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Volume 3 (1858-1859) (592 pages)
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Page: of 592
I CANNOT FORGET. 219
mountains. They traveled until the third
day with but little cessation, when they
ascended a very high mountain ridge,
from the top of which they could look far
beneath into a beautiful valley, where
there was an Indian village. Thus far
they had heard nothing concerning their
future fate; although Joe could speak
their language, yet he could get nothing
out of them what they intended to do
with them, but the worst was anticipated,
knowing they had fallen into the hands
of a band who were hostile to all intruders upon their hunting grounds,
When they got within a mile of their
village, a runner was sent forward to
give notice of their approach, and they
came forth to meet them, male and female, old and young, the decrepid, all
came out with their wild demoniac yells,
spitting on them, pricking them with
sticks, making all kinds of horrible faces.
There appeared to be two tribes of them,
for they did not look alike or act in concert. and one of the tribes made much
the best appearance. There was a female among them who was evidently not
Indian, for her features were those of an
American, and she took no part in the
rejoicing over their captivity, but azpeared rather to sympathize than rejoice.
Next day after their arrival at the village they called a council, composed of
all the braves, to determine their fate.
The debate was long and exciting, for
they appeared to have many in their favor for life instead of death, but it was
finally determined they should all burn
at the stake. When the decision was
announced by the chief they all gave one
unearthly yell and returned to their separate wigwams, with the exception of the
guards, who were told to watch well the
prisoners.
[Concluded in our next.]
I CANNOT FORGET.
They told me I “should cease to love
him—that time would change me.” So
it has; I am changed, indeed! My rayen tresses, with which his fingers used
to toy, are sadly streaked with gray ; my
beauty is like a withered flower, which
sunshine and dew can no more revive.
Deep lines of sorrow pencil my once fair
brow, and my sunken eyes seem ever
swimming with forbidden tears; but the
heart’s deep love Time has not changed,
and all the long, long years of separation
seem annihilated when I think of him.
Some ask me if I ever loved. ‘‘ Who
has not?” I reply; but wonder when I
hear them tell how often they have loved.
I sit and listen for a sound that comes
not, and sadly do I ask: “Shall I never
hear it more ?”
I mark the young and gay, and hear
their silvery voices discourse of love ;
mine was neyer told in words; they
seemed useless and to have no meaning
when fe looked on me and smiled; and
when he sat beside me, I feared to speak,
lest I should break the spell and dissipate my blissful dream. Perhaps it was
but a dream, for often, now, when I am
asleep, he comes and smiles on me the
same, and lays his hand so gently on my
brow, as if to. smooth away its wrinkles,
and. its sorrow, too, until my enraptured
spirit, struggling to be free from its
earthly fetters, awakens me to the painful reality.
But I feel that these earth-trials but
consume the dross of our mortal natures ;
that the inner being, which shall never
grow old, may live where Eternity will
perfect what Time cannot destroy.
Luna.