CHAPTER IVTREE AND PLANT MYTHS
To primitive man, trees and plants seemed as mysterious as animals, and there are many myths which tell of the descent of mankind from trees, and many cases in which plants were totems instead of animals. Among various Indian tribes who had such a belief may be mentioned the Miztecs, who declared they were descended from two majestic trees that stood in the gorge of the mountain of Apiola. The Chiapanecas thought they sprang from the roots of a silk cotton tree. The Tamaraquas of South America have a tradition that the human race sprang from the fruits of the date palm after the Mexican age of water. Passing half way round the world to the Damaras of South Africa we find still more remarkable qualities attributed to the first tree. “In the beginning,” they say, “there was a tree, and out of this tree came Damaras, Bushmen (the wildest of South African tribes), oxen and zebras. The Damaras lit a fire which frightened away the Bushmen and the zebras, but the oxen remained. Hence it is that Bushmen and wild beasts live together in all sorts of inaccessible places, but the Damaras and oxen possess the land.”
Even in Greek mythology, the idea of descent fromtrees had not quite died out, for we read in the “Odyssey” that Penelope says to Odysseus, while still in the disguise of a beggar, so that she does not recognize him, “Now, I pray, declare thy lineage, for thou surely art not sprung from the old fabulous oak nor from the rock.”
The oak was regarded with very great reverence by the Greeks. They declared it to be the first tree that grew upon the earth, its acorns being the earliest food of man. There is an interesting story to the effect that the Deluge was due to quarrels between Zeus (Jupiter) and Hera (Juno), and when the waters subsided an oaken statue emerged supposed to be a symbol of peace between the king of gods and his consort.
When the imagination begins to sprout a little more the savage invents a story telling how the first men and animals were made out of trees by some divinity. Thus Glooskap, the Algonquin divinity, made man in this way: “He took his bow and arrows and shot at trees, the basket tree, the ash. Then Indians came out of the bark of the ash trees.” In Norse mythology there is a similar legend, according to which there were no intelligent men on earth until there came three mighty and benevolent gods to the world. Men had no sense, nor blood, nor motive powers, nor goodly color. Odin gave spirit, Haemir gave sense, and Lodur gave blood by bestowing it upon the senseless ashes and elms.
The worship of trees is told of in stories from one end of the world to the other.
The Ainos of Japan have a story that “at the beginning of the world the ground was so hot that the creatures called men even got their feet burnt. For this reason no tree or herb could grow. The only herb that grew at that time was the mugwort. Of trees the only ones were the oak and pine. For this reason these two trees are the oldest among trees. This being so, these two trees are divine; they are trees which human beings worship.”
They also believe in a mystic pine tree made of metal which grew at the head of the world, against which the swords of the gods broke and bent where they attacked it. The Japanese god, Izanagi, repels the eight thunder gods in the infernal regions by throwing at them the three fruits of the peach tree that grew at the entrance of the level pass of the dark world.
There is also a Chinese peach tree of the gods which grows near the palace of Si Wang Mu, the West Queen Mother. Its fruit of immortality ripens once in thirteen thousand years and gives three thousand years of life to the eater. Tung Fang So stole three and lived nine thousand years.
The Hindoos have more than one marvellous mythical tree. According to the “Rig Veda,” the god Brahma himself was a tree and all the other gods are considered branches of the divine parent stem. There is also a supernatural tree sacred to Buddha. This cloud tree is the tree of knowledge and wisdom and is covered with divine flowers. It glows and sparkles with the brilliance of all manner of preciousstones. The root, the trunk, the branches, and the leaves are formed of gems of the most glorious description. It grows in soil pure and delightfully even to which the rich verdure of grass imparts the tints of a peacock’s neck. This tree receives the homage of the gods. The arm of Maya, the mother of Buddha, when she stretches it forth to grasp the bough which bends toward her shines as the lightning illumines the sky. Beneath this tree Buddha, at whose birth a flash of light pierced through all the world, sat down with the firm resolve not to rise until he had attained the knowledge which maketh free. Then the tempter Mara advanced with his demoniacal forces. Encircling the sacred tree, hosts of demons assailed Buddha with fiery darts, amid the whirl of hurricanes, darkness and the downpour of floods of water, to drive him from the tree.
Buddha, however, maintained his position unmoved and at length the demons were compelled to fly.
