PS 3535 
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 1900 
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 TWO LEGENDS- 
 
 »^««3«C:C««t 
 
 A SOUVENIR OP 
 
 odua 
 
 BY MRS. B. e. RUDE. 
 
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AUG 16 J900 
 
 TWO LEGENDS 
 
 A SOUVllNII^ or SODUS BAY 
 
 BY 
 
 MRS. D. C I^UDC 
 
 Copyright, 1900, by Mills Bros.' Publishing House 
 Sodus, New York 
 
 AA 
 
35396 
 
 Librfliry of Conpr**^ 
 
 Iwo CoptES Received 
 AUG 16 1900 
 
 Copyrrght tntty 
 
 SECOND COPY. 
 
 Dtf'VBred tf) 
 
 ORQtrt DIVISION, 
 
 SEP 21 1900 
 
 U^e'^sT? 
 
 /-/c;c> 
 
 80112 
 
TO 
 
 HON. LEWIS H. CLARK 
 
 Teacher; Historian and Patriot 
 
 In kindly remembrance of his efforts when, in years gone by, he 
 first guided the author's youthful steps in the paths of litera- 
 ture and learning, and as a testimonial to the public spirit 
 and devotion to duty with which, during half a century 
 he has continuously and unselfishly labored to raise 
 the moral and intellectual tone, and to fur- 
 ther the interests of this community, this 
 little effort is respectfully dedicated 
 
 MRS. B. C. RUDE 
 Sodus, New York, July 4th, 1900 
 
^ 
 
 Sc 
 
 &0 
 
THE SPRITE. 
 
 A LEGEND OF SODUS BAY. 
 
 °<r° 
 
 PRELUDE. 
 
 A Cannon shot from Cumorah, 
 
 Where Smith unearthed the Mormon Law, 
 
 If aimed with skill, would send a shot 
 
 Within the spirit-haunted spot 
 
 Where roamed at will Ganarftua's Ghosts — 
 
 A licensed guest with Fox as host. — 
 
 Of flesh divested, this strang'e guest 
 
 'Mong human hearts made nightly quest, 
 
 And reached fame's pinnacle of toil, 
 
 While planting 'neath our native soil 
 
 A creed of magnitude so great 
 
 That it hath tinctured church and state. 
 
 Now, who shall say this ghost was not 
 
 The martyred Smith, whose earthy lot 
 
 Too narrow grown, he now o'er-leaps 
 
 His charnel-house, and vigil keeps 
 
 ( )'er humbugs, creeds, Avliich far outvie 
 
 The visions taught by Moroni? 
 
 From Cumorah loud cannonades 
 Would echo through the hills and glades, 
 Where fair Ontario restless beats 
 My homestead shore, and oft repeats 
 The superstitions, century grown, 
 In morning tides, or evening moan. 
 Fair Sodus Bay now softly smiles, 
 
And, reachino- forth, with artless Aviles, 
 Like cradled babe on parent breast, 
 Heeds not Ontario's wild unrest. 
 But bounds, recedes, and babbbng-, tells 
 This legend to the beaux and belles. 
 Who, floating 'mong the rushes, dream 
 That life's a charmed bay or stream 
 Where water lillies lie in state. 
 Their love-lit breasts to decorate. 
 What wonder, then, my memory clings 
 To harmless legends" glimerings, 
 While casting out the harmful creeds 
 Of selfish men and selfish deeds? 
 
 THE LEGEND. 
 
 A. miser, Dobbs, in early life. 
 
 By mischance, won a high-born wife. 
 
 Before his youthful instinct, greed. 
 
 Had crystalized in sordid deed. 
 
 The "Harkness House,"' with coffered wealth, 
 
 Grrown, like its owner, tinged by stealth. 
 
 And void of solace, love, or hope, 
 
 Shamefaced, adown a terraced slope 
 
 (xlanced sadly at the Avaves below. 
 
 Kissed by our fair Ontario. 
 
 'Twas generous of Death to bring 
 
 A sister's child, for fostering, 
 
 For, gold was- God with Dobbs, and she, 
 
 Reared in the lap of luxury. 
 
 Where lavish hands dispensed "good cheer' 
 
 To friend and neighbor, far or near. 
 
 Felt dwarfed and smothered, as if e'en 
 
 The air had economic grown, and mean. 
 
 Her husband's barren soul had naught 
 
 Of human love, or treasured thought: 
 
 And so. she turned, unreconciled, 
 
 Half recompensed, unto the child. 
 
 Like chicks unhovered, centering 'round 
 
 A common want, these two now found 
 
 That sympathy by fate denied, 
 
AVliich kinship's touch now sanctified. 
 But when disease the wife o'ertook, 
 8he, Dobbs's meanness ill could brook: 
 His tightening grasp, now chafed and wore 
 Upon her heart strings, torn and sore, 
 Till even death was glad surcease — 
 A guerdon clasp, which brought release 
 Unfettered, freed, her soul at last 
 From out beneath Dobbs' shadow passed. 
 A friendly grave its sods now pressed 
 Above her weary, aching breast: 
 While Katharine Kline unloved, alone, 
 Beside that grave made patient moan, 
 (lanargua's Ghost, 'twas said, was roaming 
 Among the shadows of the gloaming, 
 And Foxes practicing seance. 
 With Horace Greely on finance. 
 Till Dobbs's wife was heard to moan. 
 And mediums when Dobbs, alone, 
 Sat at his frugal meal at night. 
 Oft called her in to cheer (?) his sight. 
 Strange "rappings," too, 'twas said he heard, 
 But clutched his gold, nor spoke nor stirred. 
 But ere the morrow's sun went down. 
 Upon a hill-side bare and brown. 
 Within a mean and lowly cot, 
 Poor Katharine Kline bemoaned her lot. 
 While Dobbs, a grinning specter, he 
 Told o'er his coins with hideous glee. 
 Now it was said the "rappings" still 
 Resounded through the house at ^vi]l. 
 It stood deserted, and the ghosts 
 Themselves invited as its hosts; 
 But many times I've climbed the stair, 
 And listened to the "rappings" there, 
 And waited till my favorite mouse- 
 Companion ghost within the house— 
 (Jame shyly forth for its repast 
 Of bread and cheese before it cast. 
 
Friend mouse retreating. I haA-e stayed, 
 
 And, gazing- out the window, played 
 
 That I was queen of all I saw, 
 
 That I unto myself was law. 
 
 A realm was mine, and everj^ sail 
 
 Which gayly tipped before the gale, 
 
 Was subject to my childish will, 
 
 So lavishly did Nature fill 
 
 My soul athirst. Her varying moods 
 
 Of lake and headland, shore and w<Jods, 
 
 All catered to my youthful whim 
 
 Till hfe o'erflowed its joyous brim. 
 
 'Twas here with Esther, Tom, and Han 
 
 And Lottie too. I watched for Nan. 
 
