Narrative and Legendary Poems, Complete

VIII. SONG OF INDIAN WOMEN.

     The Dark eye has left us,
     The Spring-bird has flown;
     On the pathway of spirits
     She wanders alone.
     The song of the wood-dove has died on our shore
     Mat wonck kunna-monee! We hear it no more!

     O dark water Spirit
     We cast on thy wave
     These furs which may never
     Hang over her grave;
     Bear down to the lost one the robes that she wore
     Mat wonck kunna-monee! We see her no more!

     Of the strange land she walks in
     No Powah has told:
     It may burn with the sunshine,
     Or freeze with the cold.
     Let us give to our lost one the robes that she wore:
     Mat wonck kunna-monee! We see her no more!

     The path she is treading
     Shall soon be our own;
     Each gliding in shadow
     Unseen and alone!
     In vain shall we call on the souls gone before:
     Mat wonck kunna-monee! They hear us no more!

     O mighty Sowanna!
     Thy gateways unfold,
     From thy wigwam of sunset
     Lift curtains of gold!

     Take home the poor Spirit whose journey is o'er
     Mat wonck kunna-monee! We see her no more!

     So sang the Children of the Leaves beside
     The broad, dark river's coldly flowing tide;
     Now low, now harsh, with sob-like pause and swell,
     On the high wind their voices rose and fell.
     Nature's wild music,—sounds of wind-swept trees,
     The scream of birds, the wailing of the breeze,
     The roar of waters, steady, deep, and strong,—
     Mingled and murmured in that farewell song.

     1844.