Still another marvellous tree is that of the Persians. It is called the Haoma. It is the sacred vine of the Zoroastrians, which produces the primal drink of immortality, after which it is named. It is the first of all trees, planted in heaven by Ormuzd in the fountain of life. Near this tree grows another, called the “impassive” or “inviolable,” which bears the seeds of every kind of vegetable life. Both these trees are situated in a lake and guarded by ten fish, who keep a ceaseless watch upon a lizard sent bythe evil power, Ahriman, to destroy the sacred Haoma. The inviolable tree is also known both as the eagle’s and the owl’s tree. Either one or the other of these birds sits perched upon the top. The moment he rises from the tree a thousand branches shoot forth; when he settles again, he breaks a thousand branches, and causes their seed to fall. Another bird, his constant companion, picks up these seeds and carries them to where the god Tistar draws water, which he then rains down upon the earth with the seeds it contains.
The chief of all the great mythical trees is the Norse World Tree, an ash tree called “Ygdrasil.” One of the stems of this tree springs from the central primordial abyss, from the subterranean source of matter, runs up through the earth which it supports, and issuing out of the celestial mountain in the world’s center, called Asgard, spreads its branches over the entire universe. These widespread branches are the ethereal or celestial regions, their leaves the clouds, their buds or fruits the stars. Four harts run across the branches of the tree and bite the buds. These are the four cardinal winds. Perched upon the top branches is an eagle and between his eyes sits a hawk. The eagle symbolizes the air and the hawk the wind-still ether. A squirrel runs up and down the ash, and seeks to cause strife between the eagle and Nidhögg, a monster which is constantlygnawing the roots. The squirrel signifies hail and other atmospheric phenomena. Nidhögg and serpents which gnaw the roots of the tree are the volcanic agencies which are constantly seeking to destroy the earth’s foundation. Another stem springs from the holy Urdan-fountain where the gods sit in judgment. In this fountain swim two swans, the progenitors of all the species. These are by some thought to typify the sun and the moon. Near the fountain dwell three maidens who fix the lifetime of all men, called Norns. Every day they draw water from the spring and with it sprinkle the ash Ygdrasil in order that its branches may not rot and wither away. This water is so holy that everything placed in the spring becomes as white as the film within an egg-shell. The dew that falls from the tree upon the earth men call honey-dew, and it is the food of the bees. The third stem of the Ygdrasil takes its rise in the cold and cheerless regions of the North (the land of the Frost Giants), over the source of the ocean, which is typified by a spring called Mirmir’s Well, in which wisdom and wit lie hidden. Mirmir, the owner of this spring, is full of wisdom because he drinks of the waters.
In this myth the whole universe is symbolized as a tree, and so we see how the simple thoughts of the early savage about trees grow and expand until a great poet comes upon the earth and with his larger powers of imagination throws into a myth so much wonder and beauty that we can scarcely realize whata humble little beginning it had in the groping mind of a primitive savage.
In Greek mythology the woods are peopled with fauns and satyrs, dryads and hamadryads. The first were spirits or gods of the wood and were represented as goats with the heads of men. The principal of these was Pan, already mentioned as an example of an animal myth. Since, however, he is a personification of nature as a whole he partakes of the qualities of a plant myth, as do all the other gods of the wood.
The dryads and hamadryads sometimes appeared in the form of peasant girls, or shepherdesses, or followers of the hunt, but it was thought that they perished when certain trees which had been their abode died or were felled, and upon whose existence theirs depended. The Romans, whose mythology is based for the most part upon the Greek mythology, except that their names for the gods were different, have some special plant gods of their own. Faunus was worshipped as a god of fields and shepherds, and the god Sylvanus presided over forest glades and ploughed fields. Then there was Flora, the goddess of flowers, and Pomona, the goddess of fruit trees, and Vertumnus, the husband of Pomona, the guardian of fruit trees, gardens and vegetables.
Many lovely stories are based upon this idea that the plant world is also a living world, some of which you may read for yourselves in this chapter.
(Japanese)
There was once a young Aino who fell asleep at the foot of a pine of extraordinary height. While asleep there appeared to him in a dream the goddess of the tree. This pine was near the entrance of an immense cavern at the far end of which is a gleam of light, where there is an issue to another world. He found this cavern by pursuing a bear, who turned out to be a god, up a mountain of the underworld, until it took refuge in a hole in the ground which led into the cavern. When he awoke, he offered up thanks to the tree and set up divine symbols in its honor.
(North American Indian)
In time past—we cannot tell exactly how many, many years ago—a poor Indian was living, with his wife and children, in a beautiful part of the country. He was not only poor, but he had the misfortune to be inexpert in procuring food for his family, and his children were all too young to give him assistance.
