And when in after years I stood
By INCA-PAH-CHO'S haunted water,
Where long ago that hunter woo'd
In early youth its island daughter,
And traced the voiceless solitude
Once witness of his loved one's slaughter--
At that same season of the leaf
In which I heard him tell his grief,--
I thought some day I'd weave in rhyme,
That tale of mellow autumn time.
* * * * *
=_William Gilmore Simms, 1806-1870._= (Manual, pp. 523, 490, 510.)
From "The Cassique of Accabee."
=_364._= NATURE INSPIRES SENTIMENT.
It was a night of calm. O'er Ashley's waters
Crept the sweet billows to their own soft tune,
While she, most bright of Keawah's fair daughters,
Whose voice might spell the footsteps of the moon,
As slow we swept along,
Poured forth her own sweet song--
A lay of rapture not forgotten soon.
Hushed was our breathing, stayed the lifted oar,
Our spirits rapt, our souls no longer free,
While the boat, drifting softly to the shore,
Brought us within the shades of Accabee.
"Ah!" sudden cried the maid,
In the dim light afraid,
"'Tis here the ghost still walks of the old Yemassee.
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