 'Twas here we stood so still and sly 
 
 Ofttimes when she in passing by, 
 
 With superstitous dread and fear. 
 
 Now paused, now hurried, as her ear 
 
 ( 'aught our low giggle floating down 
 
 From those tall windows bare and brown. 
 
 E'en Katharine Kline ne'er deigned a gin nee 
 
 At that lone house, except askance. 
 
 One pathway to the grave-yard led 
 
 Along the shore, and, comforted 
 
 By sweet communion with the waves, 
 
 She respite found among the graves. 
 
 Which, with their marble slabs so white, 
 
 A signal stood throughout the night. 
 
 And, standing still in family rows. 
 
 Brought e'er a feeling of repose 
 
 To sleepless sailors as they passed, 
 
 And homesick eyes to shoreward cast. 
 
 What wonder that this heart so reft. 
 
 In nature sought the gaping cleft 
 
 To fill with thoughts of beauteous grnce. 
 
 And (iod-love full and plenteous. 
 
 Companionship by Dobbs denied. 
 
 Her charms she wisely sought to hide. 
 
 And, bonneted, would shyly pass 
 
^J 
 
 s- 
 
Full many an eager lad and lass. 
 
 AVhen all her soul was brimming' full 
 
 Of unspent love, as beautiful 
 
 And pure as sparkling drops that lie 
 
 And tremble 'neath the morning- sky. 
 
 And so this humble rustic oirl. 
 
 Now o-uardianed by this miser chui-l, 
 
 Her hermit life with grace endured, 
 
 Like caged bird unto bars inured. 
 
 Within her narrow cell at night. 
 
 A light-house cast its fitful light, 
 
 And flitting o'er the barrenness, 
 
 Beguiled her oft to rest and j^eace. 
 
 For years from off a lurcliing ])i('r 
 
 This tower had smiled with sickly fear. 
 
 Committees had of late been chosen, 
 
 (Just as an opiate to doze on) 
 
 The ears of citizens to court, 
 
 l^roffessedly to make rei)ort 
 
 Upon the safety of this i)iece 
 
 Of vv^ave worn sham and rottenness. 
 
 Old keeper May, grown tottering too. 
 
 Now recognized his service through. 
 
 And to his son. reluctantly, 
 
 Kesigned with tears the massive k(w, 
 
 AVhich half a century had made 
 
 For him and his a stock in trade. 
 
 "My Boy you know nor fear nor wrong; 
 
 My limbs are failing, yours are strong. 
 
 Long time I've toiled. I now resign 
 
 Tc you this trust, Oh boy of mine;'" 
 
 The keeper ceased, and smiled, relieved, 
 
 As Morris this new charge received. 
 
 'Twas but a sun-rift in a cloud: 
 
 Before an hour he cried aloud: 
 
 ''Oh Morris, Son, a gale is near. 
 
 Unto the lighthouse! Heed no fear! 
 
 No matter, Boy, how wild the night,— 
 
 Keep thou the lamps well trimmed, and bright. 
 
Thy father's eye will vig'il keep, 
 
 Nor dare a moment's loss in sleep." 
 
 He flew in haste. A father's pride 
 
 In Morris May was satisfied. 
 
 While Hannah May, his mother, gaztnl, 
 
 Half angered, stnpefied, amazed. 
 
 And Katharine Kline (thongh no one knew it) 
 
 Was at her window, looking throngh it. 
 
 She held a secret half nngnessed. 
 
 Yet lingged it dose, with wild nnrest. 
 
 The snn went ont in storm and elond. 
 
 The night grew black. The winds grew lond. 
 
 And Katharine sat, her brown hair falling 
 
 Abont her shonlders plump and bare, 
 
 When suddenly, her nncle, calling, 
 
 Cried "Kath-a-r-e-e-n be ye there?" 
 
 (Now heavier the angry roar. ) 
 
 With i)aHid face, within her door, 
 
 And bony finger lifted high, 
 
 And wildly gazing sunken eye, 
 
 Dobbs cried: "Old keei)er May! The pier! 
 
 The pier I say, Girl, do you hear?" 
 
 Then dazed, and with uncertain tread, 
 
 The withered miser sought his bed. 
 
 She heard no more. The slii)i)ered foi-ni, 
 
 Was battling with the blinding storm. 
 
 With flowing robe, uncovered head, 
 
 Yet nothing daunted, on she sped 
 
 Till on the trembling pier she stands. 
 
 And helpless lifts to heaven her hands. 
 
 A strange procession, wave on wave. 
 
 Like bearers to a watery grave. 
 
 "Oh God, my Father, be my guide. 
 
 And bear me through the threatening tide." 
 
 She enters, and with bated breath. 
 
 The wild waves pause their s\\'eep (jf death. 
 
 Heroic ardor fills her soul. 
 
 About her head the \\ ild waves roll. 
 
 But spend themselves in harmless feint. 
 
While flashing Hghts soft halos paint. 
 
 The tower is reached. And just before, 
 
 Behokl! The stout l)arred oaken door. 
 
 Behold again! This reckless maid 
 
 Stands fixed, irresolute, dismayed. 
 
 By chance upon the sheltered side. 
 
 For with one fearful, fateful stride. 
 
 The maddened waves defiant leap, 
 
 While Katharine, in the door way deep, 
 
 Now crouches with a maiden fear. 
 
 A vessel seeks to round the i)ier. 
 
 A shout breaks on the lonesome hour. 
 
 A prayer resounds throughout the tower. 
 
 Grown bold the maiden joins, and now 
 
 With harbor made, and home, bent prow, 
 
 A battered boat unconscious leaves 
 
 A helpless girl beneath the eaves. 
 
 Brave Morris May, his father's word 
 
 Resounding still, the prayer had heard. 
 
 But at his post he trembling stayed. 
 
 Now lo! The tower is lifted, swayed. 
 
 Beluctantly he turned the Avheel, 
 
 Then felt his waning courage reel. 
 
 "(rod save him, " half unconsciously 
 
 The maiden praj^ed, then swooned away. 
 
 With one great bound he cleared the stair. 
 
 Unclasped the door, and, crouching there, 
 
 He saw a shrinking maiden form. 
 
 Who, part restored, now braved the storm 
 
 The angry waves, quick falling back, 
 
 Bevealed, beneath, a watery track, 
 
 As when a murderous hand uplifted, 
 
 Is checked by sense of presence gifted. 
 
 This pathway following, he bore 
 
 His precious burden to the shore. 
 
 Scarce reached it, when a sullen groan, 
 
 A creak, a plunge, a dying moan, 
 
 A rush of waters, and a waste, 
 
 Made each toward each, gaze all aghast. 
 