Although of a lowly condition and straitened in his circumstances, he was a man of kind and contented disposition. He was always thankful to the Great Spirit for everything he received. He evenstood in the door of his lodge to bless the birds that flew past in the summer evenings; although, if he had been of a complaining temper, he might have repined that they were not rather spread upon the table for his evening meal.
The same gracious and sweet disposition was inherited by his eldest son, who had now arrived at the proper age to undertake the ceremony of the fast, to learn what kind of a spirit would be his guide and guardian through life.
Wunzh, for that was his name, had been an obedient boy from his infancy—pensive, thoughtful, and gentle—so that he was beloved by the whole family.
As soon as the first buds of spring appeared, and the delicious fragrance of the young year began to sweeten the air, his father, with the help of his younger brothers, built for Wunzh the customary little lodge, at a retired spot at some distance from their own, where he would not be disturbed during the solemn rite.
To prepare himself, Wunzh sought to clear his heart of every evil thought, and to think of nothing that was not good and beautiful and kindly.
That he might store his mind with pleasant ideas for his dreams, for the first few days he amused himself by walking in the woods and over the mountains, examining the early plants and flowers.
As he rambled far and wide, through the wild country, he felt a strong desire to know how the plants and herbs and berries grew, without any aid from man, and why it was that some kinds were goodto eat, and that others were possessed of medicinal or poisonous power.
After he had become too languid to walk about, and confined himself strictly to the lodge, he recalled these thoughts, and turning them in his mind, he wished he could dream of something that would prove a benefit to his father and family, and to all others of his fellow-creatures.
“True,” thought Wunzh, “the Great Spirit made all things, and it is to him that we owe our lives. Could he not make it easier for us to get our food than by hunting animals and taking fish? I must try to find this out in my visions.”
On the third day Wunzh became weak and faint, and kept his bed. Suddenly he fancied, as he lay thus, that a bright light came in at the lodge door, and ere he was aware he saw a handsome young man, with a complexion of the softest and purest white, coming down from the sky, and advancing toward him.
The beautiful stranger was richly and gayly dressed, having on a great many garments of green and yellow colors, but differing in their deeper or lighter shades. He had a plume of waving feathers on his head, and all his motions were graceful, and reminded Wunzh of the deep green of the summer grass, and the clear amber of the summer sky, and the gentle blowing of the summer wind. Beautiful as the stranger was, he paused on a little mound of earth, just before the door of the lodge.
“I am sent to you, my friend,” said this celestialvisitor, in a voice most soft and musical to listen to, “I am sent to you by that Great Spirit who made all things in the sky and on the earth. He has seen and knows your motives in fasting. He sees that it is from a kind and benevolent wish to do good to your people and to procure a benefit for them; that you do not seek for strength in war, or the praise of the men of the bloody hand. I am sent to instruct you and to show you how you can do your kindred good.”
He then told the young man to arise, and to prepare to wrestle with him, as it was only by this means that he could hope to succeed in his wishes.
Wunzh knew how weak he was from fasting, but the voice of the stranger was cheery, and put such a courage in his heart, that he promptly sprang up, determined to die rather than fail. Brave Wunzh! if you ever accomplish anything, it will be through the power of the resolve that spake within you at that moment.
He began the trial, and after a long-sustained struggle he was almost overpowered, when the beautiful stranger said:
“My friend, it is enough for once, I will come again to try you;” and smiling on him, he returned through the air in the same direction in which he had come.
The next day, although he saw how sweetly the wild flowers bloomed upon the slopes, and the birds warbled from the woodland, he longed to see the celestial visitor, and to hear his voice.
To his great joy he reappeared at the same hour,toward the going down of the sun, and rechallenged Wunzh to a trial of strength.
The brave Wunzh felt that his strength of body was even less than on the day before, but the courage of his mind seemed to grow. Observing this, and how Wunzh put his whole heart in the struggle, the stranger again spoke to him in the words he used before, adding:
“To-morrow will be your last trial. Be strong, my friend, for this is the only way in which you can overcome me and obtain the boon you seek.”
The light which shone after him as he left Wunzh was brighter than before.
On the third day he came again and renewed the struggle. Very faint in body was poor Wunzh, but he was stronger at heart than ever, and determined to prevail now or perish. He put forth his utmost powers, and after a contest more severe than either of the others, the stranger ceased his efforts, and declared himself conquered.
For the first time he entered Wunzh’s little fasting-lodge, and sitting down beside the youth, he began to deliver his instructions to him and to inform him in what manner he should proceed to take advantage of his victory.
