The Legend of Cabool

Some people believe this poem depicts the true story behind the city’s name.

The Legend of Cabool

On the banks of crystal Piney,

Close beside the Onyx Pool,

Queen of Ozarks’ balmy climate

Stands the far-famed town, “Cabool,”

Tahassie was an Indian maiden,

Fair and graceful, pure and mild,

Daughter of the fierce Pomona,

Half a woman, half a child.

Beyond her father’s realm of forest,

Reigned a chieftan, brave and cool;

Ruled, a son of mighty warriors,

Reigned the gallant, Chief Cabool.

Comes one day this gallant chieftain,

Followed by his warriors bold,

On Pomona’s sacred acres;

Hunting deer and elk untold.

There he spied the fair Tahassie

Roving wild among the flowers;

There they plighted troth forever,

There they spent their happiest hours.

Takes her with him willing prisoner

Does this lover brave and true;

Clinging fondly to his shoulder,

Her beating heart has naught to rue.

But, watchful eyes this pair discover

As they walk at lover’s pace;

Discover too, the tired hunters

Camped before the onyx face.

In Pomona’s camp at midnight

Wild commotion, startled cries.

Word is brought by breathless runners

Cabool! Cabool! Tahassie flies!

Loud and wild Pomona rages,

Arms he all his eager braves,

Rush they out for savage vengeance,

Steal they softly round the cave.

Then at dawn by given signal,

Spring they on the sleeping foe

With savage yells and demon slaughter,

Like hounds upon a helpless doe.

In sheltered cave Cabool, Tahassie

Hear the din of battle roar;

Start they up, are met by foemen,

Ne’er to dream of pleasure more.

Quickly one hand grasps his weapon,

One are round Tahassie’s waist

And, against Pomona’s minions,

Bold, this chieftain sets his face.

With mighty blows he strikes about him;

With mighty bounds he backward goes;

Backward to the bluffs of Cedar,

While the ground with crimson flows.

Till, upon the ledge of granite

Towering far above the pool,

Striking down a score of warriors,

Fights the lover chief, Cabool.

“Would thou save thyself, Tahassie?

Would thou to thy father go”

“What! Go? Leave thee and thou perish?

No, brave chief, I pray thee, no!”

Clasps her then to panting bosom,

Backward reels for want of breath

Headlong from the highest level

Plunge these lovers to their death.

Pilgrims, from all lands and nations,

Pause and gaze upon this pool,

And recount the mystic legend

Fair Tahassie, brave Cabool.

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