“The moon-lit hour is come. The Oneidas and Senecas have
joined the Saratogas, and the rejoicing war dance goes on,
Oronta has parted from his Lena to meet where the Great Spirit
reigns. His wigwam in the pine grove is lonely now.

“The yell of frantic triumph goes up from a thousand Saratogas.
The beautiful Lena stands above the spring, her robes
festooned with flowers and playing in the breeze. She looks
smilingly upon her watery grave, while the mad Sachems shout
to heaven their joyous benedictions.

“Lena casts one wandering look upon her brave companions,
and then—behold another form, arrayed in white, streaks through
the misty twilight and both look down upon the boiling spring.
It is Oronta. He brings his full grown glories of battle and of
chase a willing offering for a reunion with his wife and child.

“The Oneidas send up a terrible shout, and rush, like a whirlwind,
to rescue their proud foe, Oronta. Alas! the Great Spirit
has called too soon, for Lena and Oronta clasp in a last embrace.
One look—one mutual look of love, of hope, of happiness, is
exchanged—when they both disappear beneath the surface of
the waters.

“The forest rings again with the yell of the Saratogas, as father
and child disappear in their watery grave—the tear-fountain of
the Great Spirit.”

“Child of the forest,” murmured my venerable statician, overcome
with emotion, “thy story accounts for the many Indian

[figure description] Page 168.[end figure description]

skeletons which the pale faces, through the aid of subtile science,
have thrown to the surface of the spring, and also for the Indian
taste to the water.”

She made no reply.

p628-182

Previous section

Next section