THE INDIAN CHIEF AND COCONAY.
115
The chieftain paused in his swift career,
For he knew his Coconay;
He saw the maid his heart held dear,
In his brother's breast, in the forest drear,
From her home so far away.
For he knew his Coconay;
He saw the maid his heart held dear,
In his brother's breast, in the forest drear,
From her home so far away.
He bent his bow, the arrow flew,
It was aimed at Lightfoot's breast;
And it pierced a heart as warm and true
As ever a mortal bosom knew,
Or in mortal garb was dressed.
It was aimed at Lightfoot's breast;
And it pierced a heart as warm and true
As ever a mortal bosom knew,
Or in mortal garb was dressed.
He turned to his love—from her brilliant eye
The cloud was passing away;
She let fall a tear—she breathed a sigh—
She turned towards Lightfoot—she uttered a cry,
For weltering in gore he lay.
The cloud was passing away;
She let fall a tear—she breathed a sigh—
She turned towards Lightfoot—she uttered a cry,
For weltering in gore he lay.
Her heart was filled with horror and woe,
When she gazed on the form of her Chief;
'Twas his loved hand that had bent the bow,
'Twas he who had laid her preserver low;
And she yielded her soul to grief.
When she gazed on the form of her Chief;
'Twas his loved hand that had bent the bow,
'Twas he who had laid her preserver low;
And she yielded her soul to grief.
And 'twas said, that ere time had healed the wound
In the breast of the mourning maid,
That a pillar was reared on the fatal ground,
And ivy the snow-white monument crowned
With its dark and jealous shade.
In the breast of the mourning maid,
That a pillar was reared on the fatal ground,
And ivy the snow-white monument crowned
With its dark and jealous shade.
