Page:The Atlantic Monthly, Volume 18.djvu/457

1866.] Miantowona

Stole from the mourners,

Stole through the cornfields,

Passed like a phantom

Into the shadows

Through the pine-forest.

One who had watched her—

It was Nahoho,

Loving her vainly—

Saw, as she passed him,

That in her features

Made his stout heart quail.

He could but follow.

Quick were her footsteps,

Light as a snow-flake,

Leaving no traces

On the white clover.

Like a trained runner,

Winner of prizes,

Into the woodlands

Plunged the young chieftain.

Once he abruptly

Halted, and listened;

Then he sped forward

Faster and faster

Toward the bright water.

Breathless he reached it.

Why did he crouch then,

Stark as a statue?

What did he see there

Could so appall him?

Only a circle

Swiftly expanding,

Fading before him;

But, as he watched it,

Up from the centre,

Slowly, superbly

Rose a Pond-Lily.

One cry of wonder,

Shrill as the loon's call,

Rang through the forest,

Startling the silence,

Startling the mourners

Chanting the death-song.

Forth from the village,

Flocking together

Came all the Hurons,—

Striplings and warriors,

Maidens and old men,

Squaws with pappooses.