THE ISLE OF FOUNTS. AN INDIAN TRADITION. "The River St: Mary has its source from a vast lake or marsh, which lies between Flint and Oakmulge rivers, and occupies a space of near three hundred miles in circuit. This vast accumulation of waters, in the wet season, appears as a lake, and contains some large islands or knolls of rich high land; one of which the present generation of the Creek Indians represent to be a most blissful spot of earth; they say it is inhabited by a pe culiar race of Indians, whose women are incomparably beautiful. They also tell you that this terrestrial paradise has been seen by some of their enter. prising hunters, when in pursuit of game; but in their endeavours to approach it, they were involved in perpetual labyrinths, and, like enchanted land, still as they imagined they had just gained it, it seemed to fly before them, alternately appearing and disappearing. They resolved, at length, to leave the delusive pursuit, and to return, which, after a number of difficulties, they effected. When they reported their adventures to their countrymen, the young warriors were inflamed with an irresistible desire to invade, and make a conquest of, so charming a country; but all their attempts have hitherto proved abortive, never having been able again to find that enchanting spot!" Bartram's Travels Through North and South Carolina, &c. The additional circumstances in the Isle of Founts are merely imaginary. SON of the stranger! wouldst thou take O'er yon blue hills thy lonely way, To reach the still and shining lake Along whose banks the west-winds play? -Let no vain dreams thy heart beguile, Lull but the mighty serpent king,* 'Midst the grey rocks, his old domain; Ward but the cougar's deadly spring, -Thy step that lake's green shores may gain; And the bright Isle, when all is pass'd, Shall vainly meet thine eye at last! Yes! there, with all its rainbow streams, Floats on the wave in golden light; And lovely will the shadows be Of groves whose fruit is not for thee! *The Cherokees believe that the recesses of their mountains, overgrown with lofty pines and cedars, and covered with old mossy rocks, are inhabited by the kings or chiefs of the rattlesnakes, whom they denominate the "bright old inhabitants." They represent them as snakes of an enormous size, and which possess the power of drawing to them every living creature that comes within the reach of their eyes. Their heads are said to be crowned with a carbuncle, of dazzling brightness.-See Notes to Leyden's "Scenes of Infancy." And breathings from their sunny flowers, Which are not of the things that die, Shall greet thee in the purple sky; Or hast thou heard the sounds that rise From the deep chambers of the earth? The wild and wondrous melodies To which the ancient rocks birth? gave -Like that sweet song of hidden caves Shall swell those wood-notes o'er the waves. The emerald waves !-they take their hue Before thee, hadst thou morning's speed, * * The stones on the banks of the Oronoco, called by the South American missionaries Laxas de Musica, and alluded to in a former note. Yet on the breeze thou still wouldst hear The music of its flowering shades, Of founts that ripple through its glades; The sound, and sight, and flashing ray But woe for him who sees them burst With their bright spray-showers to the lake ! Earth has no spring to quench the thirst That semblance in his soul shall wake, For ever pouring through his dreams, Bright, bright in many a rocky urn, From the blue mountains to the main, E'en thus our hunters came of yore Back from their long and weary quest; -Had they not seen th' untrodden shore, And could they 'midst our wilds find rest? The lightning of their glance was fled, They dwelt amongst us as the dead! They lay beside our glittering rills, With visions in their darken'd eye, Their joy was not amidst the hills, Where elk and deer before us fly; Their spears upon the cedar hung, Their javelins to the wind were flung. They bent no more the forest-bow, They arm'd not with the warrior-band, The moons wan'd o'er them dim and slow--They left us for the spirit's land! Beneath our pines yon greensward heap Shows where the restless found their sleep. Son of the stranger! if at eve Silence be 'midst us in thy place, The strength of battle and of chase! |