4566996Poems — The Legend of Lover's LeapMartha Lavinia Hoffman
Squaw Rock, or Lover's Leap, near Cloverdale, Cal.
THE LEGEND OF LOVER'S LEAP
Where the narrow grade winds up and downAnd the stage rattles past to the distant town,Where the torrent pours down the cañon wild,Where the rocks in shapeless walls are piled.Where the speckled trout o'er the ripples playAnd the grasses droop to the cascade's spray,Where the wild deer pauses at eve to drinkAnd leaves his tracks on the mossy brink,High over the stream towers a rock-hewn steepThat is known by the name of "Lover's Leap."
'Tis an Indian legend of storied fameThat gave to the stern old rock its name,A legend of love and jealous hate,Of a dusky maiden desolate,Her swarthy lover a truant goneWith a dark-browed rival, and following onWith a fierce, wild look in her midnight eyesOn, on, through the forest gloom she fliesOver fallen logs, o'er hill and dell,Thick with manzanita and chaparral,'Till at last she stops where the waters sweepRound the ragged turrets of Lover's Leap.
But why does she turn from the torrent's edgeWith one startled glance from ledge to ledgeEre she bounds away like a frightened fawnWith her raven hair on the breezes blown?She knows where the path leads up the heightAnd thither she takes her breathless flight;Higher and higher her light feet bound'Till the shadowy forest is left behind,With a heart of stone and an eye of firePossessed with one wild, one fierce desireThat they her reckless revenge may reapWhere they rest at the foot of Lover's Leap.
She has reached the end of her journey nowAnd stands alone on the mountain's brow.Far over the rocks she stoops to leanWhat, what has the Indian maiden seen?For she tears a stone from a broken riftAs large as her swarthy arms can lift,And stands transfixed on the very edgeGazing wildly down on the rocky gorgeWhere four hundred feet from the mountain's crestHer lover and rival have paused to rest;A crash, a cry, a heavy thud—And the spot is vacant where she stoodAnd the three lie there in a mangled heapOn the rocks at the foot of Lover's Leap.
Thus the tragic tale of the rock is toldAnd its romance envelopes the mountain oldAnd the travelers passing by each dayLook up at the turrets grim and grayAnd repeat the tradition whose early fameGave the stern old rock its romantic name,And the grasses fall o'er the rocks belowAnd gracefully sweep the river's flow,And the hill-slopes are speckled with grazing flocks,And the buzzard hovers above the rocks,And the rock-plants cling and the mosses creepO'er the storm-scarred ledges of Lover's Leap.
