The Republican journal., 1882-07-13
Kineo.

THE LEGEND OF MOOSEHEAD LAKE.
THE following poem from the pen Of Mrs.
frances L. Mace, of Bangor, was published in
he July Lippincott: j
How beautiful the morning breaks
Upon the king of mountain-lakes.
The forests, far as eye can reach.
Stretch green and still from either beach,
And leagues away the waters CLEAN
Resplendent in the sunshine beam;
\ ct feathery vapors, circling slow,
Wreath the dark brow of Kineo.
The hermit mount. in sullen scorn
Repels the rosy touch of morn.
As some remorseful. lonely heart.
From human pleasure set apart.
Shrinks even from the tender touch
OF pity. lest ii yield too much.
So. speeches. still to friend or foe
Frowns the black cliff of kineo.
Yet rs the whispering ripples break
From the still surface of the lake
ON the repelent rocks, they seem
10 murmur low. as in a dream.
The mountains name, and day by day
The listening breeZes bear away
\ memory of the long ago
\ sad. wild tale of kineo.
How many moons can no man say
Ger heavens blue sea have sailed away
Since kineo and his fleet canoe
First vanished from his kindreds view
Hunter and warrior 1.-the and keen,
No brave on all the lakes was seen
Whose W gWam could such trophies show
A. the green roof Of kneo.
But. wrathful. jealous, quick TO strife,
He lived a pasSion-darkened life;
Even MaquaSo, his mother, fled
His baneful lodge in mortal dread.
Then. gathering round the midnight fire.
The old men spake with threatening dire:
"Out from our councils he must go.
The demOn-baunted kineo."
In sulen and remorseful mood,
He gave himself to solitude.
p the wild rocks by night he bore
OF all he priced a >tealthy store
Flint. arrows. knife. and birch Who knows
But some dark lock or dead wild rose.
The phantom of an untold Woe.
shared the lone haunt of kneo.
The mountain was his own; than he
None other dared its mystery.
None sought to meet the savage glare
of the wild hunter in his lair.
But W when far up the mountan-side
Each night urid flame they spied,
The Watchful red-men muttered low.
There hides our brother kineo."
Years passed. Among the storm-swept pines
From moon to moon he read the signs
OF blossom and decay. He knew
The eagle that familiar flew
About his path. The fearless bird
His melancholy accents heard,
But glen or shore no more might know
The swift. still step of hneo
Save once. His tribe in deadly fray
Had batted all the lowering day.
And many a brave Penobscot's blood
Was mnglng in the lakes pure flood
When like spectre. through the gloom
With cleaning knife and eagle plume
And glance that burned with lurid glow,
STROBE the bold form of kineo.
\ hush like death, and then Il cry
Fierce and eXultant pierced the sky.
They rallied round the fiery plume
And smote the foe with hopeless doom
But when the grateful warriors fain
ould seek his Well-knOWn face again.
Their gifts and homage to bCstoW,
Gone. like a mist. was kineO
They saw him not, but from that hour
They bowed before his wizard power:
His Watcf-tire grew to be shrine
Half terrible and half divine.
None ever knew when death drew nigh
When into dark mystery
OF cloud above or deep below
stole the sad ghost of kineo.
But, when his campfire burned no more
The solitary mountain bore
His name: and when at times the sky
Grew dark, a long. de>pairing sigh
Down the grey precipces rolled
And tempest terrible foretold.
The fishers feared the wind. the snow.
The lightning. less than kineo.
Now beautiful the morning skies
Look on this forest paradise
Fresh voice. loud and joyous wake
The echoes Of the grand old lake
But underneath that frownng height
he shadow and thq smell af NIGHT
Come back: the oars fall still and slow.
The waves sigh, Psore To Il neo.