As if some giant, death defied, 
 Suceumed at last, dissatisfied, 
 The lighthouse sank with glaring- eyes. 
 While gurgling waters gulphed their prize, 
 "The Spirite" now hid her dainty face, 
 And with a supple, easy grace, 
 Quick pointing toward a sandj' height, 
 She breathed a sweetly-soft "good night,'' 
 And she was not. This checked the joy 
 Of the bewildered, grateful boy. 
 But now, new thoughts his senses bind. 
 His mother's voice floats on the wind. 
 She clasps him, crying "where's the sperrit? 
 And has it flown, and you so near it? 
 But sperrits soar where mortals mayn't" 
 "Well, be she spirit, flesh or saint. 
 Go home and leave me to my work. 
 For thy son, mother, must not shirk." 
 She strained her eyes far o'er the lalce. 
 'Then go," she said, "for mercy's sake.' 
 
 — -4" — 
 A gathering crowd of fishermen 
 Received, right glad, our hercj, when, 
 (iuick rallying from the frigh tful shock. 
 With purpose strong, he neared tlie dock. 
 "Who'll plant a, light off Charles's point? 
 lie cried, believe me, 'tis no taunt. 
 C'Ome sailors, quick for farther shore, 
 Or haunting ghosts, above the roar, 
 Shall mock us for our craven fears. 
 On sleepless nights throughout the years." 
 Some paled, but one brave boatman cried: 
 "For forty years, I've stemmed the tide. 
 No stripling shall his children tell, 
 Howe'er the night, that Johnny Bell 
 Fell bfick amid a gaping crowd, 
 Or crouched in fear, when breakers loud 
 Portrayed the anger of the main, 
 While human beings cried in vain. 
 
Yes Morris, lad, I'll tack about. 
 
 Now come who will, be man or lout." 
 
 First, Morris May, then, ten tall braves 
 
 Leaped in the boat, and rocked the wuA^es, 
 
 While lingering louts foretold their doom. 
 
 As slow, shamed-faced, they sauntered lu^me 
 
 To see, till morn, from Charles's lieioht. 
 
 Against the blackness, glow a light. 
 
 Salvation's star to ships returning. 
 
 They passed beside its friendly burning, 
 
 By our young hero deftly i)lanned. 
 
 All, half unrigged, but none unmanned. 
 — ^ — 
 
 Tlie storm king now, his fury spent, 
 
 Behind his cloud-pavilion went. 
 
 And, riding swift athwart the sky, 
 
 Was lost in hazy imagery. 
 
 But ere the noon, good Hannah's story 
 
 Had won for Morris fame and glory. 
 
 While Superstitions's fairy hands 
 
 Had woven in her fancy strands. 
 
 Till busy neighbors skilled in weaving, 
 
 A pattern showed of broidered tbouglit, 
 
 tSo deftly traced, so finely wrought, 
 
 »So charming to this gentle folk. 
 
 Who would the sentence dare revt)ke, 
 
 That 'twas a miracle of grace. 
 
 And that no mortal eye could trace 
 
 The pathway of the angel guide. 
 
 Who bore the youth along the tide. 
 
 Nor hand could trace the lialos rare, 
 
 About this being of the air? 
 
 These glory rays, when centered, bound. 
 
 With golden clasp, the legend 'round. 
 
 But Morris whispered ''One hath prayed 
 
 Whom e'en the Avinds and waves obeyed. 
 
 I know a maiden's heart hath beat 
 
 Beneath my clasp. 0, joy comjjlete. 
 
 I know a glimpse of Paradise 
 
Hath reached me through a maiden's eyes. 
 
 Those gentle words, 'good night,' shall be 
 
 My talisman of victory." 
 
 He kept his secret in his breast, 
 
 And went that night to make his quest 
 
 Beneath the stars, among the sands, 
 
 (Concealing well, with careful hands, 
 
 All traces of his unknown guide 
 
 Who sought identity to hide) 
 
 When, lo! a slipper, neat and small. 
 
 Of red morocco, paid his toil. 
 
 He clasped it, crying: "Heavenly guest! 
 
 0, Slippered Angel of my heart. 
 
 Dear slipper, we will never part.'' 
 
 "Till thou art mated," cried a voice. — 
 
 (Lo, Bell would with the lad rejoice.)— 
 
 "Ho, ho, he, he, a slipper, slipix'r," 
 
 Cried the new elated skipper. 
 
 "Then angels when they fly too low. 
 
 Mishaps, sometimes, do undergo. 
 
 And, touch betimes, the sands of life, 
 
 And lose their 'soles' in worldly strife " 
 
 "otand back!" cried Morris, "How dare you- 
 
 "My ghostly wanderings persue," 
 
 Cried Bell. "Behold, Sir!" Morris cried, 
 
 "I seek these traces all to hide." 
 
 "And I" cried Bell, "have sought the same. 
 
 Together let us play the game." 
 
 The lad aroused, half frowning, turned. 
 
 The skipper felt his proffers spurned, 
 
 And, trembling from limb to limb, 
 
 He gazed, through tearful eyes, and dim, 
 
 As if by inspiration, posed 
 
 The faithful skipper, or had closed 
 
 Mayhap, the sequel to this tale. 
 
 In earnest attitude, and pale 
 
 He thus began: "Adown the years 
 
 A haunting vision reappears. 
 
 Which scarred and seamed me o'er and o'er, 
 
And, whether on the sea or shore, 
 
 Made me the victim of excess — 
 
 Old skipper Bell, nor more, nor less.— ' 
 
 I loved, 1 doubted, and I lost. 
 
 Again, I'd win at any cost. 
 
 Unasked, some maiden heart has broitght 
 
 Its wealth of treasure, and unsoug'ht. 
 
 Before thy youthful, manly shrine, 
 
 Has poured from out love's hidden mine 
 
 Its store, then, shyly, in retreat, 
 
 A penance seeks in homag-e sweet. 
 
 It may be skipper Bell has found, 
 
 At last, disabled, and aground, 
 
 A light employment, where his skill 
 
 May show its self. But fear no ill. 
 
 His interest shall ne'er be sated, 
 
 Until the slipper shall be mated." 
 
 And, with an honest joy, he pressed 
 
 The proffered hand, and each confessed 
 
 A lasting friendship, odd to see, 
 
 Twixt Morris May and such as he. 
 
 But so it has been since the flood — 
 
 A common cause makes common blood. 
 
 They homeward turned, and now they meet 
 A fisher boy with bare, brown feet. 
 "Old Dobbs is dead," he cried in glee. 
 And hastened on. "They say that she — 
 The girl — is sweet, I scarcely know her, 
 Though oft we've met upon the shore. 
 But maids are all alike to me, 
 Except my 'angel,' fair you see, 
 With flowing robe, and flowing hair, 
 A being of the upper air." 
 And lightly Morris said "good night," 
 And, filled with heavenly visions bright. 
 Turned toward his couch and sweetly slept. 
 The skipper at his lightness wept. 
 