“You have won your desire of the Great Spirit,” said the beautiful stranger. “You have wrestled manfully. To-morrow will be the seventh day of your fasting. Your father will give you food to strengthen you, and as it is the last day of trial you will prevail. I know this, and now tell you what youmust do to benefit your family and your people. To-morrow,” he repeated, “I shall meet you and wrestle with you for the last time. As soon as you have prevailed against me, you will strip off my garments and throw me down, clean the earth of roots and weeds, make it soft, and bury me in the spot. When you have done this, leave my body in the earth, and do not disturb it, but come at times to visit the place, to see whether I have come to life, and above all be careful never to let the grass or weeds grow upon my grave. Once a month cover me with fresh earth. If you follow these my instructions you will accomplish your object of doing good to your fellow-creatures by teaching them the knowledge I now teach you.”
He then shook Wunzh by the hand and disappeared, but he was gone so soon that Wunzh could not tell what direction he took.
In the morning, Wunzh’s father came to his lodge with some slight refreshments, saying:
“My son, you have fasted long enough. If the Great Spirit will favor you, he will do it now. It is seven days since you have tasted food, and you must not sacrifice your life. The Master of Life does not require that.”
“My father,” replied Wunzh, “wait till the sun goes down. I have a particular reason for extending my fast to that hour.”
“Very well,” said the old man, “I shall wait till the hour arrives, and you shall be inclined to eat.”
At his usual hour of appearing, the beautiful sky-visitor returned, and the trial of strength was renewed.Although he had not availed himself of his father’s offer of food, Wunzh felt that new strength had been given him. His heart was mighty within him to achieve some great purpose. Courage within the bosom of the brave Wunzh was like the eagle that spreads his wings within the treetop for a great flight.
He grasped his angel challenger with supernatural strength, threw him down, and, mindful of his own instructions, tore from him his beautiful garments and plume, and finding him dead, he immediately buried him on the spot, using all the precautions he had been told of, and very confident was Wunzh, all the time, that his friend would again come to life.
Wunzh now returned to his father’s lodge, where he was warmly welcomed, for as it had been appointed to him during the days of his fasting to walk apart with Heaven, he was not permitted to see any human face save that of his father, the representative to the little household upon earth of the Good Father who is in Heaven.
Wunzh partook sparingly of the meal that had been prepared for him, and once more mingled in the cares and sports of the family. But he never for a moment forgot the grave of his friend. He carefully visited it throughout the spring, and weeded out the grass, and kept the ground in a soft and pliant state; and sometimes, when the brave Wunzh thought of his friend that was gone from his sight, he dropped a tear upon the earth where he lay.
Watching and tending, and moistening the earthwith his tears, it was not long before Wunzh saw the tops of green plumes coming through the ground; and the more faithful he was in obeying his instructions in keeping the ground in order, and in cherishing the memory of his departed friend, the faster they grew. He was, however, careful to conceal the charge of the earth which he had from his father.
Days and weeks had passed in this way; the summer was drawing toward a close, when one day, after a long absence in hunting, Wunzh invited his father to follow him to the quiet and lonesome spot of his former fast.
The little fasting-lodge had been removed, and the weeds kept from growing on the circle where it had stood; but in its place rose a tall and graceful plant, surmounted with nodding plumes and stately leaves and golden clusters. There was in its aspect and bearing the deep green of the summer grass, the clear amber of the summer sky, and the gentle blowing of the summer wind.
“It is my friend!” shouted Wunzh, “it is the friend of all mankind. It is Mondawmin: it is our Indian Corn! We need no longer rely on hunting alone, for as long as this gift is cherished and taken care of, the ground itself will give us a living.”
He then pulled an ear.
“See, my father,” said he, “this is what I fasted for. The Great Spirit has listened to my voice, and sent us something new, and henceforth our people will not alone depend upon the chase or upon the waters.”
Wunzh then communicated to his father the instructions given to him by the stranger. He told him that the broad husks must be torn away, as he had pulled off the garments in his wrestling, and having done this, he directed him how the ear must be held before the fire till the outer skin became brown—as the complexion of his angel friend had been tinted by the sun—while all the milk was retained in the grain.
The whole family, in high spirits, and deeply grateful to the Merciful Master who gave it, assisted in a feast on the newly grown ears of corn.
So came that mighty blessing into the world, and we owe all of those beautiful fields of healthful grain to the dream of the brave boy Wunzh.
(North American Indian)
Leelinau was the favorite daughter of a hunter who lived on the lake shore, near the base of the lofty highlands, called Kang Wudjoo.
From her earliest youth she was observed to be thoughtful and retiring. She passed much of her time in solitude, and seemed ever to prefer the companionship of her own shadow to the society of the lodge circle.
