The haughty chief who led this tribe,
Fear could not daunt nor favor bribe;
And this lone settler, living here,
Knew white man never dared come near.
He Caucanoe's heart had won
By a kindness nobly done,
In rescuing from a watery grave
The favorite child of this fierce brave.
A frail canoe—swamped in mid stream:
A father's cry—a maiden's scream;
A hunter bearing a maid ashore,
A volume writ would tell no more.
"The land beside this murmuring stream
Thy future home, brave paleface, deem,
And on Caucanoe's word depend,
No Indian dares molest my friend!"
"Yours 'twas to save Caucanoe's pride,
Mine be it to protect your bride;
If here a future you would seek,
I listen: Let my brother speak."
"Great Chief! your words, so kind and true,
Fall on my ears like evening dew;
Ere the buds begin to swell
Your brother 'mid your tribe shall dwell."
So Hayward built, with eager haste,
As best befits a woman's taste,
A cabin palace, reared by art,
Each room as secret as your heart.
Here they lived and tilled the ground,
The happiest pair for miles around;
The Indians swarmed around their door
With useful gifts to swell their store.
Caucanoe often sought their door
And played with the children, o'er and o'er.
He brought them many a curious toy,
Their happy childhood to employ.
The winsome sprite, who sat on his knee,
Pleased him most of the guileless three;
Her limped eyes and golden hair
Caucanoe thought divinely fair.