I am Ojistoh, I am she, the wife
\nOf him whose name breathes bravery and life
\nAnd courage to the tribe that calls him chief.
\nI am Ojistoh, his white star, and he
\nIs land, and lake, and sky\u2014and soul to me.<\/p>\n
Ah! but they hated him, those Huron braves,
\nHim who had flung their warriors into graves,
\nHim who had crushed them underneath his heel,
\nWhose arm was iron, and whose heart was steel
\nTo all\u2014save me, Ojistoh, chosen wife
\nOf my great Mohawk, white star of his life.<\/p>\n
Ah! but they hated him, and councilled long O! evil, evil face of them they sent Wah! how we struggled! But their arms were strong. And we two rode, rode as a sea wind-chased, I, bound behind him in the captive’s place, He cut the cords; we ceased our maddened haste Ha! how I rode, rode as a sea wind-chased,
\nWith subtle witchcraft how to work him wrong;
\nHow to avenge their dead, and strike him where
\nHis pride was highest, and his fame most fair.
\nTheir hearts grew weak as women at his name:
\nThey dared no war-path since my Mohawk came
\nWith ashen bow, and flinten arrow-head
\nTo pierce their craven bodies; but their dead
\nMust be avenged. Avenged? They dared not walk
\nIn day and meet his deadly tomahawk;
\nThey dared not face his fearless scalping knife;
\nSo\u2014Niyoh![1]<\/sup><\/a>\u2014then they thought of me, his wife.<\/p>\n
\nWith evil Huron speech: “Would I consent
\nTo take of wealth? be queen of all their tribe?
\nHave wampum ermine?” Back I flung the bribe
\nInto their teeth, and said, “While I have life
\nKnow this\u2014Ojistoh is the Mohawk’s wife.”<\/p>\n
\nThey flung me on their pony’s back, with thong
\nRound ankle, wrist, and shoulder. Then upleapt
\nThe one I hated most: his eye he swept
\nOver my misery, and sneering said,
\n“Thus, fair Ojistoh, we avenge our dead.”<\/p>\n
\nI, bound with buckskin to his hated waist,
\nHe, sneering, laughing, jeering, while he lashed
\nThe horse to foam, as on and on we dashed.
\nPlunging through creek and river, bush and trail,
\nOn, on we galloped like a northern gale.
\nAt last, his distant Huron fires aflame
\nWe saw, and nearer, nearer still we came.<\/p>\n
\nScarcely could see the outline of his face.
\nI smiled, and laid my cheek against his back:
\n“Loose thou my hands,” I said. “This pace let slack.
\nForget we now that thou and I are foes.
\nI like thee well, and wish to clasp thee close;
\nI like the courage of thine eye and brow;
\nI like thee better than my Mohawk now.”<\/p>\n
\nI wound my arms about his tawny waist;
\nMy hand crept up the buckskin of his belt;
\nHis knife hilt in my burning palm I felt;
\nOne hand caressed his cheek, the other drew
\nThe weapon softly\u2014”I love you, love you,”
\nI whispered, “love you as my life.”
\nAnd\u2014buried in his back his scalping knife.<\/p>\n
\nMad with sudden freedom, mad with haste,
\nBack to my Mohawk and my home. I lashed
\nThat horse to foam, as on and on I dashed.
\nPlunging thro’ creek and river, bush and trail,
\nOn, on I galloped like a northern gale.
\nAnd then my distant Mohawk’s fires aflame
\nI saw, as nearer, nearer still I came,
\nMy hands all wet, stained with a life’s red dye,
\nBut pure my soul, pure as those stars on high\u2014
\n“My Mohawk’s pure white star, Ojistoh, still am I.”<\/p>\n