird, my fawn,
I will return again
Before the harvest moon looks down
Upon the golden grain.
"I swear, Lueka, by the stars,
And by this cross of gold,
'Ere red the berries of the thorn
My Indian bride I'll fold.
"In token, chain and cross of gold
I hang upon thy breast;
And let it whisper, 'He will come
When summer's in the west.'"
'Twere vain Lueka's fears to paint,
'Twere vain her woe to tell;
When came the morrow's long embrace,
And quivering, low farewell.
Popmonet's daughter was the maid,
A princess' rank she bore;
And many a rival chieftain laid
His offering at her door.
But all in vain—for she had seen
The stranger as he lay
With fever in his throbbing veins—
And nursed him day by day.
Health came, and love—but woe if he
Who sought her for his own,
The Marshpee chief, her secret know,
By word, or look, or tone.
The night is dark, the storm is fierce,
But darker, fiercer still
The whirlwind passions in the soul
Of scorned Auketauquil.
For sad, apart, Lueka sits,
Her heart's-eyes gaze afar;
The young chief's words, his very smiles
Upon her spirits jar.
The golden cross, but half concealed,
To him her secret told;
The while she murmurs, "he will come
Before this moon is old.
"The corn is golden in the sheaf,
With silken tassels drest;
I've seen the shining summer rise,
And now 'tis in the west."
But summer set, and winter came,
And spring, with blossoms gay;
Then hope died in Lueka's heart,
For he was still away.
She drooped and faded day by day,
And when the autumn hours
Came round again with yellow leaves,
She'd perished with the flowers.
Popmonet bowed his aged head
In sorrow—with a moan;
"The leaves from the lone tree are swept,
I stand alone—alone!"
Auketauquil approaches near,
With brow and footstep grave;
The hated cross gleams on her breast,
He hurls it in the wave.
"Curses," he cried, "upon the lips
That lured away my bird!
Curse him! would of his hated race
Lueka'd never heard!
"Great Spirit, curse him! for he stole
The ring-dove from my breast;
Poor wounded thing—how cold it lies;
I would have been its nest!"
A lovely island in the lake
Popmonet's child received;
Her people bore her gently there,
And e'en the sternest grieved.
Anear her placed they food and drink,
And trinkets that she wore,
To cheer her on the lonely voyage
Unto the spirit shore.
They laid her where the sweet-fern grew,
With lilies in her hand;
Then loosed a bird above her grave,[6]
And sang thus by the strand.—
Speed on to the beautiful land afar,
Where the soul of our sister's a new made star;
With kisses, embraces, thy wings are laden,
Soar high to the home of the absent maiden,
Away! away!
Tell her, winged blossom, that over her grave,
The kindred who mourn her, thy freedom gave;
We ope thy cage, captive; we bid thee farewell;
Soar away to the clime where the blessed dwell,
Away! away!
Tell her we'll look when the north is aglow,[7]
With the souls of our people, moving slow;
For the beams of her spirit 'mid those we see,
For we know in glory she brightest will be,
Away! away!
She will come no more when the morn is fair,
To look in the wave while she braids her hair;
But her face like a star on Auketauquil's soul,
Dawns bright from the gloom where its deep waters roll,
Away! away!
Soar on—soar away to the spirit-land,
Thy wings with the breath of affection fanned;
The soul of our sister's a new made star,
Bear our blessing, O bird, to her home afar;
Away! away!
Years fled—the council fires went out;
The red men, one by one,
Died, or were driven from their haunts,
Toward the setting sun.
No more a moccasin is seen
On Succannesset[8] lands;
Where once arose the wigwam's smoke,
The white man's dwelling stands.
Save one old brave with locks of snow,
No tree stands where it grew;
No longer on the wave is launched
The graceful bark canoe.
A poor lone woman, gathering
Fuel Long-Pond around,
Drew forth a dead branch from the wave,
And lo! a cross was found!
'Twas asked the aged brave, if he
Its history could tell;
'Twas the same cross Lueka wore,
Ah, yes! he knew it well.
I gathered from his lips ere long
The tale here given thee;
'Tis common love, and woe, and death,
From man's inconstancy.
And evermore that woodland pond,
Where oaks their shadows toss,
We'll call for poor Lueka's sake,
Lake of the Golden Cross.