Poems (Emma M. Ballard Bell)/The Chieftain's Daughter
THE CHIEFTAIN'S DAUGHTER.
Far, far away, within a forest dim,There dwelt, in times long past, an Indian tribe.Within those forest depths, beside a streamWhose rushing waters wild, sweet music made,The wigwam of the Indian chieftain stood;And all the tribe who round him dwelt reveredThis chieftain brave,—they called him Thunder-Cloud. One only daughter had this chieftain brave,Unlike the other maidens of her tribe:They loved the war-dance and the hunting-song;But e'en from childhood days her soul had seemedTo hold communion sweet with higher things.No books had Sunny-Eye; but nature spreadIts glorious pages to her opening soul:Birds, flowers, rocks, streams, and distant mountains filledHer soul sometimes with rapture and delight,Sometimes with reverence deep. or quiet joy. But all the glories that the day revealedWithin her soul wrought no such mighty spellAs that which rested there when oft she stood,In night's calm hour, and with her parents gazed Upon the starry heavens that o'er them hung.Then would the chieftain speak, in tones subdued,Of one Great Spirit ruling ev'rywhere.But of that Being whom he little knew,So few and strange the solemn words he spoke,That in the soul of Sunny-Eye they wokeStrange wonder and bewild'ring awe alone.The mother led her oft, at sunset's hour,Where side by side three little graves were seen.Then to her child she spoke, in deep, sad tones,Of other days, when little children playedAround their wigwam, with their voices gay,Their laughter merry, as was Sunny-Eye's,And how Death-spirit took them all away,And how they dwelt in far-off blessed isles,Where happy souls shall live for evermore. "Shall I forever live?" the maiden cried;"And shall I reach at last those blessed isles?Then tell me more of that which still shall liveWhen we upon this earth are seen no more."Then sadly on her child the mother gazed,And said, "O Sunny-Eye, I know no more!" But in the soul of Sunny-Eye each dayThis longing after truth grew so intenseThat it absorbed almost her every thought. The parents watched with silent grief and fearThe strange unrest that seemed to haunt her soul; And after days and nights of thought and care,Thus to his child at last the chieftain said: "Beyond the broad, green plains that round us spread,Dark streams, and forests dim, the white man dwells,And I have heard that with the pale-faced raceIs much of knowledge and of wisdom found:If they can tell thee aught to bring thee peace,And thou canst brave the dangers of the way,Then soon we to the white man's land will go." So strange at first to Sunny-Eye it seemedTo leave, e'en for a time, her forest home,But most her mother, she could scarce reply.The voice within her soul that asked for light,O'er thoughts of grief and fear at length prevailed;She said then to her father, "I will go." Then soon throughout the tribe the news was spread,And long that night the converse that was heldBetween the chieftain and the aged men. At last one old man said, "O chieftain brave,These things thou well dost know: the way is long,The pale-face is the red man's enemy;But if thou canst in safety pass the plains,And once dost reach the land that lies beyond,Where dwells the pale-faced race in numbers vast,Thou needst not fear but that thy child and thou,With that same peace ye come, will be received.But one thing thou mayst fear: thou knowest well Three summers scarce' have flown since of our tribe,Some roaming in the hunting-chase yon plains,Despoiled the fruitful fields of some who dweltRemote from others of their pale-faced race;And thou dost know the dwellers of the plainsHave vowed dire vengeance if it e'er befallThat they should meet with any of our race,Or, should they learn our dwelling-place, to comeTogether, with a strong, united power,Despoil our homes, and drive us from the land.Oh, may Great Spirit punishment awardTo those who spoiled their fields; but for their crimesBe not the innocent to suff'ring brought.And now, before thy journey thou dost take,Bring hither Sunny-Eye; and, with your eyesTo yonder heavens raised, the promise give,Whatever may befall you, that ye ne'erTo white man will reveal our dwelling-place." The promise giv'n, all needful things prepared,They started on their long and dang'rous way. And, oh! what joy at last their souls did feel,When, after days of toil and weariness,They saw the white man's fields with plenty crowned,And num'rous spires of distant cities gleam!A kindly welcome unto them was giv'n.The white man's language they but little knew;That little they had learned from those who came To purchase furs from hunters of their tribe.The object of their coming soon made known,Deep interest awoke for Sunny-Eye;Instruction gladly unto her was giv'n;From holy lips she heard the word divine,And learned, herself, to