  BY MRS. MARY EASTMAN. A few miles from the Falls of St. Anthony are The Little Falls, or, as the Sioux call them, The Laughing Waters. Do you know where the waters laugh? Have you seen where they playfully fall? Hid from the sun by the forest trees green, (Though its rays do pierce the vines between,) Dancing with joy, till, night-like, a screen Comes down from the heavens at the whippoorwill's call. Come with me, then, we will tread On a carpet of long grass and flowers. The wild lady's slipper we'll pluck as it droops, We will watch the proud eagle, as from heaven she stoops, A seat we will take by the dark leafy nooks, Where a fairy might while away summer's bright hours. From on high, the gay waters come! At first, how they lazily creep O'er embedded rocks, while agates so bright Here and there greet the sun, by noonday's strong light, And again dimly glance when stars come at night, To watch where the Father of Waters' waves sleep. How mildly they laugh as they haste! Now they near the spot where they will spring, Lightly clearing the distance to the pebbles below, Where, tired with the effort, more calmly they flow, While the glistening spray, and the foam white as snow, Their light o'er the rocks and the dancing waves fling. At evening how often will come The wild deer to drink and to rest; Till frightened away by the nighthawk's loud scream, They flee to the shades where the wood spirits dream, And sink to repose by the moonlight's fair beam, Like the babe by its mother's soft smile lulled to rest. And here does the tall warrior stand, With the maiden he loves by his side! He tells her to list while the fairies do quaff Their cupful, and shout, and then wildly laugh, For they know that she leans on his love like a staff, Which will ever support her in life's changing tide. 'Twould be well, did ye weep, waters bright! Soon no more to thy banks will they come,— The maiden who loves, or the warrior so brave, The wild deer at eve, in thy waters to lave, The song-bird to dip its bright wing in thy wave, When the shadows that fall with the night are all gone. The Indian's reproach ye might hear, Did ye listen, fair waves, to the sound! Are you gay, when you know of the tears we have shed, When profaned are the graves of our fathers long dead, When haunted our lands, by the white man's proud tread, As he passes o'er rock and o'er prairie and mound? For ages we've loved thy fair stream! No more can we claim thee, no more Will the warrior sing his war-song in thy ears, Will the mother who comes for her child to shed tears, Will the maiden who prays to the spirit she fears, Gaze on thy bright waves, or rest by thy shore? |
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