Ember Pictures

When silence and darkness fling their chain O’er life’s contemplative hour, And our thoughts, in a dream-like mazy train, Flit off to memory’s bower; There’s a lingering breath of a faint perfume, That in madness we love to cherish, Like a flower in bloom on a sepulchral tomb, That is hopelessly doomed to perish.

We linger a while in this magic spell, By the weirdness of thought enchanted, Till ghostly phantoms rise and swell, And the soul is vision-haunted. But the charm enthralls us like a swoon; In its sweetness we love to languish, Though the shrivelled heart, like the waning moon, Sinks down in bitter anguish.

But when from the mind we deign to fling This shadowy, death-like legion, Why do our thoughts in ardor cling To that ghastly peopled region? There’s a spirit within—the chainless soul— That points to the world of spirits; And a destiny great, beyond mortal control, That the soul itself inherits.

Sad vale of death that moaneth dreary, As if weighed ’neath a burden of care, Even the sun shines cold, and his beams wax weary In thy vacant shadowless air; And the winds o’er the breast of thy lone lake sweeping, Bear echoes from the tomb, And thy desolate pines their death-watch keeping, Ever whisper this tale of gloom:

Long years ago, (so long that in telling, A weary tale ’twould make) An aged chief with his tribe was dwelling On the shore of this desolate lake. But life then bloomed here, and in beauty tender The wild-flowers lifted their eyes, Till it gleamed like a vale of magic splendor Just fallen from the sunset skies.

Here Wenonda dwelt in this vale of water, Till the Spirit-voice should call, And with him Alissa his dusky daughter— Loveliest of maidens all. And many a chieftain fain had woo’d her,— From distant lands they came— But in vain they sought, for none who viewed her The light of her smile could claim.

None, none—save a kinsman long since cherished, In life’s bright morning scene,— Now all but the memory had perished Of what they once had been. But Alissa oft in silence pondered O’er the voice that spoke her fate, And Oneydo where’er his footsteps wandered, Bore a heart half love—half hate.

For a Spirit-voice had come with its warning— With words that deeply warn,— “From the distant land of the rich-robed morning, From the clime where the sun is born, A chieftain shall come to this vale of water, In a chieftain’s state and pride, To woo Wenonda’s lovely daughter, And bear her away as his bride.”

Then sinking low, the voice grew dimmer That fell on Wenonda’s ear Till it blent with the breeze and the wan star’s shimmer When the midnight hour grew near. And the chieftain forgot that warning never, And the maid and the lover knew That all was o’er—yet in silence ever Each heart to the other beat true.

Thus many moons arose, and waning, Gave place to other moons, Till one night o’er the Lake a lone star reigning Swung low,—and then eftsoons Came again that Voice through the dim air falling— Well understood by one, And Wenonda went at its mystic calling To the land of the setting sun.

Now, the waiting long and the anguish ended, Came Oneydo o’er the tide, And ere two moon’s again ascended Claimed Alissa as his bride.— Then each day sped on, as an angel golden Had passed with beaming eyes, While yet in whose rich-dyed robes are holden The airs of paradise!

At length from the land of ocean currents, Where mists were born of old, From beyond the twin streams’ mighty torrents, Came a stranger chieftain bold. Of giant form, and with dark eye glancing, And visage grim and sere,— The somber plumes o’er his dun brow dancing, Dropped shadows boding fear.

To Oneydo he came as some dreaded token, For which naught can win surcease; Few deeds were done, few words were spoken,— They smoked the pipe of peace. But over that vale passed an unseen power Three times with the setting sun,— Then by that still lake at the midnight hour, A murderous deed was done.

Uprose the sun in heaven’s vault slowly— All hid in mist, full soon The stars shrank back, and, sweeping lowly, Low dipped the horned moon. But Alissa was gone—through the vale they sought her, And the stranger chief was gone;— False, false was the heart of Wenonda’s daughter— Both fled with the breaking dawn.

And the still, broad lake its secret keeping, Lay hushed and mute for aye; But in its depths in silence sleeping Oneydo lowly lay. None knew—but War’s dark tempests lowered, And broke with fiery mood,— When the moon her light o’er the dim vale showered Her beams were red as blood.

Long waged the war with frightful slaughter, Long and dismal was its reign, Till dyed with blood was the vale of water, And many a chief was slain. Still Hatred reigned—her fury never Abated till, came the day When Wenonda’s tribe had passed forever From the haunts of men away.

Now ages have passed, and the vale lies lonely— Nor sign of life is there, And the blasted pines are standing only In the cold and lifeless air. Yet oft when the midnight tempests lower A phantom cloud low swings, Then is heard o’er the Lake at that solemn hour The flap of invisible wings.

The deer to his night-bound haunts, unheeding, Should he pass by this desolate Lake, But quickens his pace, and faster speeding His phantom-flight doth take. And the wild geese southward or northward hying, If they pass o’er this vale in their flight, Turn their course, till higher and higher flying, They are lost to the searching sight.

Well the red man knows the dismal story— Knows where Oneydo lies; He hath seen his corse all pale and gory Looking helplessly up to the skies; And to burning rage forever fated, He is doomed to endless woe; For there must he lie till Vengeance is sated, Ere rest his spirit can know.