THE SILVER ARROW

Fear seized on the bold Wan-ches-e
When he saw the Pale-Face maiden
Standing where had poised the White Doe,
Where the White Man’s Fort had once stood.
He knew naught of magic arrows,
Nor O-kis-ko’s secret mission;
He saw only his own arrow
Piercing through her tender bosom,
Never doubting but the wonder
Which his awe-struck eyes had witnessed
Had been wrought by his own arrow,
Silver arrow from a far land,
Fashioned by the skill of Pale-Face,
Gift of Pale-Face Weroanza
To a race she willed to conquer.

All his hatred of the Pale-Face,
Fed by fear and superstition,
To him made this sudden vision
Seem an omen of the future,
When the Red Man, like the White Doe,
Should give place unto the Pale-Face,
And the Indian, like the white mist,
Fade from out his native forest.
All his courage seemed to weaken
With the dread of dark disaster;
And with instincts strong for safety
Fled he from the place in terror.

Love hath not the fear of danger,
And O-kis-ko’s faith in magic
Kept him brave to meet the changes
Which had each so quickly followed.
For he saw the human maiden
Where had stood the living White Doe;
And he knew his hazel arrow,
Charmed with all We-nau-don’s magic,
Had restored the lost Wi-no-na
To reward his patient loving.

But the conflict of two arrows,
Bringing death unto the maiden,
Was a deep and darksome myst’ry
Which his ignorance could not fathom.
All the cause of his undoing
Saw he in the silver arrow;
So with true love’s tireless effort,
Quick he strove to break its power.

From her heart he plucked the arrow,
Hastened to the magic water,
Hoping to destroy the evil
Which had stilled the maiden’s pulses.
In the sparkling spring he laid it
So no spot was left uncovered,
So the full charm of the water
Might act on the blood-stained arrow.

As the blood-stains from it melted,
Blood of Pale-Face shed by Red Man,
Slowly, while he watched and waited,
All the sparkling water vanished;
Dry became the magic fountain,
Leaving bare the silver arrow.

Was it thus the spell would weaken
Which had wrought his love such evil?
Would she be again awakened
When he sought her in the thicket?
Must he shoot this arrow at her
To restore her throbbing pulses?
Must he seek again We-nau-don
To make warm her icy beauty?

While he of himself sought guidance,
Sought to know the hidden meaning
Of the mysteries he witnessed;
Lo! another mystic wonder
Met his eyes as he sat musing.

From the arrow made by Pale-Face,
As th’ enchanted water left it,
Sprang a tiny shoot with leaflets
Pushing upward to the sunlight.

Did the arrow dry the fountain
With the blight of death it carried?
Or in going, had the water
Left a charm upon the arrow?
Did the heart-blood of the Pale-Face
From the arrow in the water
Cause the coming of the green shoot,
Which reached upward to the sunlight?

All O-kis-ko’s love and courage
Could not give him greater knowledge.
Savage mind could not unravel
All the meaning of this marvel.
Fear forbade him touch the arrow
Lest he should destroy the green shoot;
So he left the tender leaflets
Reaching upward to the sunlight,
Sought again the lifeless maiden
For whose love his soul had hungered;
Knelt beside her in the forest,
With the awe of death upon him,
Which in heathen as in Christian
Moves the human soul to worship.

All his faith in savage magic
Turned to frenzy at his failure;
And the helplessness of mortals
Pressed upon him like a burden;
While a mighty longing seized him
For a knowledge of the Unknown,
For a light to pierce the Silence
Into which none enter living.
And unconsciously his spirit
Rose in quest of Might Supernal,
Which should rule both dead and living,
Leaving naught to chance or magic;
Which should seize the throbbing pulses
Ebbing from a dying mortal,
And create a higher being
Free from thrall of earthly nature;
Almost grasping in his yearning
Knowledge of the God Eternal,
In whose hand the earth lies helpless,
In whose heart all souls find refuge.

But no light came to O-kis-ko;
Still the burden pressed upon him,
And a pall of hopeless yearning
Wrapped his soul in voiceless sorrow
As he gazed upon the maiden
With death’s mysteries enfolded.
Then he made upon her bosom
The strange Cross-Sign she had taught him;
From his shoulders took the mantle
Made of skins of many sea-gulls,
Gently wrapped the maiden in it,
Heaped the tinted leaves about her;
Leaving all his own life’s brightness
With her where the shadows darkened.

Thus the ancient legend runneth, with its plaint of hopeless doom,
Bearing in its heart the fragrance of the Truth’s enduring bloom,
Standing in the light of knowledge, where developed ages meet,
We can read the mystic omens which O-kis-ko’s eyes did greet.
And to us they seem the symbols of what coming ages brought,
Realization gives the answer, which in vain the Savage sought.
For we know the silver arrow, fatal to all sorcery,
Was the gleaming light of Progress speeding from across the sea,
Before which the Red Man vanished, shrinking from its silvery light
As the magic waters yielded to the silver arrow’s blight.
And the tiny shoot with leaflets, by the sunlight warmed to life,
Was the Vine of Civilization in the wilderness of strife;
With no friendly hand to tend it, yet it grew midst slight and wrong,
Taking root in other places, growing green, and broad, and strong,
Till its vigor knew no weakness, with its branches flower-fraught,
Till a prosp’rous land it sheltered where th’ oppressed a refuge sought,
Till its fruit made all who labored ’neath its shade both bold and free,
Till a people dwelt beneath it strong to meet their destiny.

Now beneath its spreading branches dwells a nation brave and free,
Raising glad, triumphant pæans for the boon of Liberty;
Holding fast the Holy Cross-Sign, Heirs of Duty and of Light,
Still they speed the arrow, Progress, on its civilizing flight;
Keeping bright the Fires of Freedom, where Man, Brotherhood may know,
For God’s breath upon the altar keeps the sacred flame aglow.