y soul hath panted, ever since I first knew that
I was. I love thee, deeply and fervently, and wish thee to be mine. I
ask thee to leave the clime of thy father, and go with me to the
pleasant land and beautiful river of the Nanticokes. Though its skies
be not so bright as those in which thou wert born, yet are they
mellower. And the waters of the land are clear, cool, and sweet, and
the shades are refreshing. The vines are bending to the earth with
rich ripe grapes, berries are loading every bush, and the earth is
covered with flowers. Thou shalt become my companion in the cabin I
have built me beside the Nanticoke; and even as that river, when
unvexed by the swell of rains, glides along in the months of summer,
so shall our lives pass away. Thou shalt be the wife of my bosom, and
together will we live, till we are called to the land revealed to us
by our dreams as the land of souls."

The lovely maiden heard the words of the Nanticoke, and answered that
she knew not well what she should say. She knew not where the land of
the Nanticokes lay, nor did she know who was he that spoke to her. But
she timidly confessed that she loved him, and would become the wife of
his bosom, if the consent of her father and mother could be obtained.
So he asked the mother, who gave her consent at once, if that of her
husband could be procured.

When the Sun came home at night, his wife said to him, "One of the six
Indians that dropped from the North Star, on the shores of the Great
Lake in the Frog-Moon, has come hither, and demanded our daughter
Atahensic in marriage. He appears to be a bold and handsome youth, and
our daughter loves him."

"But he shall not have her," answered the fiery father; "the blood of
the Sun shall not mingle with the blood of the beings of the earth."

Then he called the Nanticoke to him, and spoke to him thus: "Thou
canst not have my daughter--thy blood cannot mingle with mine.--Depart."

The Nanticoke, who, like all the others of that tribe, was brave and
fearless, but prudent, held his peace, but departed not. When the Sun
was asleep he wooed the maiden; when he was awake, and his eyes were
peering into every spot however obscure, and every dingle however
dark, he hid himself where even those rays could not penetrate. And
often was the beautiful maiden of his love prevailed upon to hide
herself with him. But he had suffered himself to forget the
consequences of a mutual and unrestrained love. The beauti