# The Atlantic Monthly/Volume 18/Number 108/Miantowona

Featured in Volume 18, Number 108 of The Atlantic Monthly. (October 1866)
MIANTOWONA.
Long ere the Pale Face Crossed the Great Water, Miantowona Passed, with her beauty, Into a legend Pure as a wild-flower Found in a broken Ledge by the sea-side.
Let us revere them,— These wildwood legends, Born of the camp-fire! Let them be handed Down to our children,— Richest of heirlooms! No land may claim them: They are ours only, Like our grand rivers, Like our vast prairies, Like our dead heroes!
In the pine-forest, Guarded by shadows, Lieth the haunted Pond of the Red Men. Ringed by the emerald Mountains, it lies there Like an untarnished Buckler of silver, Dropped in that valley By the Great Spirit! Weird are the figures Traced on its margins,— Vine-work and leaf-work, Knots of sword-grasses, Moonlight and starlight, Clouds scudding northward! Sometimes an eagle Flutters across it; Sometimes a single Star on its bosom Nestles till morning.
Far in the ages, Miantowona, Rose of the Hurons, Came to these waters. ​Where the dank greensward Slopes to the pebbles, Miantowona Sat in her anguish. Ice to her maidens, Ice to the chieftains, Fire to her lover! Here he had won her, Here they had parted, Here could her tears flow.
With unwet eyelash, Miantowona Nursed her old father, Oldest of Hurons, Soothed his complainings, Smiled when he chid her Vaguely for nothing,— He was so weak now, Like a shrunk cedar White with the hoar-frost Sometimes she gently Linked arms with maidens, Joined in their dances: Not with her people, Not in the wigwam, Wept for her lover.
Ah! who was like him? Fleet as an arrow, Strong as a bison, Lithe as a panther, Soft as the south-wind, Who was like Wawah? There is one other Stronger and fleeter, Bearing no wampum, Wearing no war-paint, Ruler of councils, Chief of the war-path,— Who can gainsay him, Who can defy him? His is the lightning, His is the whirlwind. Let us be humble, We are but ashes,— 'T is the Great Spirit!
Ever at nightfall Miantowona Strayed from the lodges, Passed through the shadows ​Into the forest: There by the pond-side Spread her black tresses Over her forehead. Sad is the loon's cry Heard in the twilight; Sad is the night-wind, Moaning and moaning; Sadder the stifled Sob of a widow!
Low on the pebbles Murmured the water: Often she fancied It was young Wawah Playing the reed-flute. Sometimes a dry branch Snapped in the forest: Then she rose, startled, Ruddy as sunrise, Warm for his coming! But when he came not, Back through the darkness, Half broken-hearted, Miantowona Went to her people.
When an old oak dies, First 't is the tree-tops, Then the low branches, Then the gaunt stem goes: So fell Tawanda, Oldest of Hurons, Chief of the chieftains.
Miantowona Wept not, but softly Closed the sad eyelids; With her own fingers Fastened the deer-skin Over his shoulders; Then laid beside him Ash-bow and arrows, Pipe-bowl and wampum, Dried corn and bear-meat,— All that was needful On the long journey. Thus old Tawanda Went to the hunting Grounds of the Red Man.
Then, as the dirges Rose from the village, ​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. ​No word was spoken: There stood the Hurons On the dank greensward, With their swart faces Bowed in the twilight. What did they see there? Only a Lily Rocked on the azure Breast of the water.
Then they turned sadly Each to the other, Tenderly murmuring, "Miantowona!" Soft as the dew falls Down through the midnight, Cleaving the starlight, Echo repeated, "Miantowona!"
This work was published before January 1, 1929, and is in the public domain worldwide because the author died at least 100 years ago.
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