Nashville daily patriot. [volume] (Nashville, Tenn.) 1855-1857, 1856-06-11

cit when looking upon the rising sun The ascent Of tn
so gradual that persons easily wax up to the top
the rock is smooth and slippery that those who max
attempt are compelled to moccasins, stockings
ead Of shoes This act together with the Of tn
&c, Holy Mountain, reminds the ysitant very forciby
command made to Moses at Mount Horeb: "Put OF now
shoes from thy feet for the place wherein thou standes
oly" The Camanches regard this hill with religious ven
ton and Indian pilgrims frequently assemble from the
test borders Of the tribe, TO perform their Paynm rite
IN its summit"
Twas an eve
To be remembered, like some pleasant dream
or memory. The gorgeous clouds were heaped
In the red shutdown; purple shadows slept
Along the river-shore, and Beauty over all
Lay ike an Omnipresencel
Autumn's step
Stayed on the hill-tops where, space he stood
As some strong husbandman; his swarthy brow
Bound with grape clusters, and deep-tnted leaves;
His sinewy arms o'erburdened with wealth
OF golden grain; and gazed with wond'ring awe
Down in the valley, where so royalty,
Like the magnificent Egyptian Queen,
Died the proud Summer In her regal robes
OF gold and crimson shrouded-crowned high
With the slant enthusiastically yelled
In silver mist, and eanopied with clouds
OF light, she lay upon her couch, and prest
The life-destroying reptile, Frost, upon
Her soft unshieded bosom.
Looming up
To northward, lay the lofty Holy Hill,
Far-dazzng, like the crystal citadels
That rose upon the everlasting walls
OF Paradise the river at its feet
Poured down its offering of molten gold,
Then onward stole away with muffled tread
To bless the little valley quietly,
Like the good christian who has paid his vows
And goes his way rejoicing On the air
The downy witches-feather aloft
To meet the bright leaves falling softly down
FROM out the pecan-bOughs; as infant prayers
Go up to meet the blessings showering
From guardian angels wings. Along the stream
The live oak hung his robes of FURNISHED green
And hoary tresses of the hanging moss;
The forest plants that nestled at his feet
Held up their seedy capsules, ripe and brown,
And in the long dry grass the cricket sang
His farewell to the Summer
Meath the oaks
There stood lonely wgwam; out before
Its entrance, OF a rudely fashioned couch
OF bison skins, with furs of beaver piled,
There lay an aged man, with wasted limbs
And deeply sunken eye. Thin slvery locks
Chung to his hollow temples, and his brow
Was haggard as with woe, and bleached with pain.
Nor was he there alone; beside him knelt
A pallid girl, with black, disheveled hair,
And eyes of lustrOus darkness. Earnestly
And long the old man gazed upon his child;
1t was a look Of feyerish inquiry,
With much Of pity and yet more Of love;
His paIsied fingers stroked her little hand,
And pointed to her brown uncovered feet,
Sore, bruised and blistered for a weary way
She wandered all that day in search of food,
And found it not. With what an agony
Did he remember her clear, ringing laugh
Her bounding step, and the untrammeled play
OF polished limbs, graceful and blithe,
As the young panther's in his gambngs
His voice grew husky, as he slowly said
"Me-ka-a's* heart is young, and yet her face
Is white and full of lines; its like the
Young dogwoOd-blossom, early in the Moon
OF Strawberries; and in the Star-hower's eye
There is pain, like that within the deer's,
When arrows find his heart Mayhap she pines
That Espetongat tarries?"
swift blush
Shot like a meteor to the maiden's brow,
And paled as suddenly. Her voice was low
And mOurnful as the wind-sugh in the pines
"When passed the tribe to northward, leaving us
Within the shadow Of the Holy Hill,
That the Great Spirit might look down on thee
And Danish thy disease the Tulip tree
Said to me: In the Moon Of BufIalOes
will return Tomorrow it begins,
And he will come for he is brave and none
But towards have two tongues when they would pledG
Their word to womanlr
Fright" the old man said,
"Then let the star-hower and the Tuip-tree
Enwrap Wahtonga+ in the bison hide,
And place his scadold high, that he may see
The way before him to the Land Of Souls.
Alas! Wahtonga, he is now no more;
His name is Henepizka;" for the oak
Is all burnt ont, the ruddy fire is gone,
And nothing left but ashes Thou, my child,
VIII go back to my nation, by the streams
or 0ulacoochee, where my summer lodge
Stands in the shadow Of catalpa trees,
And the wOod-robin, thy young mother, sang
So sweet to me- but the Great Spirit heard
And took my bird away to sing for him
Within the happy hunting grounds she fed
Up to his smile flies the dusky lark
To meet the morning. But the oak shall hear
And she will come again and shelter her,
And sing all day among the boughs.
My ehfdl
The eyes Of old Wahtonga grow more DIN;
He scarce can see the light in thy sweet eyes;
The Machinto hangs a shadow black
Between him and their sunlight. See the hill
Where dwells the merciful; quick, let us haste,
His eyes will look upon me, and their blaze
Win fright away the shadow; haste, my child"
He staggered up, and lettering bindly forth
Had reached the mountains base when TO the earth,
All prone, and helpless a fainting child,
He fell, His daughter, weary, fra and worn,
Gathered him to her bosom, newly nerved
By strong despair; and ike weary thought
o'erburdened with Its prayer, yet up to God
In last effort rising, sped the child
Up, up the dizzy height With gasping sobs
Game her slow, labored breath; her bleeding feet
Tracked every step with blood; the corded veins
Stood out upon her temples, beaded thick
With icy drops; and yet she struggled
Up, up the slippery sleeps.
Twas reached at last,
That far, clear-shining summit. As she laid
Her burden down, there rung piercing cry,
And redly gushed above his dying heart,
The life-slream Of her own. From ashen lips
And curving nostril ebbed the crimson food,
And she was dead before him!
with the morn,
The first morn Of the Moon Of BuffalOes,
Game bounding through the forests open gisdes,
The stately Espetonga. Quick he sought
Ills flower within the hut, among the trees,
And by the singing stream. He found her not.
Twas evening once again-he looked afar
Where lowered the summit Of the Holy Hill,
And saw a dark cloud settle in one spot,
So like the great black fear that had erept down
Upon his shining hopes. He looked again:
The sWooping vulturesi Like an arrow forth
He few, and gained the summit There they lay,
The ashes Of the Oak the FIRE gone QUIT
And the young ar-aower gone to be a star
That lights the Land % Souls.
FOEEsr H0NE, 1856.