The Song of the River
(very loosely based on a legend about the Pascagoula people in Mississippi)
(written for a Fed Poets roleplaying event - an experiment in using trochaic metre)
Mighty, flows the ancient river
Through a land in legend spoken
Springs from deep within the mountain
Swiftly rushes, roaring, crashing,
Lifting boulders as it passes
Tumbling, madly to the valley
Where two tribes their homes do make.
Peaceful, dwelling next that river,
Prosper there, together thriving,
Giving thanks unto those waters
Which bring life to all their lands.
Lived there then a most fair damsel,
Much loved princess of her people,
To their king was she betrothed,
Once while bathing in that river
Spied she the young chief of her neighbour,
Youthful, fair, with silvery tongue who
Wooed her, led her to his tent then
Won her heart, made her his own.
That king, to whom she once was promised,
Whispers heard, insinuating,
She from him with ease was stolen.
Great his anger, loud his fury
Straight to war his armies mustered,
Vanquished quick his rival’s warriors,
Burned his tents, razed all his land.
Led by their young chief with his lover,
Driven to where the river widened,
Those from slaughter still surviving,
Heard close by the war drums beating.
Knowing death was nigh approaching,
Linking arms they walked then gladly,
Sang their thanks unto the waters,
Gave their bodies to the stream.
Those who walk now by that river,
Next the waters gently lapping,
Close by, oft hear voices calling,
Bidding listen, hear our story,
Of a people long forgotten.
Tumultuous, thundering, rush the rapids,
Booming, rage at wrongs remembered,
Though here where currents swirl more slowly,
Seem to rise above those waters,
Mournful echoes, soft bewailing
Lives of those lost long ago.
Walk in moonlight next that river,
Ghostly voices may you hear then,
See two lovers there embracing,
Spectral shadows murmuring softly,
Warm endearments, tender yearnings,
Lament for love, too soon curtailed.
