XXXVIII. And as connubial, so parental love Obey'd unerring Nature's order here, For now no force of impious custom strove Against her law;-such as was wont to sear The unhappy heart with usages severe, Till harden'd mothers in the grave could lay Their living babes with no compunctious tear, " So monstrous men become, when from the way Of primal light they turn thro' heathen paths astray. ΧΧΧΙΧ. Deliver'd from this yoke, in them henceforth The springs of natural love may freely flow: New joys, new virtues with that happy birth Are born, and with the growing infant grow. Source of our purest happiness below Is that benignant law which hath entwined Dearest delight with strongest duty, so That in the healthy heart and righteous mind Ever they co-exist, inseparably combined. XL. Oh! bliss for them when in that infant face The quiet smile which in the innocent cheek XLI. For him, if born among their native tribe, Some haughty name his parents had thought good, As weening that therewith they should ascribe The strength of some fierce tenant of the wood, The water, or the aërial solitude, Jaguar or vulture, water wolf or snake, The beast that prowls abroad in search of blood, Or reptile that within the treacherous brake Waits for the prey, upcoil'd, its hunger to aslake. XLII. Now soften'd as their spirits were by love, Abhorrent from such thoughts they turn'd away; And with a happier feeling, from the dove, They named the child Yeruti. 12 On a day When smiling at his mother's breast in play, They in his tones of murmuring pleasure heard A sweet resemblance of the stock-dove's lay, Fondly they named him from that gentle bird, And soon such happy use endear'd the fitting word. XLIII. Days pass, and moons have wax'd and waned, and still This dovelet nestled in their leafy bower Obtains increase of sense, and strength and will, As in due order many a latent power Expands, humanity's exalted dower : And they while thus the days serenely fled Beheld him flourish like a vigorous flower Which lifting from a genial soil its head By seasonable suns and kindly showers is fed. XLIV. Ere long the cares of helpless babyhood Their words, observant both with eye and ear, XLV. Serenely thus the seasons pass away; Five years have since Yeruti's birth gone by, Laying her burthen down must bear a mother's pain. Alas, a keener pang before that day, Must by the wretched Monnema be borne! To roam the wilds as he was wont, one morn; She look'd in vain at eve for his return. She sought him; and she found his garment torn, O THOU who listening to the Poet's song O Youth or Maiden, whosoe'er thou art, For now her hour is come: a girl is born, From neighbouring trees which bent beneath their weight, A full supply of fruitage now mature, So in that time of need their sustenance was sure. Nor then alone, but alway did the Eye Days past, and weeks; and months and years went by, IX. The tears which o'er her infancy were shed Would sometimes make a tender smile arise, X. No looks but those of tenderness were found To turn upon that helpless infant dear; And as her sense unfolded, never sound Of wrath or discord brake upon her ear. Her soul its native purity sincere Possess'd, by no example here defiled; From envious passions free, exempt from fear, Unknowing of all ill, amid the wild Beloving and beloved she grew, a happy child. XI. Yea, where that solitary bower was placed, Evils that fret and stain being far from thence, Her heart in peace and joy retain'd its innocence. XII. At first the infant to Yeruti proved A cause of wonder and disturbing joy. A stronger tie than that of kindred moved His inmost being, as the happy boy Felt in his heart of hearts without alloy The sense of kind: a fellow creature she, In whom when now she ceased to be a toy For tender sport, his soul rejoiced to see Connatural powers expand, and growing sympathy. XIII. For her he cull'd the fairest flowers, and sought Throughout the woods the earliest fruits for her. The cayman's eggs, the honeycomb he brought To this beloved sister,-whatsoe'er, To his poor thought, of delicate or rare The wilds might yield, solicitous to find. They who affirm all natural acts declare Self-love to be the ruler of the mind, Judge from their own mean hearts, and foully wrong mankind. XIV. Three souls in whom no selfishness had place Of their celestial origin. The wild Upon these simple children of her own, XXVII. On tales of blood they could not bear to dwell, Of things unseen; what power had placed them here, 13 And whence the living spirit came, and where By the Great Spirit man was made, she said; And shook the heavens and fill'd the earth with dread. He had his dwelling-place eternally, And Father was his name. 14 This all knew well; But none had seen his face: and if his eye Regarded what upon the earth befell, Or if he cared for man, she knew not-who could tell? XXIX. But this, she said, was sure, that after death They work'd where'er they might their wicked will, The natural foes of men, whom we pursue and kill. XXX. Of