MERIDIAN.
’Tis twelve o’clock meridian.—.
My work is not half done.
Turn back the hands upon Life’s clock,
For it must not strike one.
’Tis twelve o’clock meridian,
Time faster, faster goes.
All heedless he of my distress,
Unheedful of my woes.
’Tis twelve o’clock meridian,
My life is now half gone,
’Tis useless to begin anew;
Anew life’s pages con.
’Tis twelve o’clock meridian,
Ambition now is gone.
I cannot take up stitches dropped;
My work cannot go on.
I’m tired and weary, will now rest,
Let time go on his way.
Life’s race is almost over now,
Time will not for me stay.
For wasted time now dead, and gone,
A requiem sad, time tolls.
All squandered hours, all work undone,
In winding-sheet he rolls.
THE INDIAN LOVER’S PLEA.
Winona! Winona! O list to my plea!
O why wilt thou leave me, O canst thou not see
How barren this world if deprived of thy love,
’Twas given to me by the Great Spirit above.
Winona! Winona! Return unto me—
From bonds of the white man O cut thyself free.
Thy heart is still mine, but the glitter of gold
Enticed thee away from thy lover of old.
The white man will weary of thee in a day,
Forsaken thou’lt be, dishonored for aye.
Thy beauty will fade, alas! for thee then!
Reviled, and dishonored, forsaken of men.
Forsaken, degraded, and then cast aside;
Dost think that the white man will make thee his bride?
My camp-fire is out, and my wigwam is cold,
The white man has won thee by the promise of gold.
I feel that I’ve loved thee in ages long gone,
Have fought for thy smiles, have always them won,
Winona dear heart, I will fight for them still,
Though broken thy troth, unbroken my will.
My arrows are broken, my bow is unstrung,
My powder-horn empty, on high it is hung.
Come back to the forest where we’ve wandered alone;
Come back to my wigwam, and I will condone
The sin of thy leaving, for thou didst not know
The wiles that the white man around thee couldst throw.
The white man will tire of thy beauty so rare,
His plaything thou’lt be, O Winona beware!
Return to thy lover before ’tis too late—
The love of an Indian is as strong as his hate.
Winona! Winona! this is my last plea!
Return unto me! O return unto me!
WINONA’S REPLY.
Oswega! Oswega! I’ll listen to thee—
Return to thee gladly, again will be free.
’Tis true, for a moment, the glitter of gold
Enticed my vain heart from my lover of old.
The white man so subtile flattered my pride—
He promised me honor for aye by his side.
I loved him not ever, ’twas only my pride
That caused me to waver, and leave thy dear side
I beg dear Oswega that thou wilt forgive,
And that in thy love-light again I shall live.
Yes, I will return to my lover so brave,
For home without love is as cold as the grave.
Yes, now dear Oswega I’ll come back to thee;
Though false I have seemed, I am true unto thee.
I will care for thy wigwam, will keep up thy fire,
Of thee my Oswega ne’er more will I tire.
I love thee Oswega, will love thee for aye—
’Twas but for a time that my heart went astray.
I’ll come to thy wigwam, will care for thy home,
And never again from my lover will roam.
Oswega! Oswega! my heart is as true
As thine is for me, and I bitterly rue
That vanity caused my heart to grow cold,
By flattering words and the glamour of gold.
The dream is now o’er, it was but for a day.
My vain heart was flattered, I could not say nay.
My beauty may fade, but I know that thy heart
Will ever be mine, and ne’er more shall we part.
AT LAST.
I struggle on blindly;
I know not the way,
I falter by wayside
Forever and aye.
I seek the right pathway,
’Tis hidden in gloom,
’Tis cold as the grave, and
As dark as the tomb.
So deep are the shadows
I see not the road,
My burden is heavy
I sink ’neath the load.
So long seems the journey;
O when will it end?
I’m tired, and weary,
’Neath burdens I bend.
No light in my pathway,
No hope in my soul.
My life seems a failure,
Far distant my goal.
I’ll rise from my languor,
And hope for the best.—
Now, clouds are dispelling,
I’ll come to my rest.
Though trials, and sorrows
Have e’er been my lot,
I’ll cast them aside now,
Life’s battles are fought.
I’ve gained in the battles,
All clouds will now break.
When journey is ended
In heaven I’ll awake.