The morning dawned, and Morris lay 
 
 Enwrapped in silent revery. 
 
 ♦Well ! Dobbs is dead," fell on his ear, 
 
 His mothei-'s accents ringing clear,— 
 
 "Young Katharine found him stark, and dead, 
 
 And will not now be comforted.— 
 
 She raised, 'tis said, a piercing cry, 
 
 Which caught the ears of passers by," 
 
 ''Oh, well,'" cried gentle keeper May, 
 
 "Why wonder, Avoman, in this day?" 
 
 (With dignity assumed, in manner. 
 
 He was not glib of tongue, like Hannah.) 
 
 "And when you see a thing that's strange, 
 
 Just call it -Miracle,* for change." 
 
 "What heresy," cried Hannah, "roused, 
 
 And lustily her cause espoused. 
 
 "Love, Hannah, love, and nothing less, 
 
 Has prompted all this recklessness. 
 
 And were I young as is my boy, 
 
 I'd quick these foolish whims destroy." 
 
 Whereat good Hannah knit her brow. 
 
 Dame Nancy Moffet entered now. 
 
 "Grood Keeper May, I see a light, 
 
 And hoverin' angels, robed in white, 
 
 An' shinin' forms went in and out 
 
 From Dobbs's winder, and about, 
 
 And in the morn old Dobbs was dead; 
 
 "What meaneth this?" good Hannah said, 
 
 While keeper May now bowed his head, 
 
 Till Morris, entering with respect. 
 
 And standing near them, stood erect; 
 
 Then, gazing proudly, eager sought 
 
 Within those eyes his answered thought. 
 
 It came in twinklings — Keeper May 
 
 Chagrin forgot, gave Hannah sway, 
 
 In thought and purpose reconciled. 
 
 The son and father quiet smiled. 
 
 A place where superstitions grow right well. 
 
Was just the place for miser Dobbs to dwell. 
 
 In life, his hand was ever 'gainst each man; 
 
 In deatli, all shared a common burial plan. 
 
 A long- procession dio-nified his dnst; 
 
 A simple folk fnlfilled a grateful trust. 
 
 In haste, this grateful throng, with gaping Avon- 
 
 der, 
 Now tore old Dobbs's drearv den asunder. 
 
 When death nnclasps the miser's tightening liold 
 
 Upon his moth-corrupted treasure, gold, 
 
 How curious neighbors prowl like wolves, in 
 
 packs, 
 Through dusty garrets, mouldy cellars, cracks 
 And crevices, to find a nickel, rare. 
 Or eagle, buried 'neath some rotting stair. 
 And when 'tis found, they gloat with eager eyes— 
 These stealthy misers, clad in neighbors' guise— 
 
 Among the treasures hid away, 
 
 A red morocco slipper lay. 
 
 A neighbor pinched the dainty toe. 
 
 " 'Tis filled with sand," with careless throw, 
 
 He said, while skipper Bell, alert, 
 
 Filled, lazily, the thing with dirt. 
 
 But, when unseen, he fondly pressed 
 
 The prize beneath his sailor vest. 
 
 Fair Katharine Kline, an heiress now, 
 
 And being free to smile and bow. 
 
 Her charms by broidered dress enhanced, 
 
 Vied with the sun. which shyly glanced 
 
 Through gauze and fringe of cloud and mistj 
 
 And, morn and eve, her soft cheek kissed. 
 
 As if to shield her beauteous grace. 
 
 She fitted up the ''Harkness Place." 
 
 And, soon, 'neath paint and fond repair, 
 
 And Katharine's unremitting care. 
 
 This haunted house among the trees. 
 
 Which told its tale in sighing breeze, 
 
Revived, unto its poiches drew 
 
 The village maidens. Not a few 
 
 More favored lads, or j^oung men, rather, • 
 
 AYere wont, on summer eves to gather, 
 
 As escort more for timid maid, 
 
 Than suitor for the one who stayed. 
 
 Our village tutor, half inspired. 
 
 Our ardent love of learning fired. 
 
 Till youthful ''Literati'' sought 
 
 To plume and ventilate their thought, 
 
 And many hours with Katharine spent 
 
 In study, earnest and intent. 
 
 Grrim Death grew strangely tender, kind, 
 
 AVhen, leaving kith and kin behind. 
 
 Old Dobbs was followed by old Moffet — 
 
 The neighbors said ''en route for 'Topliet.' '' 
 
 But Nancy said ''Jeduthun died 
 
 With my old bible at his side. 
 
 An' loudly he for mercy cried. 
 
 The gentle simmerin" of the kettle, 
 
 An' Towser's moanin' just a little, 
 
 Was all the sounds there was a stirrin" 
 
 Save, maybe, all the cats a purrin," " 
 
 (And Nancy had of cats a score, 
 
 Nineteen I know, I think one more) 
 
 *'When suddenly, he said to me 
 
 'Ole Nan, Ole wife, eternitee 
 
 Is starin' me full in the face.' 
 
 (I held his hand and said my rirace) 
 
 'An if you say I'll be forgiven. 
 
 An" find my way clean into heaven, 
 
 I'll go to sleep just like a child.' 
 
 An' then he looked at me an' smiled. 
 
 'An' you forgive me Nan, ole Nan? 
 
 If you forgiA'e me, Jesus can. 
 
 W^ere't not for them 't drove me wild, 
 
 I'd had my birthright ready filed. 
 
 Tell Farrel he was brave and true. 
 
 When he refused to join the crew 
 
That brought me gin, and brought to you 
 ISucli sorrow and such sufferin' too.' 
 An' then he sobbed, an' such repentin'. 
 An' when such prayers as these are sent in 
 Before the throne where God is hvin' 
 'Tis then I know there is forgivin.' " 
 And no one doubted, after tliis, 
 Tliat Moffet's soul found rest and peace. 
 And preacher Baxter did his best 
 To leave untroubled Moffet's rest. 
 The sod had scarcely knitted o'er 
 That lowly grave, when, at each door. 
 Dame Nancy claimed the right of kin 
 To Katharine Kline, who with cliagrin 
 Unfeigned, received it, but convinced 
 By Nancy's tale, nor shrank nor winced, 
 But early past our cottage door, 
 Sweet Katharine to her cottage bore 
 [n tenderness, a well known form, 
 All bent with age, and scathed by storm. 
 And, seated 'mong her relics, Nancy 
 For years indulged her childish fancy. 
 By weaving superstitious stories, 
 Like pretty wreaths of morning glories 
 About a branch all withered, bare, 
 To children lingering 'round her chair, 
 And, laden with this weight of bloom, 
 Dame Nancy travelled to the tomb; 
 And preacher Baxter shed a tear 
 With kindly neighbors, o'er her bier. 
 
 And now to change a wearying rhyme, 
 
 We weave a revery of that time. 
 