Whenever she could leave her father’s lodge she would fly to remote haunts and recesses in the woods, or sit in lonely revery upon some high promontory of rock overlooking the lake. In such places shewould often, with her face turned upward, linger long in contemplation of the air, as if she were invoking her guardian spirit, and beseeching him to lighten her sadness.
But amid all the leafy haunts, none drew her steps toward it so often as a forest of pines on the open shore, called Manitowok, or the Sacred Wood. It was one of those hallowed places which is the resort of the little wild men of the woods, and of the turtle spirits or fairies which delight in romantic scenes. Owing to this circumstance, its green retirement was seldom visited by Indians, who feared to fall under the influence of its mischievous inhabitants.
And whenever they were compelled by stress of weather to make a landing on this part of the coast, they never failed to leave an offering of tobacco, or some other token, to show that they desired to stand well with the proprietors of the fairy ground.
To this sacred spot Leelinau had made her way at an early age, gathering strange flowers and plants, which she would bring home to her parents, and relate to them all the haps and mishaps that had occurred in her rambles.
Although they discountenanced her frequent visits to the place, they were not able to restrain them, for she was of so gentle and delicate a temper that they feared to thwart her.
Her attachment to the fairy wood, therefore, grew with her years. If she wished to solicit her spirits to procure pleasant dreams, or any other maiden favor, Leelinau repaired to the Manitowok. If her fatherremained abroad in the hunt later than usual, and it was feared that he had been overwhelmed by the tempest, or had met with some other mischance, Leelinau offered up her prayers for safety at the Manitowok. It was there that she fasted, mused, and strolled.
She at length became so engrossed by the fairy pines that her parents began to suspect that some evil spirit had enticed her to its haunts, and had cast upon her a charm which she had not the power to resist.
This belief was confirmed when, one day, her mother, who had secretly followed her, overheard her murmuring to some unknown and invisible companion appeals like these:
“Spirit of the dancing leaves!” whispered Leelinau, “hear a throbbing heart in its sadness. Spirit of the foaming stream! visit thou my nightly pillow, shedding over it silver dreams of mountain brook and pebbly rivulet. Spirit of the starry night! lead my footprints to the blushing mis-kodeed, or where the burning passion-flower shines with carmine hue. Spirit of the greenwood plume!” she concluded, turning with passionate gaze to the beautiful young pines which stood waving their green beauty over her head, “shed on me, on Leelinau the sad, thy leafy fragrance, such as spring unfolds from sweetest flowers, or hearts that to each other show their inmost grief. Spirits! hear, O hear a maiden’s prayer!”
Day by day these strange communings with unseen beings drew away the heart of Leelinau moreand more from the simple duties of the lodge, and she walked among her people, melancholy and silent, like a spirit who had visited them from another land.
The pastimes which engaged the frolic moments of her young companions, passed by her as little trivial pageants in which she had no concern.
When the girls of the neighboring lodges assembled to play at the favorite female game of pappus-e-ko-waun, or the block and string, before the lodge-door, Leelinau would sit vacantly by, or enter so feebly into the spirit of the play as to show that it was irksome to her.
Again, in the evening, when the young people formed a ring around the lodge, and the piepeend-jigun, or leather and bone, passed rapidly from one to the other, she either handed it along without attempting to play, or if she took a part, it was with no effort to succeed.
The time of the corn gathering had come, and the young people of the tribe were assembled in the field, busy in plucking the ripened maize. One of the girls, noted for her beauty, had found a red ear, and every one congratulated her that a brave admirer was on his way to her father’s lodge. She blushed, and hiding the trophy in her bosom, she thanked the Good Spirit that it was a red ear, and not a crooked, that she had found.
Presently it chanced that one who was there among the young men espied in the hands of Leelinau, who had plucked it indifferently, one of the crooked kind,and at once the word “Wa-ge-min!” was shouted aloud through the field, and the whole circle was set in a roar.
“The thief is in the corn-field!” exclaimed the young man, Iagoo by name, and famous in the tribe for his mirthful powers of story-telling; “see you not the old man stooping as he enters the field? See you not signs that he crouched as he crept in the dark? Is it not plain by this mark on the stalk that he was heavily bent in his back? Old man, be nimble, or some one will take thee while thou art taking the ear.”
These questions Iagoo accompanied with the action of one bowed with age stealthily entering the corn-field. He went on:
“See how he stoops as he breaks off the ear. Nushka! He seems for a moment to tremble. Walker, be nimble! Hooh! It is plain the old man is the thief.”
He turned suddenly where she sat in the circle, pensively regarding the crooked ear which she held in her hand, and exclaimed:
“Leelinau, the old man is thine!”
