The Island and Its Associations [pp. 677-680]

67 Th Isad n e ls-~os SPEBR
temperature, and not an angry wave breaks upon its sandy
beach. The birds seem for ages to have made it their principal resort; at stated seasons, they wing their flight to it
in numbers as great as those of the Jews who in ancient
days went up to Jerusalem to worship the living God. It
is a pleasant employment in the spring-time to watch for
their arrival, and give them "welcome-warm" when they
come. When the early flowers spring up, and fairy-footed
May comes tripping along with her bosom full of primroses, snow-drops and violets, and the air becomes milder,
and comes laden with the perfume of many a flower that
it kissed on its way, I go over to the island to welcome
the sociable little birds that last season were too young to
fly and peck and sing for themselves, and the scores of old
friends whose countenances and music-notes are as familiar to me as the light of day. There is a mystery hanging
over these feathered minstrels, which naturalists, thank
Heaven, find it impossible to solve, after centuries of anxious and prolonged research; and which if solved, would
tend to divest them of much of the poetry that is now connected with them-their motions, flight and existence. The
paroquet, the mocking-bird, the blute-jay, the gold-finch, the
red-bird, the wren and the humming-bird that fill the air
with melody and song, but a month or so before sent forth
a gush of music along the banks of the "golden-sanded"
Pactolus, or serenaded some lovely Houri of an Eastern
seraglio, as she slept in her bower of perfumed shade; while
the wild pigeon, the swallow, the plover, the pheasant and
the quail, which are seen in amazing numbers on the island,
have doubtless built their nests on the mosques of Constantinople, the pyramids of Egypt, the pagodas of India,
or the Vatican of the Empress of the World; or spread their
wings over the Rhine, the Danube and the Ganges, the
islands of the ocean, and the classic haunts of genius, poetry and romance of the Old World.
Not many years since, the beautiful and majestic swan
could be seen floating along the sparkling waters; but it
seems to have uttered its last wild note upon our rivers, and
sought out some more quiet place in which to breathe its
dying breath, unheard and undisturbed.
But to the devout traveller, of all the "sights and sounds"
in the vicinity, the most pleasing will be the neighboring
falls. During a still night their roar can be heard for miles,
and is far more solemn and imposing than the noblest invocation ever uttered within the walls of any cathedral.
There is a tradition concerning them, which may be appropriate in this place. Two Indian chiefs, who had made
their names terrible in many a bloody battle, became enamored of the same dark-eyed beauty of the tribe. One
wooed and won her, and she became his bride. Weeks
and months glided by, and the happy chief forgot even the
existence of the proud rival whom he had conquered. One
morning he awoke at an early hour from his slumber, and
found the lady of his love at his side, still bound in rosy
sleep. She seemed restless and fevered, and with a warm
and love-fraug h t kis s cl asped him wildly to her he art.
Before the w arm embrace wa s as war mly re turned, she
muttered in her sleep and breathed a name wh ich fro ze the
smile of joy that played upon his lip. Without a moment's
thought, he plucked a weapon from its sheath, and ere that
guilty dream had passed, she had dreamed her last. Before that tragic day, says the t radition, the river rippled
noiselessly along; but, ever since, the voice of the Grea t Spiri t has been heard in t he waters, re provi ng his er ring and
faithless children; and many an Indian brave, whom the
war-whoop would have sent headlong against a thousand
bayonets, has trembled with fear and terror, when at midnight in his wigwam he has heard the roar of the falls
lashed into furv by the tempest, and believed it to he the
voice of the offended Wahconda. The falls seem to have
acquired hut little fame; but it is sincerely to be hoped that
and "last though not least in our heart's affections," the
Bermudas, t he e nchant ed a bode of Prn rospero an d Ariel, the
"still vext Bermoothes," which were for ages the terror of
bold navigators, whose descriptions breathe of nothing but
foul weather, thunder-storms and tempests. But let me not
wander so far from the object of this little sketch.
If the curious reader will look upon almost any map of
the Western States, and following the course of the OHIOPEKHANNE, (an Indian name, meaning " a very deep white
stream," the first part of which, our early pioneers adopted
as easier to pronounce and remember,) until his eye reaches
the falls of the Ohio, he will discover three little dots, intended in chart nomenclature to represent three islands,
called by navigators, doubtless after the christening of the
redoubted Mike Fink or some of his compeers of the
"broad horn," Goose Island, Rock Island and Corn Island.
To the latter of this beautiful group, is the attention of the
reader requested. It received its ancient name on account
of the great quantity of Indian corn that grows on its shores;
but as it is known to some by the more poetical and highsounding one of Indian Island, it shall be so termed in
these pages.
Indian Island is a terrestrial paradise. Nature seems to
have created it in one of her happiest moods. It rises in
the midst of the Ohio, covered with emerald verdure, enriched with numerous wild flowers of the sweetest fragrance and brightest tints, and studded with every variety
of forest tree. Though small, it abounds in all the productions of the Western climate. Nothing can be lovelier
than its appearance in that pleasant time, when in the
words of a favorite poet
Springing from a rich and fertile soil, the magnificent trees
rear their immense trunks to a gigantic height, and are
adorned with a foliage luxuriant and beautiful beyond description. The sycamore towers high in air, with a stem
of snowy whiteness and a foliage of the most delicately
tinted green-the tulip tree, with its bright yellow flowers,
and long, curiously s haped leav es-the red-bud, with its
deep scarlet blossoms-the dog-wood, with its virgin white
flowers-the gum, with its dark and sombre green-the
birch, w ith its silver stem s and pensile br anches-the oak,
th at "spr eads its amb er leaves out in the s unny sheen" —
the cypress, standing like an apparition in the forest-and
the catalpa, bursting into one proud glow of beauty-stand
side by side with the majestic oak, the hoary poplar, the
maple, the walnut, the elm, the beech and the beautiful
buck-eye, the pride of the Western forest. A number of
parasitical plants twine themselves around the trunks and
hang from almost every bough, adding a wildness which is
not uninteresting to the landscape. The wild grape frequently climbs to the topmost branch of the highest trees,
passing from branch to branch and from tree to tree, and
forming a protection from the heat of the summer sunthe mistletoe is also seen in large clusters and in great profusion on almost every bough. Such is the appearance of
the trees in the Spring, when Nature, prodigal of her luxuiries, is scattering them all along our daily paths; but no less
beautiful are they in Autumn. The tender green of the
expanding leaves, the rich tints of the young buds, the
beauty of the clustering flowers have vanished, and trees
have assumed a gorgeous garb, for the simple and neat one
of the early spring, when in the delicacy of their pride.
The effect of the scenery in this island is heightened,
and its beauties rendered still more enchanting, by other
objects. It reposes beneath the serenest of skies; the sunshine that parches every other spot, visits it like the smile
of a fair girl; the air, is softened into a mild and delightful
The Island, and its dssotions.
LSF,PTEMBF,R,
678
I
11 Nature with her delicate ear hath heard
The dropping of the velvet foot of spring."
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