 When I was a child, the neighbors all smiled 
 
 At mention of Moffet and Nancy. 
 
 Their old house was sunny, their ways were so 
 
 funny; 
 They lived in a clearing. I fancy 
 To-day, that I hear, ringing out loud and clear 
 
Dame Naney'H voice, calling the kine from the 
 
 wood, 
 A\^hile lustily "bawling," came Betty and Prude, 
 While on the fence perching, was many an urchin, 
 All hoping, 3^et fearing Dame Nancy's appearing. 
 VV^e slid from the picket, when, ont from the 
 
 thicket 
 A clambering o'er logs came Dame Nan and her 
 
 dogs. 
 A moment of gaping, and then such a flapping 
 Of loose little pants; such a jumping and leajjing, 
 With eyes all askance, and loose frocks a sweeping 
 To the h.vunted old house on the cornel', and there 
 Once securely housed, we proceeded to stare. 
 Dame Nancy was harmless, and all of us knew it; 
 Though we, for the lives of us couldn't se<> 
 
 througli it; 
 I*"'or, Nancy in woolen, Avas frowsy and old 
 And, everyone said, Avas "a sight to behold," 
 While from daylight till dark, old Bruno and 
 
 Towser 
 Would go ''bark, bark, bark, bark," 
 Then "bow, wow, wow, avow" sir. 
 And, though Ave Avere taught that barking dogs 
 
 bite not; 
 Yet, eA'er we reasoned, they might, and they might 
 
 not; 
 But for fear that they might, AA'e'll just get out of 
 
 sight: 
 And so, in the top of the old haunted house, 
 Kach little sprite stood as still as a mouse, 
 Till the queer looking trio had passed out of sight; 
 Then Avith clapping, and "heigho"" ran out Avith 
 
 delight. 
 NoAV Moffet, Nan's husband, Avas uglier than she. 
 Sometimes, he Avas ngly as ugly could be. 
 Dame Nan read her bible, and Bunyan, and often. 
 When talking of lieaA^en, her old eyes Avould soften- 
 But he kept a pail AA^ith a bung like a barrel, 
 
And iiKist of the neighbors 'eept dear Mr. Farrel, 
 Wonld take it to town, and get it refilled, 
 AVhen ])a.ssino- the place where gin was distilled. 
 And, whenever you noticed his tongue growing 
 
 thicker, 
 A'ou might know that old Moffet, again, was in 
 
 liquor. 
 yVnd always, his spite he would vent on dear Far- 
 rel. 
 AVho avoided his pail, with a bung like a barrel. 
 'Twas a source of annoyance to Farrell, my father. 
 And caused us a sight of vexation and bother. 
 Sometimes, at our gate, he would prattle and 
 
 prate. 
 Or swear, till the ends of my hair stood up 
 
 straight. 
 Thus sympathy drew me quite near to Dame 
 
 Nancy, 
 And filled me, I own, with a rare childish fancy 
 Vov this creature so strange, Avho used to decoy 
 
 me, 
 To their old house so filled with such curious 
 
 things. 
 With laces and silks, with hair relics and rings. 
 Profiles and head-gear, strange bonnets, I ween 
 1^'ull pretty enough for the head of a queen. 
 While armor and fishing-rods hung on the wall, 
 A show of old splendor thus bright'ning it all. 
 While Nancy, with pride, would whisper, aside, 
 "My folks was folks, though most of 'em's died. 
 I've made a fool of myself, an' there's no denyin' 
 
 it," 
 She'd say with a voice which had a deep sigh in it. 
 "Katharine Kline," said she once, "is my own 
 
 cousin's child, 
 'Twas my cousin who married old Dobbs," and 
 
 she smiled, 
 •'AH that old miser's wealth was secured by 
 
 stealth 
 
(Little comfort ho took with his ill-gotten pelf) 
 From the old and renowned Delancy estate, 
 I'm the creature of fate, since Moffet's my mate. 
 But sweet Katharine Kline a fair lady fine 
 Some day will be, but there's no luck for me. 
 The kinship.'s a secret in this place you see." 
 This fell from her tongue, but I was so young, 
 No import it had, and 1 never repeated 
 The words w^hich I heard Avlien at her side seated. 
 
 But why digress? One perfect day, 
 
 When Nature danced to orchestra 
 
 Of birds atune. And bees alium 
 
 Announced the "summer opening" come; 
 
 When latticed vines at random trailed 
 
 Within a porch, where sunbejims paled, 
 
 Sweet Katharine sat, with heart oppressed 
 
 By early secret, unconfessed. 
 
 Young Morris May, as if by chance. 
 
 Now toward the porch made quick advance. 
 
 She, maybe, knew her face Avas sweet, 
 
 But, if she did, a kind deceit 
 
 Of innocence, served well to show 
 
 Those pretty charms, which dazzle so, 
 
 And dainty blooms, which come and go, 
 
 When Avorn by honest country girls, 
 
 With rippling laugh, and flowing curls. 
 
 He paused a moment. "Had no s]irit(^ 
 
 Appeared to me, one threatening night, 
 
 I'd bow in graceful homage, meet, 
 
 Before a shrine so pure and sweet." 
 
 This, whispering came; aloud he said, 
 
 As he a hearty welcome read, 
 
 "Old skipper Bell is at the dock; 
 
 Haste, Katharine, don a sailor frock; 
 
 The bay, alive with sails, is gay. 
 
 On this, fair Nature's holiday." 
 
 "The day is fair, I'll simply throw 
 
 My paisley o'er your arm and go." 
 
A down the walk they sped in haste, 
 
 Each jealous of a moment's waste. 
 
 They neared the dock, and Johnny Bell 
 
 Felt, Guddenly, his g-reat heart swell 
 
 With honest feeling, humble pride, 
 
 As anxious boatmen stei)ped aside 
 
 To watch the skipper taking tack, 
 
 A moment out, a moment back. 
 
 And then the pair, whose destiny 
 
 Would be revealed that fateful day, 
 
 Went sailing out, through channel, where 
 
 The sinking lighthouse, with its glare, 
 
 Had burned a place in memory, 
 
 Too deep for mortal imagery. 
 
