She speeds along the forest trail
Where warriors late in painted form,
Had marched through Kitchewan's fair vale
To meet their foes in battle-storm.
Her eyes are watchful to survey,
Her ears detect the lightest sound,
Her heart and mind to her betray
Where barriers to her flight are found.
She shuns them all by tact and skill;
Most gladly she to him will prove
The power that's in a woman's will,
The faith that's in a woman's love.
From hill and ledge she scans the ground
While dangers seem her faith to mock;
But highest point by her is found,
She stands upon the swaying rock,
Which seems unsteady 'neath her feet,
And makes her doubt if she can stand
To make inspection so complete,
She may discern Ponomo's band.
The trembling rock and trembling heart
Are firmly fixed, no power can move;
But from its crest she must depart
In search of him her heart doth love.
She stands beside the central lake
Along whose shores the war-whoop rang,
And softly for her own heart's sake,
This song of harvest-moon she sang:
"The hunter's moon now floods the night
Turns darkness into day,
The wood and lake in mellow light,
Charm grief and care away.
"The sparkling water's silvery gleam
My sorrow soothes for me,
And lifts my soul in fancy's dream
To thoughts so pure and free.
"So bright the light that fills the night,
The song-birds sweetly sing;
From tree to tree they take their flight
On swift yet noiseless wing.
"Now come, Ponomo, come to me,
I wait your coming here;
You promised 'neath this hemlock tree,
At midnight to appear.
"My heart, my life, my all is yours,
And you are all to me;
Faith trusts your promise and assures
Unchanged fidelity.
"I know your heart is warm and true,
Your love not cold or dumb,
No earthly power can it subdue;
I know that you will come."
She hears a footstep drawing near;
Her voice is mute, her song is done,
She waits, Ponomo to appear,
In shadowed silence all alone.
Beneath lugubrious hemlock shade
Her heart beats with expectancy,
And Kitchewonk's own dusky maid
Trusts Rippowam's fidelity.
He comes! She sees him near the lake;
She knows his form, his step, his voice;
No other charm for her could make
Her heart and soul so much rejoice.
They meet beside the water's edge
Where hemlock boughs in silence nod,
And there with mutual vow and pledge,
In presence of their living God,
They join the hand, the heart, the life,
While harvest-moon a witness stood,
That he the husband, she the wife,
Should share in life's vicissitude.
That sacred pledge was heard on high
And written by an angel hand,
Nor priest, nor king, nor majesty,
Could marriage rites perform more grand.