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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=116427" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>An Indian Story</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">"I know where the timid fawn abides<br>In the depths of the shaded dell,<br>Where the leaves are broad and the thicket hides,<br>With its many stems and its tangled sides,<br>From the eye of the hunter well.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">"I know where the young May violet grows,<br>In its lone and lowly nook,<br>On the mossy bank, where the larch-tree throws<br>Its broad dark bough, in solemn repose,<br>Far over the silent brook.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">"And that timid fawn starts not with fear<br>When I steal to her secret bower;<br>And that young May violet to me is dear,<br>And I visit the silent streamlet near,<br>To look on the lovely flower."</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Thus Maquon sings as he lightly walks<br>To the hunting-ground on the hills;<br>'Tis a song of his maid of the woods and rocks,<br>With her bright black eyes and long black locks,<br>And voice like the music of rills.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">He goes to the chase- but evil eyes<br>Are at watch in the thicker shades;<br>For she was lovely that smiled oh his sighs,<br>And he bore, from a hundred lovers, his prize,<br>The flower of the forest maids.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The boughs in the morning wind are stirred,<br>And the woods their song renew,<br>With the early carol of many a bird,<br>And the quickened tune of the streamlet heard<br>Where the hazels trickle with dew.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And Maquon has promised his dark-haired maid,<br>Ere eve shall redden the sky,<br>A good red deer from the forest shade,<br>That bounds with the herd through grove and glade,<br>At her cabin-door shall lie.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The hollow woods, in the setting sun,<br>Ring shrill with the fire-bird's lay;<br>And Maquon's sylvan labors are done,<br>And his shafts are spent, but the spoil they won<br>He bears on his homeward way.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">He stops near his bower- his eye perceives<br>Strange traces along the ground—<br>At once to the earth his burden he heaves;<br>He breaks through the veil of boughs and leaves;<br>And gains its door with a bound.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">But the vines are torn on its walls that leant,<br>And all from the young shrubs there<br>By struggling hands have the leaves been rent,<br>And there hangs on the sassafras, broken and bent,<br>One tress of the well-known hair.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">But where is she who, at this calm hour,<br>Ever watched his coming to see?<br>She is not at the door, nor yet in the bower;<br>He calls—but he only hears on the flower<br>The hum of the laden bee.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">It is not a time for idle grief,<br>Nor a time for tears to flow;<br>The horror that freezes his limbs is brief—<br>He grasps his war-axe and bow, and a sheaf<br>Of darts made sharp for the foe.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And he looks for the print of the ruffian's feet<br>Where he bore the maiden away;<br>And he darts on the fatal path more fleet<br>Than the blast hurries the vapor and sleet<br>O'er the wild November day.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Twas early summer when Maquon's bride<br>Was stolen away from his door;<br>But at length the maples in crimson are dyed,<br>And the grape is black on the cabin-side—<br>And she smiles at his hearth once more.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">But far in the pine-grove, dark and cold,<br>Where the yellow leaf falls not,<br>Nor the autumn shines in scarlet and gold,<br>There lies a hillock of fresh dark mould,<br>In the deepest gloom of the spot.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And the Indian girls, that pass that way,<br>Point out the ravisher's grave;<br>"And how soon to the bower she loved," they say,<br>"Returned the maid that was borne away<br>From Maquon, the fond and the brave."</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=William+Cullen+Bryant">William Cullen Bryant</a><div class=q>
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