 And where, as if to desecrate 
 
 The tragic place, there rose in state 
 
 A tower with legend well inlaid; 
 
 And Bell with earnest feeling said: 
 
 "Anear completion, this square tower 
 
 Reminds you, Morris, of an hour' 
 
 "Oh, don't," with breathless gasp she cried. 
 *'01d coward! Speak!" he said aside. 
 And with sweet inspiration true 
 Forth from his breast a slipper drew. 
 Both started. Morris quickly pressed 
 His hand against his throbbing breast. 
 He felt the slipper in its place, 
 While Katharine, with anxious face, 
 Now caught the slipper from Bell's hand. 
 The skipper, now, with bold command. 
 Beside two culprits read this tale. 
 Before Avliich, each grew strangely pale. 
 "In Dobbs's den," he said with laugliter, 
 "I found this hid beneath a rafter. 
 I knew its mate, and who possessed 
 This relic of a heavenly guest." 
 New joy filled Morris through and through. 
 Forth from his breast the mate he drew; 
 Began some tale, but no one knows, 
 
Unto this day, what theme he chose: 
 For, skipper Bell, with gleeful cheer. 
 His cargo landed on the pier. 
 "What better place, he cried in glee, 
 To mate the slippers? He! he! he!'' 
 And off he sailed. I onlj' knoAV 
 That 'neath the sunset's afterglow 
 A pair, with lingering footsteps, bent 
 Their way to "Harkness House," intent 
 On some grave problem of their own. 
 And left me, wondering, alone. 
 
 What wild huzzas ring through a town 
 When tottering walls go tumbling down, 
 And o'er their ruins new ones rise, 
 And ])oint iheir turrets toward the skies! 
 When five long y^-ars had groAvn apace, 
 A light house rose with beaming face, 
 And shed, of its benevolence. 
 O'er home-bound sails a sure defense, 
 As, glancing shyly 'neath the main, 
 It turned its head in proud disdain, 
 And smiled aside, then turned agjiin, 
 ^Vitli pitying smile, as if repenting. 
 Fit emblem of fond pride's relenting 
 When face to face with pedigree 
 Of home-spun garb, and sad decree. 
 
 Now lo! Upon the village square 
 
 Are gathered swains and maidens fair. 
 
 Good Hannah and her son are there. 
 
 Grood keeper May, with twinkling eye. 
 
 And luuuely grace of honesty; 
 
 And men of age, whos(» eyes are dim 
 
 With watching, at the river's rim, 
 
 For one great wave of kind behest. 
 
 To bear them to etei-nal rest. 
 
 All these were there, and children, too- 
 
 And there were women, wrinkled, old. 
 
Who o'er and o'er the legend told. 
 From lip to hp it swiftly flew, 
 Till echoing legends were repeated 
 From every nook where groups were seated 
 On rustic seats, or scattered 'round 
 In careless ease, upon the ground, 
 Save from one shadowed corner, where, 
 In converse sweet, sat rustic pair. 
 The one, the queen of all the square, 
 The other, hero of the day- 
 Sweet Katharine Kline, and Morris May. 
 Behind a rustic altar sate 
 Good preacher Baxter, robed in state. 
 I placed a wreath on Katharine's head; 
 And ne'er w^as sweeter service said, 
 Than that which gave to Morris May 
 A bride, upon that holiday, 
 (rood Hannah said ne'er since that night, 
 Had she beheld so fair a sprite. 
 To please a fancy of the skipper's 
 She ^^'ore the red morocco slippers. 
 
 Oh ! let me speak in proud acclaim, 
 
 In memory fond, of Katharine's fame. 
 
 Her home a seat of culture was. 
 
 Her ear, e'er open to the cause 
 
 Of youth's advancement, brought by scores 
 
 An eager throng within her doors. 
 
 And these found Courage, Ho])o, and ('heer, 
 
 Enthroned, their earnest tales to hear. 
 
 E'en echoing love steals down the years 
 
 From guests transferred to heavenly spheres, 
 
 And swells the chorus of our song, 
 
 As Katharine's name we proud prolong. 
 
 Who first draws out our latent gift, 
 
 The mates who joined us by the way. 
 
 In pure and healthful rivalry, 
 
 Haunt still the place of first uplift. 
 
 While o'er one spot there hangs a spell. 
 
 My lips are mut«, I may not tell. 
 
THE LEGEND OF THE WHITE CHIEFS. 
 
 No crested wave, Avith sullen roar, 
 Breaks 'gainst Ontario's rug-ged shore: 
 No wavelet creeps along its breast; 
 The dainty breeze but soothes its rest. 
 By day. it mirrors heaven's own bine, 
 By night, the stars like glittering dew. 
 At one lone point, the cliff's stern front, 
 For ages, seared by battle's brunt 
 With bursting wave, and racking storm, 
 Has bowed its high and haughty form. 
 There juts a bay, embrasured deep 
 In vine-clad hills, now wrapped in sleep, 
 A sand bar, stretching from the west, 
 With cotton-woods waving on its crest, 
 To eastward points. Three islets green, 
 With channels flowing deep between. 
 Reach fondly toward the eastern shore, 
 And sliield tlie bay from tempest's roar. 
 The timid soul, on such a day, 
 Could rest from fear on that bright bay. 
 It seemed the crudest heart must there 
 Bid wrath and hatred cease, and care. 
 Its peaceful calm might well entice 
 A wandering sprite from paradise. 
 
 The sun, half up the eastern steep, 
 Shone fiercely on the unwrinkled deep, 
 When, on fair Loga's Isle* were seen 
 Ten f<iir-haired men enrobed in green 
 With broid'ry deep of scarlet braid. 
 Reclining 'neatli a chestnut's shade. 
 
Their chief in early manhood seemed. 
 
 AVith form as fair as maid e'er dreamed. 
 
 Tall, fair, erect, his stern blue eye 
 
 Incessant scanned eartli, sea, and sky. 
 
 His every sense alert, as though 
 
 He felt the presence of a foe. 
 
 Thane, of a brave Norwegian folk; 
 
 Rolfe spurned fierce Harold's threatening yoke. 
 
 Twice beaten by the king in fright; 
 
 No choice was left but death or flight. 
 
 He sought the west, Avhere, years before. 
 
 His kin found Greenland's frigid shore. 
 
 The king, still swayed by fear and wrath, 
 
 In swift pursuit flew on his i)ath. 
 
 And Rolfe, too weak for battle, fled. 
 
 With comrades ten (all else were dead) 
 
 Far up a river's mighty flood; 
 
 Where Harold lost the trail of blood. 
 
 Urged upward, by both oar and sail, 
 Rolfe flies before the eastern gale, 
 Unlaiowing when pursuit would cease, 
 His thoughts on war intent, not i^eace, 
 His eye makes careful scrutiny, 
 And naught appears, but sky and sea, 
 Save where, on distant southern sky 
 There rests a webb-like tracery. 
 As he had seen, Avhen far at sea, 
 On Norway's hills so wild and free, 
 Like some great pine tree's loftlj'^ head, 
 Wliich proudly stood, through ages dead. 
 The sight failed not to 'rouse anew 
 The waning courage of his crew. 
 Borne lift the sail, some seize the oar; 
 Soon, they can note the rising shore, 
 And, care-worn, faint, at close of day, 
 They furl tlieir sail in Sodus Bay. 
 How grandly beautiful, but yet, 
 Due caution must they not forget. 
 
