18. And now they built themselves a leafy bower, The common home of all, their human nest, Where threescore hammocks pendant side by side Were ranged, and on the ground the fires were drest; Alas, that populous hive hath now no living guest! 19. A few firm stakes they planted in the ground, Circling a narrow space, yet large enow; These strongly interknit they closed around With basket-work of many a pliant bough. The roof was like the sides; the door was low, And rude the hut, and trimm'd with little care, For little heart had they to dress it now; Yet was the humble structure fresh and fair, And soon its inmates found that love might sojourn there. 20. Quiara could recall to mind the course With fatal aim: and when the laden bee 21. Of answering years was Monnema, nor less Expert in all her sex's household ways. The Indian weed she skilfully could dress; And in what depth to drop the yellow maize She knew, and when around its stem to raise The lighten'd soil; and well could she prepare Its ripen'd seed for food, her proper praise; Or in the embers turn with frequent care Its succulent head yet green, sometimes for daintier fare. 22. And how to macerate the bark she knew, And bleaching them in sun, and air, and dew; 23. Time had been when expert in works of clay And wrath and rage and strife and wounds and death ensued. 24. These occupations were gone by: the skill No feverish pulse ensued, nor ireful heat, Their days were undisturb'd, their natural sleep was sweet. 25. She too had learnt in youth how best to trim The honour'd Chief for his triumphal day, And covering with soft gums the obedient limb And body, then with feathers overlay, In regular hues disposed, a rich display. Well-pleased the glorious savage stood and eyed The growing work; then vain of his array Look'd with complacent frown from side to side, Stalk'd with elater step, and swell'd with statelier pride. 26. Feasts and carousals, vanity and strife, 27. The Moon had gather'd oft her monthly store Of light, and oft in darkness left the sky, Since Monnema a growing burthen bore Of life and hope. The appointed weeks go by; And now her hour is come, and none is nigh To help but human help she needed none. A few short throes endured with scarce a cry, Upon the bank she laid her new-born son, Then slid into the stream, and bathed, and all was done. 28. Might old observances have there been kept, Then should the husband to that pensile bed, Like one exhausted with the birth have crept, And laying down in feeble guise his head, For many a day been nursed and dieted With tender care, to childing mothers due. Certes a custom strange, and yet far spread Through many a savage tribe, howe'er it grew, And once in the old world known as widely as the new. 29. This could not then be done; he might not lay Still laid his snares for birds, and still the chase pursued. 30. But seldom may such thoughts of mingled joy As when he first beheld that infant boy. Who hath not proved it, ill can estimate The feeling of that stirring hour,... the weight Even from the cradle to the grave, I wis, 31. A deeper and unwonted feeling fill'd These parents, gazing on their new-born son. On this frail sand. Now let the seasons run, 32. Thus Monnema and thus Quiara thought, Though each the melancholy thought represt; They could not choose but feel, yet utter'd not The human feeling, which in hours of rest Often would rise, and fill the boding breast With a dread foretaste of that mournful day, When, at the inexorable Power's behest, The unwilling spirit, called perforce away, Must leave, for ever leave its dear connatural clay. |