Laughter rang merrily through the corn-field, but Leelinau, casting down upon the ground the crooked ear of maize, walked pensively away.
The next morning the eldest son of a neighboring chief called at her father’s lodge. He was quite advanced in years; but he enjoyed such renown in battle, and his name was so famous in the hunt, that the parents accepted him as a suitor for their daughter.They hoped that his shining qualities would draw back the thoughts of Leelinau from that spirit-land whither she seemed to have wholly directed her affections.
It was this chief’s son whom Iagoo had pictured as the corn-taker, but, without objecting to his age, or giving any other reason, Leelinau firmly declined his proposals. The parents ascribed the young daughter’s hesitancy to maiden fear, and paying no further heed to her refusal, a day was fixed for the marriage-visit to the lodge.
The warrior came to the lodge-door, and Leelinau refused to see him, informing her parents, at the same time, that she would never consent to the match.
It had been her custom to pass many of her hours in her favorite place of retirement, under a broad-topped young pine, whose leaves whispered in every wind that blew; but most of all in that gentle murmur of the air at the evening hour, dear to lovers, when the twilight steals on.
Thither she now repaired, and, while reclining pensively against the young pine tree, she fancied that she heard a voice addressing her. At first it was scarcely more than a sigh; presently it grew more clear, and she heard it distinctly whisper:
“Maiden, think me not a tree, but thine own dear lover, glad to be with thee in my tall and blooming strength, with the bright green nodding plume that waves above thee. Thou art leaning on my breast, Leelinau; lean forever there and be atpeace. Fly from men who are false and cruel, and quit the tumult of their dusty strife, for this quiet, lonely shade. Over thee I my arms will fling, fairer than the lodge’s roof. I will breathe a perfume like that of flowers over thy happy evening rest. In my bark canoe I’ll waft thee o’er the waters of the sky-blue lake. I will deck the folds of thy mantle with the sun’s last rays. Come, and on the mountain free rove a fairy bright with me!”
Leelinau drank in with eager ear these magical words. Her heart was fixed. No warrior’s son should clasp her hand. She listened in the hope to hear the airy voice speak more; but it only repeated, “Again! again!” and entirely ceased.
On the eve of the day fixed for her marriage, Leelinau decked herself in her best garments. She arranged her hair according to the fashion of her tribe, and put on all of her maiden ornaments in beautiful array. With a smile, she presented herself before her parents.
“I am going,” she said, “to meet my little lover, the chieftain of the Green Plume, who is waiting for me at the Spirit Grove.”
Her face was radiant with joy, and the parents, taking what she had said as her own fanciful way of expressing acquiescence in their plans, wished her good fortune in the happy meeting.
“I am going,” she continued, addressing her mother as they left the lodge, “I am going from one who has watched my infancy and guarded my youth; who has given me medicine when I was sick, andprepared my food when I was well. I am going from a father who has ranged the forest to procure the choicest skins for my dress, and kept his lodge supplied with the best spoil of the chase. I am going from a lodge which has been my shelter from the storms of winter, and my shield from the heats of summer. Farewell, my parents, farewell!”
So saying, she sped faster than any could follow her to the margin of the fairy wood, and in a moment was lost to sight.
As she had often thus withdrawn herself from the lodge, the parents were not in fear, but confidently awaited her return. Hour chased hour, as the clouds of evening rolled up in the west; darkness came on, but no daughter returned. With torches they hastened to the wood, and although they lit up every dark recess and leafy gloom, their search was in vain. Leelinau was nowhere to be seen. They called aloud, in lament, upon her name, but she answered not.
Suns rose and set, but nevermore in their light did the bereaved parents’ eyes behold the lost form of their beloved child. Their daughter was lost indeed. Whither she had vanished no mortal tongue could tell; although it chanced that a company of fishermen, who were spearing fish near the Spirit Grove, descried something that seemed to resemble a female figure standing on the shore. As the evening was mild and the waters calm, they cautiously pulled their canoe toward land, but the slight ripple of their oars excited alarm. The figure fled in haste, but they could recognize in the shape and dress as sheascended the bank, the lost daughter, and they saw the green plumes of her fairy-lover waving over his forehead as he glided lightly through the forest of young pines.
