Traditions of the North American Indians, Vol. 3 | Page 4

of their cress[E]; And they fought the distant Cherokee, The Chickasaw, and the Muscogulgee, And the Sioux of the West. They liv'd for nought but war, Though now and then would be caught a view Of a Roanoke in a White Canoe.
Among this tribe, this valiant tribe, Of brave and warlike Roanokes, Were two--a youth and maid, Who lov'd each other well, Long and fondly lov'd, Lov'd from the childish hour, When, through the bosky dell, Together they fondly rov'd, In quest of the little flower, That likes to bloom in the quiet shade Of the tall and stately oaks. The pale face calls it the violet-- 'Tis a beautiful child when its leaves are wet With the morning dew, and spread To the beam of the sun, and its little head Sinks low with the weight of the tear That gems its pale blue eye, Causing it to lie Like a maiden whose heart is broke.-- Does my brother hear?
He hears my words--'tis well-- The names of this fond youth and maid Tell who they were, For he was Annawan, the Brave, And she Pequida, the girl of the braid, The fairest of the fair. Her foot was the foot of the nimble doe, That flies from a cruel carcajou, Deeming speed the means to save; Her eyes were the eyes of the yellow owl, That builds his nest by the River of Fish; Her hair was black as the wings of the fowl[F] That drew this world from the great abyss. Small and plump was her hand; Small and slender her foot; And, when she opened her lips to sing, Ripe red lips, soft sweet lips, Lips like the flower that the honey-bee sips, The birds in the grove were mute, The bittern forgot his toot, And the owl forbore his hoot, And the king-bird set his wing, And the woodpecker ceas'd his tap On the hollow beech, And the son of the loon on the neighbouring strand Gave over his idle screech, And fell to sleep in his mother's lap.
And she was good as fair, This maid of the Roanokes; She was mild as a day in spring; Morning, noon, and night, Young Pequida smil'd on all, But most on one. She smil'd more sweet if he were there, And her laugh more joyous rung, And her step had a firmer spring, And her eye had a keener light, And her tongue dealt out blither jokes, And she had more songs to spare, And she better mock'd the blue jay's cry, When his dinner of maize was done; And better far, when he stood in view, Could she paddle the Lake in her White Canoe.
And who was he she lov'd? The bravest he of the Roanokes, A leader, before his years Were the years of a full-grown man; A warrior, when his strength Was less than a warrior's need; But, when his limbs were grown, And he stood erect and tall, Who could bend the sprout of the oak Of which his bow was made? Who could poise his choice of spears, To him but a little reed? None in all the land. And who had a soul so warm? Who was so kind a friend(2)? And who so free to lend To the weary stranger bed and bread, Food for his stomach, rest for his head, As Annawan, the Roanoke, The valiant son of the chief Red Oak?
They liv'd from infancy together; They seem'd two sides of a sparrow's feather; Together they roam'd o'er the rocky hill, And through the woody hollow, And by the river brink, And o'er the winter snows; And they sat for hours by the summer rill, To watch the stag as he came to drink, And to see the beaver wallow; And when the waters froze, They still had a sport to follow O'er the smooth ice, for, full in view, Lay the glassy Lake of the White Canoe.
The youth was the son of a chief, And the maiden a warrior's daughter; Both were approv'd for deeds of blood; Both were fearless, strong, and brave: One was a Roanoke, The other a captive Maqua boy, In battle sav'd from slaughter(3)-- A single ear from a blighted sheaf, Planted in Aragisken land[G]; And these two men were foes. When they to manhood came, And each had skill and strength to bend A bow with a warrior's aim, And to wield the club of massy oak That a warrior-man should wield, And to pride themselves on a blood-red hand, And to deem its cleanness shame, Each claim'd to lead the band, And angry words arose, But the warriors chose Red Oak, Because his sire was a Roanoke.
Then fill'd the Maqua's heart with ire, And out he spoke: "Have his deeds equall'd mine? Three