Page:The New England Magazine 1891, 5.1.djvu/133

This page has been proofread, but needs to be validated.
TWO MAIDENS.
131

philosophy of his own. Very differently from that of Philip stands forth the figure of Pontiac in the pages of history, forcing even his enemies to admiration. An Englishman, writing of him in 1764, calls him the Mithridates of the West. Rogers described him thus: "He puts on an air of majesty and princely grandeur, and is greatly honored and revered by his subjects." In Pontiac was embodied the ideal Indian leader—possessing, as e did, all the strong savage qualities of his race, yet not without traits of nobility of character—patriotic, eloquent, brave, and ambitious, yet fierce, treacherous, revengeful, and subtle. His patriotism seems to have been subservient to his ambition.

Though to the Indian mind Pontiac is pre-eminently the hero of his race, to the civilized mind Tecumseh occupies that position. To us he seems a purer patriot than was Pontiac. Taking Pontiac for his model, he was an improvement on the original. Something of the baser passions seems to have been omitted in the imitation. ‘Tecumseh did not, like Pontiac, hide treachery under a coat of dissimulation; he openly and frankly avowed his intentions. He fought for his country, with "redress," not "vengeance," as his war cry; and when the futility of his hopes became apparent, he was ready to find a manly death in the midst of battle.

TWO MAIDENS.

A LADDIE sailed out on a calm blue sea;And two maidens fell a-weeping.  "Alas," said they,  "'Tis a doleful day;  Mayhap nevermore  To the sweet green shore  Shall lover to me  And brother to thee,  Shall lover to thee  And brother to me, Come back from the treacherous, smiling sea."
A good ship went down in a wild, wild sea;And two maidens fell a-weeping.  The years passed by,  And two cheeks were dry:— A wife and a mother, with babe on her knee,Sat crooning a tender old lullaby,Nor thought of the lover beneath the sea;—  But at eventide,  By a lone fireside,A sister sat weeping for him who had died,  Who came nevermore  To the bright green shore,To wander with her the sweet meadows o'er.