(Iroquois)
Many, many moons ago there lived an old man alone in his lodge beside a frozen stream in the great forest beyond the wide waters of the northern lakes. His locks were long and white with age and frost. The fur of the bear and cunning beaver covered his body, but none too warmly, for snow and ice were everywhere. Over all the earth there was winter. The winds came down the bleak mountain sides and wildly hurried through the branches of the trees and bushes, looking for song birds that they might chill to the heart. Even the evil spirits shivered in the desolation and sought to dig for themselves sheltering caves in the deep snow and ice. Lonely and halting, the old man went abroad in the forest, looking for the broken branches that had fallen from the trees that he might keep alive the fire in his lodge. Few fagots could he find, and in despair he again sought his lodge, where, hovering over the fading embers on his hearth, he cried in anguish to the Great Spirit that he might not perish.
Then the wind moaned in the tree-tops, and circling through the forests came back and blew aside the skin of the great bear hanging over his lodge-door, and, lo! a beautiful maiden entered. Her cheeks were redlike the leaves of wild roses; her eyes were large and glowed like the eyes of the fawn at night; her hair was black as the wing of the crow, and so long that it brushed the ground as she walked; her hands were clad in willow buds; over her head was a crown of flowers; her mantle was woven with sweet grasses and ferns, and her moccasins were white lilies, laced and embroidered with the petals of honeysuckle. When she breathed, the air of the lodge became warm, and the cold winds rushed back in affright.
The old man looked in wonder at his strange visitor, and then opened his lips and said: “My daughter, thou art welcome to the poor shelter of my cheerless lodge. It is lonely and desolate, and the Great Spirit has covered the fallen branches of the trees with his death-cloth that I may not find them and light again the fire of my lodge. Come sit thou here and tell me who thou art that thou dost wander like the deer in the forest. Tell me also of thy country and what people gave thee such beauty and grace, and then I, the desolate Manito, will tell thee of my victories till thou dost weary of my greatness.”
The maiden smiled, and the sunlight streamed forth and shot its warmth through the roof of the lodge. The desolate Manito filled his pipe of friendship, and when he had drawn of the fragrant tobacco, he said: “When I, the Manito, blow the breath from my nostrils the waters of the river stand still, the great waves on the lakes rest, and the murmurings of the streams die away in silence.”
Then the maiden said: “The Manito is great andstrong and the waters know the touch of his breath; but when I, the loved of the birds, smile, the flowers spring up over all the forest and the plains are covered with a carpet of green.”
Then said the Manito: “I shake my locks, and lo! the earth is wrapped in the death-cloth of snow.”
Then the maiden replied: “I breathe into the air and the warm rains come and the death-cloth vanishes like the darkness when the great fire awakens from its bed in the morning.”
Then the Manito said: “When I walk about, the leaves die on the trees and fall to the ground; the birds desert their nests and fly away beyond the lakes; the animals bury themselves in holes in the earth or in caves in the mountain side, and the winds wail the death-chant over all the land.”
“Ah, great is the Manito,” said the maiden, “and his mighty name is feared by all living things in the land. ‘Great is the Manito,’ says all the world, and his fame has spread among the children of the Great Spirit till they crouch with fear and say: ‘Mighty and cruel is the Manito! Terrible is the Manito, and more cruel and cunning in his tortures than the red men. His strength is greater than the strength of the giant trees of the forest, for does he not rend them with his mighty hands?’ But when I, the gentle maiden, walk forth, the trees cover with many leaves the nakedness which thou, the great Manito, hath caused; the birds sing in the branches and build again the nests from which thou drivest them; the animals seek their mates and rear their young; thewind sings soft and pleasant music to the ears of the red man, while his wives and pappooses sport in the warm sunshine near his wigwam.”
As the maiden spoke the lodge grew warm and bright, but the boasting Manito heeded it not, for his head drooped forward on his breast, and he slept.
Then the maiden passed her hands above the Manito’s head and he began to grow small. The bluebirds came and filled the trees about the lodge, and sang, while the rivers lifted up their waters and boiled with freedom. Streams of water poured from the Manito’s mouth, and the garments that covered his shrunken and vanishing form turned into bright and glistening leaves.
Then the maiden knelt upon the ground and took from her bosom most precious and beautiful rose-white flowers. She hid them under the leaves all about her, and as she breathed with love upon them, said:
“I give to you, oh, precious jewels, all my virtues and my sweetest breath, and men shall pluck thee with bowed head on bended knee.”
Then the maiden moved over the plains, the hills and the mountains. The birds and the winds sang together in joyous chorus, while the flowers lifted up their heads and greeted her with fragrance.
Wherever she stepped, and nowhere else, grows the arbutus.
In the two little poems following, by an ancient Mexican Indian, the poet calls the songs he sings“flowers,” which he seems to think he gathers in some mysterious land of the spirit. The idea is a very beautiful one, worthy of any poet, and certainly shows that some, at least, of the Indians had reached a high plane of poetic fancy.
