An Indian Tale, Canto IV

While the bent forest drops the chrystal tear, And frozen HURON chills the shorten'd day. 'Till the young spring restor'd the blossom'd year, Rack'd by disease the patient sachem lay.

O'er his pierc'd limbs, and lacerated form, Celario binds the health-restoring leaf, And guards his slumbers from surrounding harm, With all the silent eloquence of grief.

'Till sov'reign nature, and benignant art, Revive each nerve, each weaken'd fibre brace, And ev'ry charm, that health and youth impart, Glows in his veins, and brightens in his face.

Still to his love, Celario's heart returns, Full oft he mourns her life-oppressing woe, 'Till great Ouâbi all his soul discerns, And views the source, from whence his sorrows flow.

In pensive thought he treads the fenny meads, While for his native home they bend their way, Light as the air each hurried step proceeds, Thro' the slow moments of the ling'ring day:

'Till time, whom happy lovers form'd with wings, To his own plains the matchless chief restores; Around his neck the wild Azâkia clings, Now weeps, now joys, now blesses, now deplores.

Another dream had rack'd her sleepless mind, Where the great hero chid her long delay, While all her tortur'd breast, to death resign'd, Reproach'd the European's faithless stay.

The chief returns in all his native grace, Tho' mark'd with wounds, and sear'd with many a scar, Yet manly charms adorn his open face, Still form'd to lead and guide the glorious war.

Celario gazes with unsated eye, While down his cheek the tears of rapture flow, His melting bosom heaves the breathing sigh, And rising cares contract his polish'd brow.

Not unobserv'd the nectar'd sigh ascends, Nor yet in vain the tears of fondness roll, With soften'd look the gen'rous sachem bends, While heav'nly music speaks his yielding soul.

Azâkia hears the changeless chief's reply, Now warm'd with hope, now chill'd with icy fear, Nor dares to meet him with her swimming eye, Her lab'ring breath, and soul-entrancing care.

Tho' the fam'd warrior rul'd her faithful mind, The young Celario ev'ry passion mov'd; E'en to his faults her doting heart inclin'd— Ouâbi was too godlike to be lov'd.

While the soft Zisma learns the fix'd decree, In modest silence and in pleas'd surprise, To the great sachem bends her willing knee With grateful smiles, and rapture-glancing eyes.

In vain Celario pleads his alter'd breast, No Illinois his sacred word recals; 'Tis fix'd—the young deliv'rer shall be blest— The flames ascend—the branching cedar falls.

Ere the day close the solemn rites begin, The broken shivers feed the hungry blaze; While the new spires adorn the social green, And the wild music joins the song of praise.

To his wrapt soul Celario clasps his bride, Thinks it a dream, some sweet delusive charm; Wonder and joy his beating breast divide, Dart from his eyes, and ev'ry accent warm.

Thus the young hero from victorious war, While the throng'd city swells the full acclaim, Forgets each bleeding friend, each ghastly scar, And ev'ry breeze wafts pleasure, wealth and fame.

Ouâbi, still in matchless worth array'd, Betrays no grief, no soft, repentant sigh; But like a parent guards the timid maid, And claims her friendship with his asking eye.

Her slender limbs the matron-garb adorn, Her locks no more in bright luxuriance flow, From her smooth brow the maiden veil is drawn, And glist'ning beads in rainbow-beauty glow.

Joy reigns, and pleasure lights the smiling scene, The graceful feet in mazy circles rove, While music warbles o'er the peopled green, And wafts the fond impassion'd breath of love.

Swift flies the sunny morn, that gilds the spring, Short is the show'r, which bathes the summer day, But swifter still gay pleasure's transient wing, With fleeter haste contentment, glides away!

E'en while delight expands each winning charm, Thro' the wide plain the shrieks of fright arise; The gentle Zisma swells the loud alarm, Her great, her lov'd Ouâbi falls—he dies!

OH THOU, whose feeling heart, and ready sigh, On ev'ry grief soft sympathy bestow, Here turn thy blest, benignant, melting eye, Here let the tears of full compassion flow!

Down at his feet the lost Azâkia lies, Her pale Celario parts the pressing throng, Th'immortal warrior lifts his darken'd eyes, And the chok'd words fall quiv'ring from his tongue.

The strong convulsions shake his lab'ring form, Hard, and with pain, the loit'ring blood retires; Thus sinks the oak, when loud tornados storm, The kingly lion with such pangs expires.

Cold to the heart, the peerless sachem falls, No heav'nly pow'rs the fleeting breath restrain, No human aid his parted soul recals, Whose life was VIRTUE, and whose fate was PAIN.

Now wailing sorrow murmurs thro the glade, While to the tomb, where sleep his glorious race, Erect, as when a subject tribe obey'd, The mourn'd Ouâbi's sacred form they place.

Thus the great soul to realms of light ascends! Down at his feet the conq'ring hatchet stands, O'er his high head the spreading bow extends, The lustral coin adorns his lifeless hands!

While to the spot, made holy by his shade, His faithful tribe with annual care return And, as the solemn obsequies are paid, In pious love, and humble rev'rence mourn.

Each lonely Illinois, who wanders by, Will with the hero's fame his way beguile, In fond devotion bend the suppliant eye, And add one pillar to the sacred pile.

There shall he rest! and if in realms of day, The GOOD, the BRAVE, diffuse a light divine, Redoubled splendor gilds the brighten'd ray, Which bids Ouâbi's NATIVE VIRTUES shine!

LET not the CRITIC, with disdainful eye, In the weak verse condemn the novel plan; But own, that VIRTUE beams in ev'ry sky, Tho wayward frailty is the lot of man. Dear as ourselves to hold each faithful friend, To tread the path, which INNATE LIGHT inspires, To guard our country's rites, her soil defend, Is all that NATURE, all that HEAV'N requires.