Fear seized on the bold Wan-ches-e
When he saw the Pale-Face maiden
Standing where had poised the White Doe,
Where the White Man's Fort had once stood.
He knew naught of magic arrows,
Nor O-kis-ko's secret mission;
He saw only his own arrow
Piercing through her tender bosom,
Never doubting but the wonder
Which his awe-struck eyes had witnessed
Had been wrought by his own arrow,
Silver arrow from a far land,
Fashioned by the skill of Pale-Face,
Gift of Pale-Face Weroanza
To a race she willed to conquer.
All his hatred of the Pale-Face,
Fed by fear and superstition,
To him made this sudden vision
Seem an omen of the future, When the Red Man, like the White Doe,
Should give place unto the Pale-Face,
And the Indian, like the white mist,
Fade from out his native forest.
All his courage seemed to weaken
With the dread of dark disaster;
And with instincts strong for safety
Fled he from the place in terror.
Love hath not the fear of danger,
And O-kis-ko's faith in magic
Kept him brave to meet the changes
Which had each so quickly followed.
For he saw the human maiden
Where had stood the living White Doe;
And he knew his hazel arrow,
Charmed with all We-nau-don's magic,
Had restored the lost Wi-no-na
To reward his patient loving.
But the conflict of two arrows,
Bringing death unto the maiden,
Was a deep and darksome myst'ry
Which his ignorance could not fathom.
All the cause of his undoing
Saw he in the silver arrow; So with true love's tireless effort,
Quick he strove to break its power.
From her heart he plucked the arrow,
Hastened to the magic water,
Hoping to destroy the evil
Which had stilled the maiden's pulses.
In the sparkling spring he laid it
So no spot was left uncovered,
So the full charm of the water
Might act on the blood-stained arrow.
As the blood-stains from it melted,
Blood of Pale-Face shed by Red Man,
Slowly, while he watched and waited,
All the sparkling water vanished;
Dry became the magic fountain,
Leaving bare the silver arrow.
Was it thus the spell would weaken
Which had wrought his love such evil?
Would she be again awakened
When he sought her in the thicket?
Must he shoot this arrow at her
To restore her throbbing pulses? Must he seek again We-nau-don
To make warm her icy beauty?
While he of himself sought guidance,
Sought to know the hidden meaning
Of the mysteries he witnessed;
Lo! another mystic wonder
Met his eyes as he sat musing.
From the arrow made by Pale-Face,
As th' enchanted water left it,
Sprang a tiny shoot with leaflets
Pushing upward to the sunlight.
Did the arrow dry the fountain
With the blight of death it carried?
Or in going, had the water
Left a charm upon the arrow?
Did the heart-blood of the Pale-Face
From the arrow in the water
Cause the coming of the green shoot,
Which reached upward to the sunlight?