Was it thus the spell would weaken Which had wrought his love such evil? Would she be again awakened When he sought her in the thicket? Must he shoot this arrow at her To restore her throbbing pulses? Must he seek again We-nau-don To make warm her icy beauty?
While he of himself sought guidance, Sought to know the hidden meaning Of the mysteries he witnessed; Lo! another mystic wonder Met his eyes as he sat musing.
From the arrow made by Pale-Face, As th' enchanted water left it, Sprang a tiny shoot with leaflets Pushing upward to the sunlight.
Did the arrow dry the fountain With the blight of death it carried? Or in going, had the water Left a charm upon the arrow? Did the heart-blood of the Pale-Face From the arrow in the water Cause the coming of the green shoot, Which reached upward to the sunlight?
All O-kis-ko's love and courage Could not give him greater knowledge. Savage mind could not unravel All the meaning of this marvel. Fear forbade him touch the arrow Lest he should destroy the green shoot; So he left the tender leaflets Reaching upward to the sunlight, Sought again the lifeless maiden For whose love his soul had hungered; Knelt beside her in the forest, With the awe of death upon him, Which in heathen as in Christian Moves the human soul to worship.
All his faith in savage magic Turned to frenzy at his failure; And the helplessness of mortals Pressed upon him like a burden; While a mighty longing seized him For a knowledge of the Unknown, For a light to pierce the Silence Into which none enter living. And unconsciously his spirit Rose in quest of Might Supernal, Which should rule both dead and living, Leaving naught to chance or magic; Which should seize the throbbing pulses Ebbing from a dying mortal, And create a higher being Free from thrall of earthly nature; Almost grasping in his yearning Knowledge of the God Eternal, In whose hand the earth lies helpless, In whose heart all souls find refuge.
But no light came to O-kis-ko; Still the burden pressed upon him, And a pall of hopeless yearning Wrapped his soul in voiceless sorrow As he gazed upon the maiden With death's mysteries enfolded. Then he made upon her bosom The strange Cross-Sign she had taught him; From his shoulders took the mantle Made of skins of many sea-gulls, Gently wrapped the maiden in it, Heaped the tinted leaves about her; Leaving all his own life's brightness With her where the shadows darkened.