IROQUOIS MYTHS AND LEGENDS 



127 



flee from her forever. Like a brave warrior he should have waited 

 his fate. Now the sun turns away, and a black cloud covers its face. 

 Nothing but gloom and the shadows come now to me. The foes of 

 Hon-do-sa fast follow, mad in their hate; the arrows will soon hiss 

 his doom. Oh-ne, (farewell) Wan-nut-ha! Wan-nut-ha opened a 

 new light to Hon-do-sa. Now it is black and forsaken. Return to 

 her people, and forget the Algonquin. He will wait here to die." 

 And the brave Hon-do-sa, so strong in battle, so weak in love, 

 turned his face from the sunrise to meet his fast coming foes. 



But Wan-nut-ha! In the conflict of loving, despairing, pitying 

 yet brave; forgetting her kin, forgetting her blood which raced 

 in hate for her foes ; she sprang from her canoe, exclaiming as she 

 sent it adrift: " Not alone shall my brave Algonquin die; as two 

 leaves that grow from one stem, is the life of Hon-do-sa and the life 

 of Wan-nut-ha ; and as one life they shall live, or as one life will die ! " 



Swift as two shadow clouds they sped up the steep cliffs, and 

 nearing their highest crag, calmly awaited the coming of the pursu- 

 ing warriors. 



For her wild love, Wan-nut-ha forsook her people and now dared 

 their hate; and for love, the chieftain, who feared not death, clasped 

 her to his heart and with a shout of triumphant scorn at his baffled 

 foes, together they leaped to their death on the sharp rocks below! 



There at the foot of the great cliffs across the lake from Ga-nun- 

 do-wa mountain a heavy oak watches its shadows as it follows the 

 course of the sun, and when the bittern screams and the owl cries 

 the midnight, the tremulous leaves of the old tree sigh like unto 

 human voices, and its branches bend lower to guard the vigils of a 

 spirit that wanders forth to renew its vows. 



The sachem and his warriors entered the dust; the forests are 

 laid in fair plains that bear the harvests ; the lake carries the burdens 

 of the paleface, and the birch bark canoe no longer drifts on its 

 waters. But the oak still watches and counts the ages and Wa-nut- 

 ha's spirit still sighs in its shadow where it waits to welcome Hon- 

 do-sa. 



