'Towards the Sun's ascending beam,
Whoe'er his journey takes,
Will reach a broad and rapid stream
Which joins two mighty lakes.
Midway in this river's course
A wondrous fall is found
Where, with an overwhelming force
The waters, rushing in their might,
Plunge downward o'er a fearful height
With a stupefying sound.
Right at the precipice so steep,
Where the river takes this awful leap,
Is placed an Island, small in size,
But like an earthly paradise,
For lovelier spot is nowhere found
Than this, our Indian burial ground;
Where none, unless with honor crowned,
Can ever be interred.
None but brave men e'er can reach
It's wooded shore and rocky beach,
Whereon the sound of human speech
Is scarcely ever heard.
For on this Isle deep-buried lie
The bones of many a Brave,
And Indian chiefs invariably
Ask this spot for their grave.
Thus it has been, in days of yore,
And it is my earnest prayer,
That, when this mortal life is o'er,
And my soul is on the other shore,
My bones may be buried there.
That Ni-a-gáh-ra's mighty roar
So solemn, grand and deep,
May be my dirge forevermore
As 'twixt its Falls I sleep.'
"Since he told me I've often prayed
That hither I might be led,
And to my vision be displayed,
In its scenic majesty arrayed,
The fairest spot God ever made,
This Island of the dead."
The Chief assented, "All you heard
Was true to the minutest word;
But one more fact I must unfold
Ere all the Island's tale is told,
Note its wondrous situation,
'Tis our Spirit's dread abode;
'Tis a spot that, since Creation,
Coward's foot has never trod.
None but warriors can reach it,
Others, should they dare to try,
So our old traditions teach it,
As they touch its soil, they die."
"All that is false," the Priest replied,
"Whoever taught you that has lied;
Strong words, I know, but justified,
For God alone, who gave us breath,
Has power over life and death."
The Chief declared, "His faith is best
Who dares to put it to the test.
I judge men's faith in but one way,
'Tis what they do, not what they say.
If you believe that you'll survive,
I'll take you there tonight,
And, if you tread its shore alive,
Will own that you are right;
Then, I'll believe in what you preach,
And worship Him of whom you teach."
The Priest responded, "Now 'tis clear,
Why I have been directed here.
Your sacred Island is to be
My means of proving conclusively
To Indian Tribes forevermore
The power of Him whom I adore.
An early proof is all I crave,
For never yet did Indian brave,
Who'd traveled far to deal the blow
Of death to his relentless foe
With greater joy await the hour
That placed his victim in his power
Than I impatiently await
The moment yonder Isle I reach,
And thereby clearly demonstrate
The holy precepts that I teach.
So come, tho' here I fain would stay
My beads to tell and prayers to say,
I'll worship God on the Island's shore
After the test you name is o'er."
A look of wonder and surprise
Shone in the Indian Chieftain's eyes,
His sole reply, "So let it be,
Your death shall pay the penalty."
In perfect silence back they went,
Each on the coming voyage intent.
When the village they had reached,
To where his bark canoe lay beached
The Chieftain turned aside.
(The bison skin, he flung therein),
Quickly he launched it, in he leapt,
And, waiting till the Priest had stept
Into his place, he bade him kneel,
So the bark might ride on even keel,
Then pushed it out on the tide.
Swiftly it darted from the land,
Propelled by strong and fearless hand,
Over the dangerous current flies,
As the Chief the paddle rapidly plies,
Until, the wildest portion crossed,
The frail canoe is no longer tossed
By curling waves, but floats, awhile,
On the quiet stream above the Isle,
Towards whose beach it slowly glides
For weal or woe, as its voyage betides.