Of her life which I quaffed; 'twas sweet, and rife
With flavor from foundations of her hills:

'Twas strong with her strength; throbbing with her thrills;
Enriched with her untainted blood; a part
Of that divinity which rules my heart!
Thus when at last I drew my lips away,
And in the quiet of the closing day
Gave voice to my delight, the old man turned
To meet my glance. His deep eyes lit and burned
With growing brightness, and he softly said:
"This spring is sacred for the holy dead;
The spirit of Sweet Water lingers here;
The powers of mystery and reverent fear
And lovely death brood o'er this sleeping wave--
A monument for one who had no grave."
Forthwith he poured into my willing ear
A tale so wondrous I must tell it here:

One morning in the strawberry moon,
Her heart with Nature's heart in tune
A maid went forth to meet the sun.
That wonderous alchemist of day
With mystic pigments had begun
To tint the dark with twilight gray;
On mystic fans the breezy hills
Bestirred the air with perfumed thrills,
And mystic voices tried to tell
What dewy benedictions fell
Through all the silent hours of night.
The bend of eastern sky grew light
With mystic rays of silver-green,
Soon vanished in a violet sheen;
And this fair, mystic phantom flew
Before a potent golden hue.
The maiden idly wandered over
Banks of moss and beds of clover,
Pausing as she strolled along
To hear the sweetest wildwood song,
Or watch the butterfly whose flight
From meadow bloom to forest flower
Enticed her pleasure-searching sight
With Nature's happiest power.
She passed along a forest trail
'Neath trees that thrilled with morning life;
Above the song-birds' concert strife
She heard the blithesome call of quail,
The scornful cry of blue-jay dressed
In splendid robes, with lordly crest.
'Twas joy to see, 'twas joy to hear,
'Twas joy to wander without fear.
O lightsome heart! O peaceful breast!
Where yet no passion brought unrest!
Gayly she tripped, unconscious all
That any danger might befall.
But suddenly the song-birds fled
From all the branches overhead.
Then on her startled hearing rang
The sharp and vengeful bow-string's twang
A whizz--a yell--a writhing mass
Fell on the path she thought to pass--
A tawny panther from whose side
An arrow drained the living tide.
With shrinking eyes she saw the beast
Rolling in agony, until
At last the sensate struggles ceased,
And all that mighty frame was still.
While she was wonderi