Nanawawa's Lakelet

Where the dark ash upward towereth,
And the maple drops her brown shade,
And the rough oak spreads his broad arms,
And the wild vine weaves her festoons;
Where the noon breeze pants for sunlight,
And the sunbeams wandereth shyly,
And the night-winds wrestleth lightly,
With the lone leaf of the forest;
Where the moon-beams creepeth softly,
In a dim veil looking faintly;
In this ancient grand high forest,
In the right hand of Kaskaskia,
And the left hand of Cahokia,
And the regions of the Wabash;
Was the little rush bound lakelet,
Of the forest -- Nanawawa's.
Tall trees in the solemn old woods,
On the western slopes and hilltops,
Threw their shadows in the bottoms.
Parting ferns and water-lilies,
And the rushes, that with wet lips
Sipped the lakelet's clear, cool waters;
Nanawawa's birch canoe flashed
Light and noiseless as the shadow
Of a cloud upon a meadow.
In this fleet canoe sat White Loon,
But the oars held Nanawawa,
And the boat plied with her bare arms,
And to White Loon talked in whispers.


Now a moon rose o'er the forest
Of the great Northwestern Country,
And looked down into the lakelet
As a maid looks in her mirror.
All the air was in a slumber,
And the forests, in a deep nap,
Breathed not as soft light stole o'er them,
Wrapt in fleecy garb of thin mists,
Night had gently closed her eyelids,
Clasping all the world in silence;
Save the creek that in the lake leapt,
Coming from the wooded hillside,
Saying strange things to the clear moon.
As the boat flashed thro' the moonlight,
White Loon near to Nanawawa
Drew his face, and spoke in this wise:
"White Loon loves you, Nanawawa!"
When these words fell, both her oars fell,
And she upward at the moon gazed,
With both hands dropped in the water.
As the forest maiden's soul swam
In her eyes, White Loon leaned o'er her,
Drew her naked bosom to him,
Drew her to him close and listened;
With his breathings half suspended,
Listened to her words of music
Dropping like a wasted shower
Thro' the leafy depths of Autumn;
"Nanawawa loves you, White Loon,
"White Loon you must build a wigwam."
White Loon raised his eyes and answered:
"By yon cascade in the mountains,
High above the village looking,
I will build my great birch wigwam,
Ere the wintry hours approacheth."
And his heart with aspen lightness
Turned toward a happy future.
Forest-love brings forethought with it.
Nuptial care dwells in the wildwood;
In the Indian's poor wigwam
Love's bright sunshine casteth shadows.
Thus it was that White Loon, wooing
On the lakelet of the forests,
In the clear and placid moonlight,
Saw a happy future rising
And its pleasant tasks revealing.
Thus it was he built a wigwam,
Dressed it carefully with bear skins,
And the door adorned with stag's horns,
To abide the bridal entrance.
Then it was he went a hunting,
Went far off into the mountains,
Seeking food to meet the winter.
Saying, as he clambered onward,
With the eager warrior's hunted;
"I will soon return, I'm hoping,
Let our hunting time be short now."