Still on that beauteous phantom fled, And still behind the hunter sped. Nor turned she ’till where many a rock Lay rent as by an earthquake’s shock, And through the midst a stream its way Held on ’mid showers of falling spray, Marking by one long line of foam Its passage from its mountain home. But now, amid the light mist glancing Like elf or water-nymph, the maid With ravishment of form entrancing The spell-bound gazer, stood displayed. So looked that Grecian maiden’s face, So every grace and movement shone, When ’neath the sculptor’s wild embrace, Life, love, and rapture flushed from stone. She paused, as if her path to trace Through the thick mist that boiled on high, Then turning full her unseen face, There, there, the same, that lustrous eye, So fawn-like in its glance and hue As when he first had met its ray, Echucha’s self, revealed to view— She smiled, and shadowy sank away. Again ’twas dawn: that hunter’s gaze Was wand’ring o’er a wide expanse Of inland lake, half hid in haze That waved beneath the morning’s glance. The circling wood, so still and deep Its sombre hush, seemed yet asleep; Save when at intervals from tree A lone bird woke its minstrelsy, Or flitting off from spray to spray ’Mid glittering dew pursued its way. When lo! upon the list’ning ear The rustling of a distant tread, That pausing oft drew ever near A causeless apprehension spread. And from a nook, a snow-white Hind Came bounding—beauteous of its kind!— Seeking the silver pebbled strand Within the tide her feet to lave, E’re noonday’s sun should wave his wand Of fire across the burnished wave. Never hath mortal eye e’er seen Such fair proportion blent with grace; A creature with so sweet a mien Might only find its flitting place In that bright land far, far away Where Indian hunters, legends say, Pursue the all-enduring chase. The beautifully tapered head, The slender ear, the eye so bright, The curving neck, the agile tread, The strength, the eloquence, the flight Of limbs tenuitively small, Seemed imaged forth, a thing of light Springing at Nature’s magic call. The sparkling surge broke at her feet, Rippling upon the pebbly brink, As gracefully its waters sweet She curved her glossy neck to drink. Yet scarce she tasted, ere she gazed Wildly around like one amazed, With head erect, and eye of fear, And trembling, quick-extended ear.