Like an untarnished Star on its bosom Far in the ages, Rose of the Hurons, Came to these waters. Where the dank greensward Slopes to the pebbles, Sat in her anguish. Ice to her maidens, Fire to her lover! Here he had won her, Here they had parted, Here could her tears flow. With unwet eyelash, Miantowona Nursed her old father, Oldest of Hurons, Soothed his complainings, Linked arms with maidens, Joined in their dances; Not with her people, Ah! who was like him? Fleet as an arrow, Strong as a bison, Bearing no wampum, Chief of the war-path Who can gainsay him, Let us be humble, "T is the Great Spirit! Ever at nightfall Strayed from the lodges, Passed through the shadows Into the forest; There by the pond-side Low on the pebbles Warm for his coming! But when he came not, Back through the darkness, Half broken-hearted, Miantowona Went to her people. When an old oak dies, First 't is the tree-tops, Then the low branches, Then the gaunt stem goes, Oldest of Hurons, Chief of the chieftains. Miantowona Wept not, but softly Closed the sad eyelids; Thus old Tawanda Grounds of the Red Man. Then, as the dirges Rose from the village, Miantowona Stole from the mourners, Stole through the cornfields, Passed like a phantom Into the shadows Through the pine-forest. One who had watched her It was Nahoho, Loving her vainly Saw, as she passed him, That in her features Made his stout heart quail. He could but follow. Quick were her footsteps, Leaving no traces On the white clover. Like a trained runner, Into the woodlands Then he sped forward Toward the bright water. What did he see there Could so appall him? Swiftly expanding, Fading before him; But, as he watched it, Rose a Pond-Lily. One cry of wonder, Shrill as the loon's call, Came all the Hurons Striplings and warriors, |