Sweet Water.

Within the forest, by a crystal spring Where I, a weary hunter, paused to fling My form at length upon the velvet bank, And from the cool, delicious water drank A draught so comforting it well might seem The fabled fount of Ponce de Leon's dream, I met an aged half-breed, on whose cheek The marks of seasons wild and winters bleak Were softened by the warm light from the west— Sunset—the last day-beauty, and the best! Beside the spring he sat and gazed and dreamed In melancholy silence, till it seemed His very soul was pouring from his eyes And melting in that mirror, where the skies Were glassed in all their purity, and where No ripple reached the surface from the fair White bosom of the palpitating sand,— A constant flowing breast o'er Nature's grand, Tender, never weary heart! 'Twas life Of her life which I quaffed; 'twas sweet, and rife With flavor from foundations of her hills: 'Twas strong with her strength; throbbing with her thrills; Enriched with her untainted blood; a part Of that divinity which rules my heart! Thus when at last I drew my lips away, And in the quiet of the closing day Gave voice to my delight, the old man turned To meet my glance. His deep eyes lit and burned With growing brightness, and he softly said: "This spring is sacred for the holy dead; The spirit of Sweet Water lingers here; The powers of mystery and reverent fear And lovely death brood o'er this sleeping wave— A monument for one who had no grave." Forthwith he poured into my willing ear A tale so wondrous I must tell it here: One morning in the strawberry moon, Her heart with Nature's heart in tune A maid went forth to meet the sun. That wonderous alchemist of day With mystic pigments had begun To tint the dark with twilight gray; On mystic fans the breezy hills Bestirred the air with perfumed thrills, And mystic voices tried to tell What dewy benedictions fell Through all the silent hours of night. The bend of eastern sky grew light With mystic rays of silver-green, Soon vanished in a violet sheen; And this fair, mystic phantom flew Before a potent golden hue. The maiden idly wandered over Banks of moss and beds of clover, Pausing as she strolled along To hear the sweetest wildwood song, Or watch the butterfly whose flight From meadow bloom to forest flower Enticed her pleasure-searching sight With Nature's happiest power. She passed along a forest trail 'Neath trees that thrilled with morning life; Above the song-birds' concert strife She heard the blithesome call of quail, The scornful cry of blue-jay dressed In splendid robes, with lordly crest. 'Twas joy to see, 'twas joy to hear, 'Twas joy to wander without fear. O lightsome heart! O peaceful breast! Where yet no passion brought unrest! Gayly she tripped, unconscious all That any danger might befall. But suddenly the song-birds fled From all the branches overhead. Then on her startled hearing rang The sharp and vengeful bow-string's twang A whizz—a yell—a writhing mass Fell on the path she thought to pass— A tawny panther from whose side An arrow drained the living tide. With shrinking eyes she saw the beast Rolling in agony, until At last the sensate struggles ceased, And all that mighty frame was still. While she was wondering whose keen sight

So well had sped the arrow's flight, A tall young brave stepped from the wood And silently before her stood. He gazed enraptured on her face, Her womanly charms, her youthful grace; And when he spoke, it was to tell The flattering things that win so well. She saw that he was one who fought Against her father's tribe, but naught Availed that knowledge for defense Against his passionate eloquence, And ere they parted on that morn Within her breast young Love was born. They met again, and many times, As young hearts have in many climes. At last, upon a starry night, Unable longer to resist, She gave up all and took her flight And went with him where he might list. While they had lingered in their love, The stars had swiftly marched above— And thus it chanced that on their way They met the heralds of the day. Her lover led through forests dim, He brought her to the river bank; His light canoe, all tight and trim, He drew from grasses tall and rank. They pushed away; no time was lost, And soon the placid stream was crossed. Again they plunged among the trees. Although no doubt had power to seize Upon the maiden's heart, she feared And wondered that her brave appeared To lose his wonted care; she knew 'Twas strange to leave their tried canoe, But went, unquestioning, and thought His deeds would bring her fears to naught. To her astonishment, he led Her from