Chapter 9

From hill and ledge she scans the ground While dangers seem her faith to mock; But highest point by her is found, She stands upon the swaying rock, Which seems unsteady 'neath her feet, And makes her doubt if she can stand To make inspection so complete, She may discern PONOMO'S band. The trembling rock and trembling heart Are firmly fixed, no power can move; But from its crest she must depart In search of him her heart doth love. She stands beside the central lake Along whose shores the war-whoop rang, And softly for her own heart's sake, This song of harvest-moon she sang:

"The hunter's moon now floods the night Turns darkness into day, The wood and lake in mellow light, Charm grief and care away.

"The sparkling water's silvery gleam My sorrow soothes for me, And lifts my soul in fancy's dream To thoughts so pure and free.

"So bright the light that fills the night, The song-birds sweetly sing; From tree to tree they take their flight On swift yet noiseless wing.

"Now come, PONOMO, come to me, I wait your coming here; You promised 'neath this hemlock tree, At midnight to appear.

"My heart, my life, my all is yours, And you are all to me; Faith trusts your promise and assures Unchanged fidelity.

"I know your heart is warm and true, Your love not cold or dumb, No earthly power can it subdue; I know that you will come."

She hears a footstep drawing near; Her voice is mute, her song is done, She waits, PONOMO to appear, In shadowed silence all alone. Beneath lugubrious hemlock shade Her heart beats with expectancy, And Kitchewonk's own dusky maid Trusts Rippowam's fidelity. He comes! She sees him near the lake; She knows his form, his step, his voice; No other charm for her could make Her heart and soul so much rejoice.

They meet beside the water's edge Where hemlock boughs in silence nod, And there with mutual vow and pledge, In presence of their living God, They join the hand, the heart, the life, While harvest-moon a witness stood, That he the husband, she the wife, Should share in life's vicissitude. That sacred pledge was heard on high And written by an angel hand, Nor priest, nor king, nor majesty, Could marriage rites perform more grand.

No tribal laws or priestly hand Can rivet adverse hearts in one; Compulsion has no iron band So strong it may not be undone; But ties of mutual interest That spring spontaneous from the soul, Are never by themselves oppressed, Their silken cords have full control. To know, to feel, to fully share The joys and sorrows of this life, Unites the souls of mated pair, And make the husband and the wife.

PONOMO and ALMETA there, Where juts of rocks 'neath hemlock boughs, Had breathed a mutual, fervent prayer, And each to each pledged sacred vows, When o'er the lake the war-whoop rang, And Kitchewonks, on every side, Swept down with shout and yell and clang, Upon PONOMO and his bride. On north and south, and on the west, No way of flight then could they take, So from the rough rocks' rugged side They plunged into the central lake.

A hundred arrows cleft the air, But one alone had reached its mark. PONOMO felt it roughly tear Its way into his faithful heart. He shrieked and sank beneath the wave, ALMETA followed after him; Their bridal couch was watery grave, The war-whoop was their requiem.

The savage yell of victory Re-echoed then from shore to shore, While every rock and every tree Seemed deeply tinged with human gore, For when the moon from heavenly throne Looked down and saw the ghastly deed, It veiled itself and feebly shone, As if in agony to plead That human souls might ever know That God himself cannot approve The hand that strikes avenging blow, The soul devoid fraternal love.

'Neath crystal waters of the lake, In silent, undisturbed repose, Where sounds of strife no slumbers break, Heedless alike of friends and foes, They slept the long, long sleep of death, Through centuries of rolling years, While o'er their forms the zephyrs' breath In playful eddyings oft appears. Their race has faded from the shore And left few traces that they were; The war-whoop now resounds no more, They bowed before White Conqueror. Full many a fathom 'neath the wave, Their forms have mouldered side by side, While shadowy hemlocks fringe the grave Of dark PONOMO and his bride.

The waters then were deeper made Which gave their spirits much unrest, The lake their agony betrayed And seemed on every side distressed. One spring when Nature gaily dressed With charms that could the mind beguile, There rose upon the lake's fair breast A hibernating, floating isle. Devoid of life it seemed at first, Chaotic, dull, with beauty none, But rays of sunshine on it burst And changed it to a paragon.

Two alders sprang from near its edge And twined in close embrace, While ferns and grass gave certain pledge That Time should give it smiling face. But when the frosts of autumn fell It sank from sight, perchance to rest; No searching mind could ever tell The secret of its rising crest. For years, at each returning spring, The isle would rise from 'neath the wave, As if to memory to bring PONOMO and ALMETA'S grave. But when the harvest-moon shone bright, It meekly sank; as years before When on that dread, but fatal night, The faithful sank by rock-bound shore.

Its verdure grew, its alders spread, Its fame extended many a mile, 'Twas type of resurrected dead-- This hibernating, floating isle.

But vandal hands destroyed the prize And sank it 'neath a weight of stones, While ALMETA sends forth her sighs, And PONOMO emits his groans. Here let them rest, if rest they may, Amid the beauteous scenes around, And wait in peace the final day, When at the angel's trumpet sound, The water shall give up its prey, The earth shall full surrender make, For heaven has not a type to-day, More perfect than this sky-blue lake.

FINIS.

After our labor is finished, After the struggle is done, A restful surcease awaits us At the setting of life's sun. If when our toil seemed the sorest The heart refused to retreat From a grand and noble purpose, Till the vic'try was complete, Then shall joyous crown await us, Resplendent with jewels rare, And a radiance of honor The face shall benignly wear; Not that our works were all faultless And free from error and wrong, But because our sincere purpose Made us brave and true and strong.

Results of labor thus rendered, Are safely trusted to Heaven, For He who knows ev'ry motive, Understands _why_ we have striven. If to man were given the balance To adjust with equity, His weakness and imperfection, His greed and his jealousy, Might sway the poise from adjustment, And his judgment go astray, Through the frailties of his nature-- Imperfect humanity

The Infallible in knowledge, Whose true balance never swerves, Knows every man's Gethsemane, And the merit he deserves. He will not ask figs of the thorns; Of talents will not demand A greater increase than is just From a faithful steward's hand. Feeling the weight of the mission Incumbent upon our care; Searching the heart's deep recesses That vice may not shelter there; Working courageously onward The truth and right to defend; And asking a perfect guidance, We calmly welcome the end.

[Transcriber's Note: The following errors in the original have been corrected in this version:

WHO KNOWS?

While we shall linger hear, While we shall linger here,

OUR PROFESSION.

Is a receipe one may offer Is a recipe one may offer

FACT VERSUS FORM.

So are educational falacies So are educational fallacies

INDULGENCE.

In love, oft a maddened, frienzied heart In love, oft a maddened, frenzied heart

THE THRUSH.

That bring filicity. That bring felicity.

SUNSET.

No secrets incribed on its scroll. No secrets inscribed on its scroll.

RETROSPECTION.

That seemes like a photo-engraving, That seems like a photo-engraving,

THE HAIR.

Regard causmetic's fancy stock Regard cosmetic's fancy stock

POUNDRIDGE, N. Y.

That spurn M. D's. control. That spurn M. D.'s control.

]

End of Project Gutenberg's Our Profession and Other Poems, by Jared Barhite