The Democratic Pioneer

POETRY
From for the Wayne County Democrat.
MANITOU & THE INDIAN CHIEFTAIN.
BY MARIETTA:
Wild, wailing winds are sweeping by
With dirge-like, mournful melody;
Dark clouds are hurrying through the sky;
And night is gleaming fitfully.
The stately forest bows in dread,
And scattered leaves sigh on the air;
The wild-wood birds have frightened fled,
Or chant low music of despair.

East rushing down a rocky steep
That parts in twain before their might;
A wildering world of waters sweep
Down, down, before the shuddering sight,
With a hoarse, roaring, fearful sound,
Their glistening waves, covered with foam,
Circle where jutting rocks abounded,
And wrathful seek their unseen home.
A vivid flash of lurid light
Reveals the terror of the storm;
When there, upon the rocky height
Stands, all unmoved, a human form.
Yes! towering there in lofty pride,
With folded arms and streaming hair,
An Indian stands, and o'er the tide
His wild deep tones ring on the air.
"Are they all, all forever gone?
All, driv'n from their abiding place?
Am I the last-the only one,
Of my once mighty, haughty race?
Aye, howl, ye winds! ye waters roar!
And forest trees creak sounds of wo!
Why should you smile?--I can no more;
For they are gone-yes it is so.
Words cannot tell the misery
The white man's heaped on us-our pride;
They've wronged us all--but none like me,
For oh, they stole my love, my bride.
Revenge! revenge! if but this arm
Could do me half this proud heart wills,
It should not cease its direful harm
Till every white man's blood it spills."
He ceased, and as the deep-breathed sound
Was heard in echoed tones no more,
A silence fell on all around--
E'en winds and waters ceased their roar,
Then far, far down the precipice
There glowed a beaming, halo light,
And a bright form in the abyss
Gleamed on the wandering Indian's sight,
And on his ear, comes wafting faint,
The soft tones of the vision's voice,
Manitou hears his warrior's plaint,
And comes to bid him to rejoice.
He bids him change his notes of wo,
To those of happy, joyful song,
For he will ten-fold vengeance throw
Upon the white man's head, e'er long.
Look down, and you will see the place
Manitou has prepared for thee,
And for all of thy mighty race,
That did from dire oppression flee.
So come and fear not, though the way
Darksome and lonely may appear;
Thy people mourn thy weary stay;
Then haste--thy bride awaits thee here."
The Indian looks-a lovely green,
With groves and streams, and flowers was there;
And warrior forms were dimly seen,
With maidens blooming bright and fair,
Whilst all apart from the glad throng,
His bride seemed waiting for her brave.
The Indian leaped, nor lingered long-
The whirlpool waters is his grave,
WOOSTER, 1845.