read the sacred page.Within her soul she knew a Saviour's love,And life and soul and all to Him were giv'n. But when the calm, sweet days of autumn came,They sought again their own loved forest home;And 'mong the many books by kind friends giv'nWas one to them more precious than all else,—That one which lights the soul to God and heav'n.So safe their coming to the white man's home,But little feared they for a safe return. The chieftain's thoughts were of the joys of home,And of the pride and pleasure he should feelWhen to her mother back he should have broughtTheir Sunny-Eye, from troubled thoughts now freed.The thoughts of Sunny-Eye were too of home,And loving welcome waiting her return.But most she thought of teaching to her friendsThe sacred truths which she herself had learned. A few days passed, and they had reached the plains,And two more days might bring them to their home. Once, near the close of day, strange sounds they heard; They stopped and listened, and the chieftain's browGrew dark with fear, as to his child he said,—It is the pale-faced dwellers of the plain."E'en while the chieftain spoke, they nearer came.Flight could not be; one shout triumphant toldThat they were wholly in their cruel pow'r.In vain the cries and prayers of Sunny-Eye;In vain defensive words the chieftain spoke."For vengeance seek we! Now shalt thou be bound,And on the morrow thou shalt suffer death!And this thy daughter shall a captive be."These words aroused still more the maiden's soul."I am a chieftain's daughter!" then she cried,A proud light flashing in her earnest eye."I who have roamed, through many girlhood days,As free as winds that o'er my pathway playedWill willingly with my brave father die;But, oh, a captive I can never be!" The white men heard in silence; then they said,—"One only thing can save thee: wilt thou tellWhere dwells the tribe o'er which thy father ruled?Speak, then, and thou'lt be free, thy father free;If thou a mother, sister, brother hastRemaining with the people of thy tribe,They safe shall be. Say quickly, wilt thou tell?"Her dark eye flashed with an indignant light,Her proud look changed to one of noble scorn. "Think ye," she cried, "my tribe I will betray?There's naught could tempt me to so base a deed!Besides, a solemn promise I should break.The love of friends may stronger be than loveOf life itself, but in the noble soulDwells something stronger still than either these.It is the love of right, that biddeth itStand firm to truth, and leave all else to God!"She ceased, and for awhile her foes spoke not.Consulting long, at last one said to her: "Chieftain's daughter of lofty soul, Back to thy distant home again! Thou art free, though thy father die! "Then with him I will die!" cried Sunny-Eye.But, as she spoke, she met her father's gaze;A noble pride and sorrow mingled there.In tones of grief, yet firmness, then he said: "Far off, Sunny-Eye, in the forest dim, Thy mother will stand by the wigwam door, Will list for the sound of the chieftain's tread, The clear, merry laugh of her Sunny-Eye. The tread of the chieftain she'll hear no more! Wilt leave her alone in the forest dim, With none there to lighten her daily cares, Or weep with her more by the little graves? If not for thine own, for thy mother's sake, O Sunny-Eye, hasten, oh, hasten home!" Then once again she met her father's gaze;And in that gaze she read almost command,And, strengthening her soul, said, "I will go!"And in the final parting, though it seemedAs if the very soul itself were rent,An unseen Power to strengthen hovered near;And Sunny-Eye departed on her way.The night came on; but with the darkness roundShe felt the presence of protecting Power;And on the morrow, at the sunset time,She stood again within the wigwam door.And when all to her mother had been told,And when the first deep burst of grief was o'er,When calmness to her soul once more returned,The daily duties were resumed again.And now with Sunny-Eye commenced the work,The holy work to which her life was given,Of teaching truth to those who round her dwelt. One day, within their sad and lonely homeSat child and mother, filled with silent grief.The wigwam door was open, and the lightOf sunset's ling'ring beams streamed brightly in.'Twas darkened by a shadow all at once;And child and mother, looking up, beheldThe chieftain in his forest home once more;And grief gave place to sweet surprise and joy.And long the story by the chieftain told, How day to day the pale-faced foes delayedTheir threat's fulfillment,—why, he could not tell,—And finally, relenting, bade him go.
Long years have passed. Beside that forest streamThe wigwam of the chieftain stands no more.The noble souls who in that wigwam dweltNow roam the islands of immortal bliss,Where truth's own fountains flow, and where the lightOf God's own presence makes eternal day.