Classic Poem

Gravely bends the Ancient Seer, Mominche, —
Lays the quivering victim on the altar,
Bows he, northward, eastward, southward, westward,
Looking on the wan face of Wanola,
Kneeling sadly in the misty dawning
Now upon the rosy East's horizon,
Where the laggard sun-god still is sleeping,
Then upon the entrails of the victim
Speaks the solemn oracle of Natchez:
" Long thou grievest comfortless, my daughter,
Long thy pleadings dropped to earth unheeded,
But the Great Sil bendeth now to hear thee, —
Speaketh to thee through his humble Ancient.
Cast thy selfish aims behind thee,
Hearken Oh! thou bride of Natchez,
Plead not for thyself, thy husband,
Or thy issue, — but thy people.
Thou hast held thy haughty presence,
Far above them, far beyond them;
And thy flowing midnight tresses,
Whiting, bleaching now with sorrow,
Hath bred envy in thy sisters.
Thou wouldst win thy brave Sehbohleh,
From the gate-way of the Shadows.
Thou shalt make an humble offering,
Bend that proud head low before them,
Grovelling in thy humble shameness;
Reft of all thy flowing beauty,
Thou shalt wear the veil of Silence,
Whitened for thy purifying, —
And when Kwasip rests her foot palm,
Highest on her silver ladder,
Thou shalt leave the braves below thee,
By the mighty river's rolling.
Thou shalt cast the severed tresses,
On the highest barren hilltop, —
Northward, eastward, southward, westward.
Fear thou not, Wanola, daughter.
Thou shalt do a deed of glory,
Thou shalt win thy love, Sehbohleh, —
Sweet shall be the praise of nations.
I will smile and bless my people. "
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Gently turns Mominche from the altar, —
Gently turns, to give the Ancient's blessing,
Then his long strides leave the scene behind him,
Leave the victim smoking on the altar,
Leave the widowed kneeling in the temple,
Leave Wanola to her solemn vigil.