  In the shelter of the forest, By the cataract's lonely brink, (Shadow Falls, we call them nowadays) Where the red deer came to drink, Lived old Chaska and his daughter Nopa, in their tepee small. Handsome was this dusky maiden, Eyes like deer and form so tall. "Seche-do—bad man," said Chaska, As the moccasin he laid down, Ready for the wampum finish; Nopa's skill his work must crown. She had told him of an artist, Sunny-haired with hand of snow, Whose canoe was fastened daily, In the river just below. "Talk not to the treacherous white man," Chaska said, in tones of wrath, "Harken, daughter, to my warning; Never must he cross my path!" But poor Nopa little heeded Her old father's wise command; Watching close, each day and evening For the footsteps in the sand. SHADOW FALLS. SHADOW FALLS. Weeks have passed without his coming; Weeks like years, so full of pain To the Indian maiden thinking, "Will he never come again?" Surely now she hears his footsteps Where the misty waters pour. Falling headlong down the chasm: Nopa will return no more. Chaska hears her calling wildly; Seeks to grasp the fleeing form Follows till the rushing waters, Swollen with the autumn's storm, Cruel, cast his lifeless body 'Mong the rocks and caverns wild; Desolate, the lonely tepee Waits the hunter and his child. Now, in autumn, when the aster Nods its purple plumes in pride; When the black-eyed Susan coyly 'Neath the gorgeous sumach hides; And the golden-rod so stately, To outshine all others tries; In the mist of early evening Two dark forms are seen to rise. Chaska and his dusky daughter, Shades from out the spirit-land, Flitting, falling, downward, downward, Till they reach the shining sand. Where her faithless lover's bark Once was moored. The waves, all lonely, Lap the sands with shadows dark. IDA SEXTON SEARLS. |
|
