Yet turned she not—and then he took His seat beside her, where the brook Ran rippling o’er its pebbly bed; And soft and earnest things he said With broken words and many a sign That only Love could e’er divine. He was a white man—hated race! But ah! what looks, what winning grace! And who such gentle words could say? Her simple heart was stol’n away! The hideous bridegroom comes at last— The feast is gorged—the night is past— At morn behold the father lie In writhing, wildered agony! He hastes the nuptials that his eyes May see her blest before he dies: Alas! her father’s couch of pain! But how with such a spouse remain? Poor girl! how sad the lot that laid Such choice upon a guileless maid! She trembles—flees—that gentle being— Her lover clasps her—trembling—fleeing. An April day was hers—so brief, With tears and sunshine, joy and grief. Upon the island’s lofty verge, That overhangs the chiding surge, Within a sylvan bower, arrayed Of cedars green and woven shade, In festive mirth with comrades boon, The lover sat, from radiant noon Till shadowy eve: and by him smiled Fair Wintemoyeh, now beguiled Of thought by melting music wild; Love keeping watch in her dark eye, How fast the speaking moments fly! Now sank the sun, but lingering gave Last looks of love each rising wave, That wooed his smile—when suddenly A rifle rang, and, bounding high In baffled rage, as, with a yell, By death-bolt at the lover sped, Another than his victim fell, The father, minister of dread, Whom wrath had rescued from the dead, Dashed through the revel—seized his child— Yelled in her frighted ear “defiled!” At one stride bore her to the ledge, Then, turning darkly on the edge, His clenched hand shook. The lover sprung To save his love. With whoop and whirl, Far from the cliff exulting flung, The savage bore the wretched girl; And as to every gazing eye They gleamed, like meteor hurled from high, Wild rose through mid air to the sky _His_ cry of triumph, _hers_ of terror: Down, down, careering, headlong borne, Dashed on the rocks, disjointed, torn, The chieftain found his vengeance sworn, The maid atoned her first, last error. The waves, the broken rocks that lave, Received them to a restless grave, Whose mangled forms, unclasping never, Move with the moving tide forever. ----- [3] “_Tarke_,” _the crane_, was the totem, or animal chosen as the head and symbol of a Chippewa tribe, formerly resident along the St. Mary. [4] “Sagaunash” is the Indian for “English.” * * * * * DE PONTIS. A TALE OF RICHELIEU. BY THE AUTHOR OF “HENRI QUATRE; OR THE DAYS OF THE LEAGUE.”