Excerpt from The Maiden of the Mist: An Indian Legend of Niagara, Origin of the Great Paintings, the Red Man's Fact and the White Man's Fancy

The Maid of the Mist

There's an ancient Indian Legend
By their weird old women told,
Of a deed of love and daring,
By a maiden brave and bold,
Where Niagara's waters sparkled,
And Niagara's thunders rolled,
In their days of vanished glory
In their pristine days of old.

In the valley of the Mohawk,
In that vale so grandly wild,
Dwelt Wenona, Forest maiden,
And the Chieftain's only child,
Such a wealth of forest suitors.
Other maiden never won
And her fame had spread for beauty,
Far toward the setting sun.

E'en to distant Onyakara.
Where Tacomo's Wigwam lone
Stood above the rushing waters
As if listening to their moan,
And her fame had reached Tacomo,
He, a Chief of Iroquois,
And he swore to win the maiden,
Swore it by each eagle claw.

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