Lived here a race, Avhom they might meet? 
 Or, yet imtrod by human feet 
 Wa>^ this fair land? Secure the Avhile, 
 They beacli their bark on Loga's Isle, 
 (^uick rising, Rolfe observant stood. 
 Far south, he notes the silent wood. 
 A sweeping glance the lake he gave. 
 His eye s;^'es naught but sea and wave. 
 He starts, for in the silence round, 
 His ear detects a distant sound. 
 Far east, a lofty bluff is seen, 
 From base to summit robed in green. 
 High o'er its top, two columns rise 
 Of smoke, and vanish in the skies. 
 Far south, responsive signals come. 
 And noAV% a sound, like muffled drum. 
 All, no^v alert, with tireless gaze, 
 On all sides scan the ^vatery ways. 
 The Thane, to eastward turns his eye, 
 And south. It sweeps but vacancy. 
 But lo, an object now appears, 
 And swift yon eastern bluff it nears. 
 Close following, others move along. 
 Five, ten, a score, an endless throng. 
 With sound like muffled drum, now clear, 
 These boats with warriors appear. 
 Swift moving toward the bluff, the band 
 Draw high their boats upon the sand. 
 Deep night, in silence settles down. 
 Yon hill is dark, from base to crown. 
 The sounds erst wandering o'er the bay, 
 Die in the shades of dying day. 
 Their hunger stayed, one named to keep 
 On guard, the others sink in sleep. 
 
 Fair Morn awakes. Rolfe, lured by sense 
 
 Of beauty regal, and intense. 
 
 Betakes hiui to a single boat. 
 
 And toward the channel sets afloat. 
 
Where sunlit ^linneloha* smiles. 
 
 And wins him with unconscious wiles. 
 
 Till, unto Nature's beauty wed, 
 
 He, all alert, with (juiet tread, 
 
 Mounts to the headland, wi-eathed in mist. 
 
 Westward, the waves caressed and kissed 
 
 The shore, while from the gloom around 
 
 (^•ime many a strange and mutterino- sound. 
 
 He starts. A distant sound, now clear, 
 
 Like panther-shriek, falls on his ear, 
 
 Again, again, it rises, fails. 
 
 Like yells and moans, like sufferer's wails. 
 
 Well he knew not, or fear liad bound. 
 
 'Tis the dread war-whoop's fearful sound. 
 
 The dancing rays of morning sun 
 
 P,reak through the mist, and, one by one 
 
 Bay, island, headland bright and clear, 
 
 Before his anxious gaze appear. 
 
 And, on the hill-side to the west 
 
 His eyes in deep amazement rest. 
 
 A thousand moving forms, a. band 
 
 Of warriors plumed, now crowd the strand. 
 
 All armed Avith maces, daggers, spears, 
 
 A battle axe at belt appears. 
 
 Fierce, angry cries of wrath and hate, 
 
 Foretell the rash intruder's fjite. 
 
 Unto his crew he quick repairs, 
 
 And each th(^ nuirtal tei-ror shares. 
 
 Each dons his helm with raven crest. 
 
 Each l)inds his cuirass on his breast. 
 
 Each grasps his strong and brass-bound shield; 
 
 Though all shall die, not one shall yield. 
 
 Instant, the east was lost to sight. 
 
 While came a rushing sound, like flight 
 
 Of myriad sea birds, and it grew 
 
 To one deep thunder roll, which drew 
 
 Eastward their eyes. Half way the bay 
 
 Comes countless fleet in stern array. 
 
 * Point Charles. 
 
At once their error seen, they feel 
 'Tis wise their presence to conceal. 
 Not meant for them those wrathful cries. 
 'Tis trib' 'gainst tribe to battle flies. 
 Rolfe an.i his crew, unknown, they may 
 Avoid commingling with the fray. 
 The Mohawks' vengeful eyes, before 
 See naught but taunting foes on shore. 
 With cries of wrath and hate, some row, 
 Some fit the arrow to the bow. 
 And ere they meet the foes in fight, 
 An arrowy tempest takes its flight. 
 Quick from the shore an answering rain 
 Draws from the Mohawks shrieks of pain. 
 Unchecked, the fleet flies up the strand. 
 Their warriors crowd upon the sand. 
 The hostile line, swift leaping back, 
 Stands firm, arrayed across their track. 
 From twangnig bows the arrows sped. 
 Strong arms, trained eyes their fury led. 
 Some struck with erring course the ground. 
 Still more, their destined target found. 
 Life's crimson current stained the shore, 
 From warriors weltering in their gore. 
 The hosts to closer battle flew. 
 All hearts are maddened by the view. 
 Exulting foes! and slaughtered friends! 
 The mace, high brandished, swift descends. 
 The axe, sharp lifted, cleaves the head. 
 The living number scarce the dead. 
 
 There comes a change. The Seneekees, 
 Who held the w^estern shore with ease, 
 Had held their ground, but up the banks 
 Which guarded, on the right, their flanks, 
 Euslies a host, new come to land, 
 And falls upon the wearied hiind. 
 Exhausted, faint, and helpless quite, 
 The Senekees take sudden flight. 
 
Toward where, beyond an open wood. 
 
 For years their peaceful hamlet stood. 
 
 Behold! Tlu\v see, in mute dismay. 
 
 Their hamlet pass in flames away. 
 
 Who now their helpless ones shall save 
 
 From foes relentless as the grave? 
 
 Foes who, their fiendish work begun, 
 
 Inflict a thousand deaths in one. 
 
 Who laugh and dance with horrid glee 
 
 At scenes hell's blackest fiends would flee. 
 
 Sad, sad indeed, had been their fate, 
 
 Did they the conquering foe await. 
 
 But when disaster met their sight 
 
 They sprang, like sheep in panic flight. 
 
 And toward the shore their course they sped 
 
 Along a torrent's pebbly bed. 
 
 High on a smooth and grassy lawn, 
 
 A fleet of light canoes were drawn. 
 
 And, instant launching on the bay 
 
 They sped with rapid oars away. 
 
 On Loga's Isle they seek to land, 
 
 When Rolfe steps fortli with helping hand. 
 
 First of the flying band the chief 
 
 Of Seneekees (whose absence brief 
 
 Another chief supplied) had flown 
 
 To save his people's and his own 
 
 Weak helpless ones, and leaped to land, 
 
 Then stood uncertain, on the strand. 
 
 One glance; he knew in Rolfe a friend. 
 His wife and daughter him attend. 
 The two toward Rolfe he silent led. 
 Rolfe inits a hand on either head, 
 And swore, by maiden beauty touched. 
 The worst to dare. Their safety vouched, 
 Scarce had they left the water's line 
 When whoop on whoop resounds behind. 
 A hundred warriors crowd the shore, 
 And in their boats in numbers pour. 
 
Then, murderous as the sAvooping kite 
 Approach the rearmost in the flight, 
 AVeak women, maids and children sate 
 The victims of the Mohawks' hate. 
 Around Kolfe's camp they huddled closes 
 While he the stoutest brave now chose 
 To guard them, while he launched his bark, 
 And made the Mohawk fleet his mark. 
 