better spirits, some there were who said That in the grave they had their place of rest. Lightly they laid the earth upon the dead, Lest in its narrow tenement the guest Should suffer underneath such load opprest. But that death surely set the spirit free, Sad proof to them poor Monnema addrest, Drawn from their father's fate; no grave had he Wherein his soul might dwell. This therefore could not be. XXXI. Likelier they taught who said that to the Land A region underneath the sole command Of the Good Power; by him for the upright Nor change, nor death; but there the human frame, Untouch'd by age or ill, continued still the same. XXXII. Winds would not pierce it there, nor heat and cold With genial warmth, and through the unclouded air O happy time, when ingress thus was given By their own act and choice! In evil day And none may now the Land of Spirits gain, Divorce the soul which there full gladly would remain. Such grievous loss had by their own misdeed And mock'd her, till they made her heart with rage o'erflow. XXXVI. But that old woman by such wanton wrong A strength accordant to her fierce intent: These she assumed, and, burrowing deep and wide Beneath the Tree, with vicious will, she went, To inflict upon mankind a lasting punishment. XXXVII. Downward she wrought her way, and all around Resumed her proper form, and breathed a wind XXXVIII But never scion sprouted from that Tree, Water and earth and heaven to him their stores supply. Some said it was a tale, and some a very truth. XXXIX. Nathless departed spirits at their will Though in their presence there was poor relief! Yet to behold his face again, and hear The love which to their memory still will cling: XLI. Why comes he not to me? Yeruti cries: And Mooma echoing with a sigh the thought, Ask'd why it was that to her longing eyes No dream the image of her father brought? Nor Monnema to solve that question sought In vain, content in ignorance to dwell; Perhaps it was because they knew him not; Perhaps but sooth she could not answer well; What the departed did, themselves alone could tell. XLII. What one tribe held another disbelieved, The dreadful race, from whom their fathers fled, No better, then, the world above, than this below! XLIII. What, then, alas! if this were true, was death? Only a mournful change from ill to ill! And some there were who said the living breath Would ne'er be taken from us by the will Of the Good Father, but continue still To feed with life the mortal frame he gave, Did not mischance or wicked witchcraft kill;Evils from which no care avail'd to save, And whereby all were sent to fill the greedy grave. XLIV. In vain to counterwork the baleful charm By spells of rival witchcraft was it sought, Less potent was that art to help than harm. No means of safety old experience brought: Nor better fortune did they find who thought From Death, as from some living foe, to fly: 17 For speed or subterfuge avail'd them nought, But wheresoe'er they fled they found him nigh: None ever could elude that unseen enemy. XLV. Bootless the boast, and vain the proud intent Of those who hoped, with arrogant display Of arms and force, to scare him from their tent, As if their threatful shouts and fierce array Of war could drive the Invisible away! Sometimes, regardless of the sufferer's groan, They dragg'd the dying out 18 and as a prey Exposed him, that content with him alone Death might depart, and thus his fate avert their own. XLVI. Depart he might,-but only to return In quest of other victims, soon or late; When they who held this fond belief, would learn, That in the course of man's uncertain state Oh folly then to fly or deprecate That which at last Time, ever on the wing, Certain as day and night, to weary age must bring! XLVII. While thus the Matron spake, the youthful twain Listen'd in deep attention, wistfully; Whether with more of wonder or of pain Uneath it were to tell. With steady eye Intent they heard; and when she paused, a sigh Their sorrowful foreboding seem'd to speak: Questions to which she could not give reply Yeruti ask'd; and for that Maiden meek,— Involuntary tears ran down her quiet cheek. XLVIII. A different sentiment within them stirr'd, When Mounema recall'd to mind one day, Imperfectly, what she had sometimes heard In childhood, long ago, the Elders say: Almost from memory had it past away,— How there appear'd amid the woodlands men Whom the Great Spirit sent there to convey His gracious will; but little heed she then Had given, and like a dream it now recurr'd again. XLIX. But these young questioners from time to time And seek the Red Men out, and in his name L. They served a Maid more beautiful than tongue Could tell, or heart conceive. Of human race, All heavenly as that Virgin was, she sprung; But for her beauty and celestial grace, Being one in whose pure elements no trace Had e'er inhered of sin or mortal stain, The highest Heaven was now her dwelling-place; There as a Queen divine she held her reign, And there in endless joy for ever would remain. |