THE ORIGIN OF THE NORTH-AMERICAN INDIAN.
A legend-Respectfully Dedicated to Lieut. F.H. HARDIE, 3rd Calvary U.S.A.
There is a legend 'mong the plumed race,
Which strange though be, their origins does trace
To days primeval, when the mighty plan,
With touch most wonderful was crowned with man,
With air oracular it has been told
By Chieftains, mature-wise, so very old,
Who, soleman sworn, as were their fathers too,
This wonderful tradition seal as true.
It was the season when the sighing breeze [bestrewed?] the ground with Autumn-painted leaves-
When Nature robed herself in rich array,
Her Vesture interwove with sad and gay.
The buffalo, the elk and fellow deer
In quiet grazed with naught in harm or fear,
For yet unborn the stealthy hunter fog.
Unwrought the murd'roose [flint?] and arched bow.
Sublimity and grandeur did pervade
The sun-tipped mountain-top and forest shade,
As silence, most profound, with thoughtful train.
The Universe spell-bound with magic chain.
Lo the Great Spirit gazed the scene upon
And saw perfection in all things but one,
There were the hills and daises, and seat and land,
And landscape everywhere supremely grand,
And fish and fowl and beast on mount and plain,
But who t' enjoy and ovee all to reign?
So from the border of a brooklet's way.
Lo, the Great Spirit took a piece of clay,
And with a touch and look both sad and sweet,
Did mould it into form must exquisite.
Then breathed. He on this thing symmetrical formed,
When lo, it into life and being warmed,
And in the presence of its Maker stood,
A female beauty-type of womanhood.
Night came the constellations bright
Shed o'er the earth their distant, twinkling light
And through their mellow consicated [whom?]
Cast pearly tears upon this beauty-queen,
Who, tired, reposed in quiet on the ground,
With senses wrapped in balmy sleep profound.
How passing lovely, how enchantiny she,
Pure, spotless as her own virginity,
Like "lily of the vale" or budding rose
Upon the parent- Earth, in sweet repose.
In semblance of a star was one above.
Who, gazing on this beauty, fell in love,
for who, or which, or what such charms could see
And not be filled with love's own ecstacy?
