OH, light were her footsteps, And free as the air That fanned her bright tresses Of long, jetty hair. And sweeter than bird-notes The gay, rippling song That gushed from her young heart The happy day long.
And bright as the star-beams That mantle the sky, The love-light that shone in Her dark, flashing eye. And warmer than sunshine Of India's isle, The flush of her brown cheek, The light of her smile.
And dear to Ocalla, The chief of the wild, Was sweet Lillawalla, His favorite child,— The light of his wigwam, The joy of his life, The offspring of Lela, His late buried wife.
But stern was the chieftain, And proudly he stood Upon the high virtue Of pure Mingo blood. And dark was his rage When the maiden, in truth, Acknowledged her love For a Cherokee youth.
Compressed were his thin lips, And stately his stride, And deadly the arrows That swung by his side, As, frowning, he hurried From his heart-stricken child, To seek him she loved In the deep forest wild.
A shriek from her cold lips Was all that was heard; Then, fleet as a gazelle Or young, startled bird, She flew on the wings Of affection to save From danger her Logan, Her Cherokee brave.
The tempest was gathering, The storm-cloud was near, The path through the forest Intricate and drear; Yet, fearlessly onward, Unwearied, she bent Her steps t'ward the door Of her Cherokee's tent.
But woe was her heart When she entered the door!— Ah, woe! double woe!— Death had hastened before; And there, through his body Was quivering a dart!— Her father's,—she knew it,— Deep piercing his heart!
She fell on his bosom, Oh, was it a dream? Oh, no, no! she rose With a maniac's scream; And, dragging the body,— Poor heart-maddened child,— She sought the deep stream Where the surges ran wild.
A moment her feet On the precipice stood; Then, clasping her lover, She plunged in the flood, To rise never more;— And the old Mingo chief Fled his tribe! and died lonely, Of wild, savage grief.