 With bellying sail and bending oar 
 
 They rush upon the fleet before. 
 
 Mid ship the boats they cut in twain. 
 
 Whose scattered cre^vs now swim the main, 
 
 And strive to reach the nearing shore 
 
 On which their conquering tribesmen pour. 
 
 Vain effort, since with swift advance, 
 
 Rolfe's crew assails them with the lance. 
 
 Pierced through and through, they fail the shore 
 
 And stain the waters with their gore. 
 
 Scarce ten of all that warlike band 
 
 Attain and sink upon the sand. 
 
 The iSeneekees, with the hope renewed, 
 
 The carnage on the waves had viewed. 
 
 And leaping past their blazing home 
 
 Each angry mouth is flecked with foam. 
 
 And on the foes' unguarded rear 
 
 They rush with battle axe and spear. 
 
 Caught many a Mohawks' latest breath 
 
 That whirlwind of tempestuous death. 
 
 The Mohawks turn to meet attack, 
 
 Far toward the water line forced back. 
 
 And, shuddering with palsying fear 
 
 See Rolfe's bold crew with leveled spear. 
 
 The Mohawks slow retreat before 
 
 The foe approaching from the shore. 
 
 But in their greater force confide, 
 
 And Rolfe assail on every side. 
 
 Swift locking shields, his men reform, 
 
 Their huge, two-handed swords they draw, 
 
Their huge, two-handed swords they draw; 
 
 As winter's snows in spring- tide thaNA% 
 
 As grass before tempestuous fire. 
 
 As leaves before the whirlwind's ire, 
 
 Vanish the threatening Moha^^■k bands, 
 
 And flee away, or strew the sands. 
 
 Their few survivors mount the hill 
 
 Unconquered and defiant still. 
 
 Their plunder-laden friends they meet, 
 
 And firmly forming, stay retreat. 
 
 The hostile lines, worn with the fray, 
 
 Their onset for a moment stay. 
 
 All start. All turn their g-aze on high. 
 
 All tremble. Some in terror cry. 
 
 The unclouded sun, whose heat intense 
 
 Had almost palsied brain and sense. 
 
 Seems shorn at once of half his rays, 
 
 And pales before their anxious gaze. 
 
 At once all strife and bloodshed end. 
 
 The power on whom all lives depend 
 
 Has viewed in wrath from heaven's blue height 
 
 The murderous carnage of the flight, 
 
 And plunged both earth and sky in gloom; 
 
 A sure precursor of their doom. 
 
 The hours lag on. All silent stand. 
 
 Strange shadows move on sea and land. 
 
 Birds seek their nests, the wolf his den. 
 
 Deep horror i-ules the hearts of men, 
 
 When Rolfe, v>e\\ versed in starry lore, 
 
 Between the lines moves up the shore. 
 
 Standing erect with arms outspread, 
 
 In brief unspoken prayer he led. 
 
 To Mohawk's chief one hand extends, 
 
 One to the adverse chief he lends. 
 
 Each one advancing from his band, 
 
 Accepts the hero's proffered hand. 
 
 Thus stood they, for a space, when slow^ 
 
 Rolfe takes the right hand of each foe, 
 
 And joining them, kneels on the sod, 
 
And asks the blessing of their God. 
 
 Each chief stern glances at his foe 
 
 With look deep wrought with weal or woe. 
 
 jTwas weal. Eolfe's tongue Avas strange, yet all 
 
 At once, their hostile arms let fall. 
 
 Each warrior with extended hand 
 
 Steps forward toward the adverse band. 
 
 Kolfe from all others stands apart, 
 
 And sees Peace monarch of each heart. 
 
 "When war's fierce thunder from the poet's lyre 
 Eesounds no more, nor moans the sounding wire, 
 When minor strains of softening, gracious peace. 
 Bid anguished shrieks and groans forever cease, 
 A metric change befits the muse that tt^ls 
 Of hope and joy, and love and marriage bells. 
 These, now, themselves to gladsome frolic gave, 
 But, when the golden sunset tinged the Avave, 
 The chiefs conferring, sign to Rolfe full sway, 
 To make wise forecast for the coming day. 
 The MohaAvks then unto their boats repair. 
 While Rolfe seeks Loga's isle, and rests from care. 
 The warriors each greet other Avith a smile. 
 The chiefs have fixed on fair Neoga's Isle, 
 (The middle or Big Island, noAv 'tis known) 
 And when the sun, half raised, his face had shown 
 O'er the broad lake, Rolfe and his chiefs repair 
 To that fair isle, and form in council there. 
 'Tis needless to rehearse Avhat there AA'as said. 
 All boAved to Rolfe as their distinguished head. 
 UnknoAvn their tongue, by each expressiA^e sign 
 He told the lofty purpose of his mind. 
 Before the close, that union Avas begun 
 Which merged fiA^e mighty nations into one. 
 The Avandering Norsemen now a footing found. 
 As j^ears glide by neAV ties, ncAv duties bound. 
 Rolfe takes the chieftain's daughter as his bride, 
 They on Kenoga's (eastern) Isle abide. 
 His friends take aa^a^cs. Their blood, as ages pass, 
 
Glows in the cheek of Indian lad and lass. 
 Their native land now melted as a dream. 
 Their full bine eyes now lost their warlike gleam. 
 The chieftain's daughter's downcast, modest eyes 
 Had made of Rolfe, the Thane, an easy prize. 
 No maid on Norway's distant, misty shore 
 Had ever filled his honest heart before. 
 The Viking- blood a Viking spirit bred. 
 Long after Rolfe and his bold ten were dead, 
 Chiefs, showing Viking blood in form and face, 
 Stood the stern leaders of a conquering race. 
 Their sway, wide spread, their power and fan]': 
 
 grown great, 
 The kindred nations swelled the growing state. 
 The Seneekees claim Rolfe and half his clan, 
 The Mohawks half; dim forecast of a plan 
 Of union sought by means of this white tie 
 Which was to clasp the throat of destiny, 
 And strengthen, though the ages pass the while, 
 Each day, the bond of fair Neoga's Isle. 
 
 The muse of history tells their matchless fame, 
 As Iroquois they left a mighty name. 
 To Dark Missouri's flood, from Sodus Bay, 
 Their Viking chiefs wide spread their conquering 
 
 sway. 
 The Romans of the west long since are gone, 
 Leaving this legend of their early dawn. 
 
 A common play-ground of the Viking race 
 The lofty Bluff, with wooded charm and grace. 
 At night aglow with camp-fires dotted o'er 
 From shaggy height to low and pebbly shore. 
 Was interlaced with hidden winding trails. 
 Where legend weaves to day, her tragic tales. 
 
LIBRftRY OF CONGRESS 
 
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