the forest's sheltering spread Into a small and star-lit glade, And, turning to her, softly bade Her fear not, for a warlike band Encompassed them on every hand. They were her lover's friends in arms, The war paint on their faces filled Her faithful breast with wild alarms, For she herself would fain be killed A thousand times than that her flight Should lead her own to death that night. She clasped his arm with trembling hand, And lifted to his bold black eyes A look he could but ill withstand— Love's first reproach, doubt's first surmise. From cold, white lips her question broke: "Why do we thus these warriors meet So near the lodges of my folk? Why do you thus their presence greet?" Before his tongue could make reply, A burly warrior, standing by, Strode forward, and, with murderous look, His tomahawk before her shook, And fiercely said: "I am Two Bear; Great chief am I! 'Tis sweet to tear The craven hearts and drink the blood Of Two Bear's foes; a big red flood Shall flow from coward Sioux, this morn Their scalps Ojibway spears adorn. Why have you kept us waiting here? Behold, the sun will soon appear, The hour is late, the good time flies, And vengeance still unsated cries! Come," growled the brute, and clutched her wrist, And gave it rough and cruel twist; "Come, lead us now, with noiseless creep, To where thy Sioux dogs lie in sleep." Like thunderbolt from storm-filled air, The young brave sprang upon Two Bear; With mighty grasp he whirled him 'round And threw him fiercely to the ground. "Dog thou," he cried; "and darest thou pain This beauty with thy paws again I'll kill thee, ponderous as thou art!" Black with the fury in his heart, The bully rose, and toward the young And fearless champion wildly flung His tomahawk, which, lightly dodged, Swung through the hissing air and lodged Deep in the nearest cottonwood. Brief were the moments while they stood And glared into each other's eyes. Then forward leaped, with fearful cries, And joined in combat, hand to hand. With whirlwind sweep their knives outflashed, And lightning followed when they clashed. The maiden stood in dumb surprise, All heedless of the warrior band; Too anxious for her lover's fate To think upon his present state, Or care what stir she might create. Sternly the conflict raged. At length, Although he fought with giant strength, The youthful brave was overpowered. He fell; a crushing knee was pressed Upon his form, his foeman towered A moment o'er him, then his breast Received the cruel, plunging knife. The crimson flood gushed forth; a thrill Of anguish swept his features o'er; The light departed; mortal strife Would stir the living pulse no more Within that ghastly form so still! Her lover's awful death awoke The maiden from her flight-born trance. She flashed around one fearful glance— The peril of her people broke Upon her mind; she must be brave, For she alone could hope to save. She saw with horror and alarm Two Bear approach herself to claim As prize for his victorious arm; His wicked face was all aflame. 'Twas worse than death for her to stay, And she must warn those far away. No time was her's for useless grief. She turned, and like a storm-chased leaf, Fled swiftly toward the river bank. Alas! A dozen leaps were all. The murderous tomahawk was thrown And cleft her brain. With one low moan, Upon her green death-bed she sank. But simultaneous with her fall A wild Dahkotah war-whoop rang From out the forest, and a wall Of warriors rose on every hand. With common stroke their bow-strings' twang Sounded death to that fated band. The avengers closed upon their foe, And ere they ceased the conflict wild, Laid every feathered top-knot low; In heaps Ojibway braves were piled. When all the last red scalps were torn They turned to find the murdered maid. All in her tribe would rise and mourn When dead before them she was laid. But strange event! With wondering tone, Each asked of each where she had flown. In vain they searched. They found her not; But there, upon the very spot Where she had fallen, a fountain gushed Which never man had seen before. They gathered round with breathing hushed And gazed, and wondered more and more. While every grass-blade growing near Was red and matted thick with gore, The overflow was sweet and clear; The bosom of the bubbling spring Was spotless as a spirit's wing. With single voice they all proclaimed The magic spot a sacred place. The vanished girl was thenceforth named "Sweet Water," and to see her face Dahkotah hearts will journey here Till from the earth they disappear; And when they die, their souls shall know The secret of its crystal flow.