Portage sentinel. [volume] (Ravenna, Ohio) 1845-1854, 1846-12-02
EMMA, oHIo WEDNESDAY, DECEMBER ..ls4s.

hair-his war knife was cleaning in the
moon. He gazed in the pale face, and hi:
arm fell as if paralyzed and unable to
strike the blow. She swooned away; and
when she walked it was not beneath the
moon, but in a lonely cave Of glittering
spar; she lay with her babe at her breasi
like painting deer far from the watering
brooks Over her wes, gazing nshersfa faos
a dark man, leaning on his bow.
CHAPTER III. -a
But where was her love? As he return.
ed homeward there rushed from hiding
place party of the Red Man. One seized
his rifle, while with his tomahawk another
struck him to the ground. After recovery,
ne found himself lying beneath a walnut
tree. lie looked up, and one Of the enemy
approached and addressed him, with COM
passion in his countenance.
'Listen to me, and answer. When thou
vast young, and could scarcely bend sap
ling of the first season, was thy dwelling
far away from this :? and was there little
bird dwelt in thy bower-and was she young
and beautiful as morn p ~ '...iS0
The pale face wept for he remembered
the dreams of youth and her who was the
Star Of his cabin-'Alas' said he, beside
the murmur of far off rill, spent my
dreams Of boyhood. IT'S three SUMS travel
from this place we called it the Valley of
Flowers And there was little maiden
who was my light of life, and now she is
the mate of my bosom. But alas fear
that when | am not near to help, your red
band have stoled her away, with the little
bird she cherished. o, tell me if you know
whether she is safe in her home.
The Indian wondered at the love and
truth Of the spirit wrung youth he pitied
him, and cut the shackles from his bleeding
feet.
my wifep exclaimed the husband in
agony.
THY bosom Bird returned the Indian,
sits on another bough and pines for thee.
She shall briefly mourn. Go; | will lead
thee to her couch of loneliness. Ye shall
singthe song Of happy lovers there. Icome
to give thee eagles wings and feet as ofthe
panther. But ere thou depart listen omy
tale. Now it is many moons ago-yon
sturday oak was then but little child
when |, the son of Annawan, was driven
to beggary. The storm-god shook the
grapes at my door there were no berries
to gather on the moors, and our hunting
ground yielded no prey. went to the
cabin Of the white-chief; but with face as
dark as Lake Huron in the day of storms,
he would have driven me rudely from his
door. He said, Thou art an Indian--we
have no mercies for thee or thine: go,
labor = How could we toll we had no
field /; my wife and babe, what could they
do but weep? But 10! beside bank Of
flowers there played little girl-a gentle
forest maid-a tender tree which would be
beautiful in few moons. She threw her
tendril arms around the white nuns neck
and wept and prayed to give us bread. A
little boy also joined in the petition. They
gave us to eat The son of Annawan was
fed his dove, his babe was fed. Thou
art that gentle boy, and thy forest dove is
that gentle girl, who blessed the children Of
the wilderness, when they were tossed like
red leaves to the waste. And dost thou
think that single crust of bread, cup Of
water, APPLYING tear from the pale face
shall ever be blotted out from the records of
gratitude are they not all written on the
green leaf of my. memory? A single drop
Of mercy from thee hath wiped away the
remembrance of a thousand wrongs. And
this hath saved thee in this hour of peril
Behold around thee the smoke of scattered
cabins-list to the shrieking families-they
cry for their young ones slaughtered in
their sleep. Dark and deadly is the
revenge of the Onondagas. 1t was that
burnt thy home-for this mourn. Ikhew
not whose it was, till made captive thy
distracted bride, and discovered it was she
who blessed me and mine and now she is
safe from all alarms, and waiteth for thee.
Shall it be said that lifted my arm against
the one that gave blessing? Ye wiped
those eyes that are the light of my cabin.
Ye fed my boy who now bends my bow,
and will delight in the war cry on the hills,
when his father is passed to the land of
souls. But tremble not, Oh pale face, for
he shall not harm any Of thine. Thou
mayest leave thy lodge without latch and
sleep sound as little babe. Thou mayest
plant thy corn, and when the leaves begin
to fall, gather it in. Fear not the war cry
nor the twanging Of bows. Thy arrows
may rust and thy bow strings rot in the
mildew ofsloth. Lo! the war vulture shall
depart, and the dove Of peace dwell with
thee. 4. The son Of Annawan, the feet of
foot, shall hurt thee when the birds cease to
sing and when the Great Star lorgets to
rise, the son Of Annawan shall forget thee
Tell the Fair Hair--the Star Of thy cabin,
that it was mourned hour when | set the
6rebrand to the unknown bower;, but the
beaver skin will soon be in its prime /; and
swhenths Flower month passes, the otter