(Ancient Mexican Indian)
1. I am wondering where I may gather some pretty, sweet flowers. Whom shall I ask? Suppose that I ask the brilliant humming-bird, the emerald trembler; suppose that I ask the yellow butterfly; they will tell me they know where bloom the pretty, sweet flowers, whether I may get them here in the laurel woods where dwell the tzinitzcan birds, or whether I may gather them in the flowery forests where the thanquehol lives. There they may be plucked sparkling with dew, there they come forth in perfection. Perhaps there I shall see them if they have appeared; I shall place them in the folds of my garment, and with them I shall greet the children, I shall make glad the nobles.
2. Truly as I walk along I hear the rocks as it were replying to the sweet songs of the flowers; truly the glittering, chattering water answers; the bird-green fountain, there it sings, it dashes forth, it sings again; the mocking-bird answers; perhaps the coyol bird answers; and many sweet singing birds scatter their songs around like music. They bless the earth, pouring out their sweet voices.
3. I said, I cried aloud: May I not cause you pain, ye beloved ones, who are seated to listen; may the brilliant humming-birds come soon. Whom do we seek, O noble poet? I ask, I say: Where are the pretty, fragrant flowers with which I may make glad you, my noble compeers? Soon they will sing to me: “Here we will make thee to see, thou singer, truly wherewith thou shalt make glad the nobles, thy companions.”
4. They led me within a valley to a fertile spot, a flowery spot, where the dew spread out in glittering splendor, where I saw various lovely fragrant flowers, lovely odorous flowers, clothed with the dew, scattered around in rainbow glory. There they said to me: “Pluck the flowers, whichever thou wishest, mayest thou the singer be glad, and give them to thy friends, to the nobles, that they may rejoice on the earth.”
5. So I gathered in the folds of my garment the various fragrant flowers, delicate scented, delicious, and I said: May some of our people enter here, may very many of us be here; and I thought I should go forth to announce to our friends that here all of us should rejoice in the different lovely, odorous flowers, and that we should cull the various sweet songs with which we might rejoice our friends here on earth, and the nobles in their grandeur and dignity.
6. So I, the singer, gathered all the flowers to place them upon the nobles, to clothe them and put them in their hands, and soon I lifted my voice ina worthy song glorifying the nobles before the face of the Cause of All, where there is no servitude.
7. Where shall one pluck them? Where gather the sweet flowers? And how shall I attain the flowery land, that fertile land, where there is no servitude nor affliction? If one purchases it here on earth, it is only through submission to the Cause of All; here on earth grief fills my soul as I recall where I, the singer, saw the flowery spot.
8. And I said: Truly there is no good spot here on earth, truly in some other bourne there is gladness; for what good is this earth? Truly there is another life in the hereafter. There may I go, there the sweet birds sing, there may I learn to know those good flowers, those sweet flowers, those delicious ones, which alone pleasurably, sweetly intoxicate, which alone pleasurably, sweetly intoxicate.
(Ancient Mexican Indian)
1. In the place of tears, I, the singer, watch my flowers; they are in my hand; they intoxicate my soul and my song, as I walk alone with them, with my sad soul among them.
2. In this spot, where the herbage is like sweet ointment and green as the turquoise and emerald, I think upon my song, holding the beauteous flowers in my hand, as I walk alone with them, with my sad soul among them.
3. In this spot of turquoise and emerald, I thinkupon beauteous songs, beauteous flowers; let us rejoice now, dear friends and children, for life is not long upon earth.
4. I shall hasten forth, I shall go to the sweet songs, the sweet flowers, dear friends and children.
5. O he! I cried aloud; O he! I rained down flowers as I left.
6. Let us go forth anywhere; I, the singer, shall find and bring forth the flowers; let us be glad while we live; listen to my song.
7. I, the poet, cry out a song for a place of joy, a glorious song which descends to Mictlan, and there turns about and comes forth again.
8. I seek neither vestment nor riches, O children, but a song for a place of joy.
(Greek)
Erisichthon was a profane person and a despiser of the gods. On one occasion he presumed to violate with the axe a grove sacred to Ceres (Demeter). There stood in this grove a venerable oak, so large that it seemed a wood in itself, its ancient trunk towering aloft, whereon votive garlands were often hung and inscriptions carved expressing the gratitude of suppliants to the nymph of the tree. Often had the dryads danced round it hand in hand. Its trunk measured fifteen cubits round, and it overtopped the other trees as they overtopped the shrubbery. But for all that, Erisichthon saw no reasonwhy he should spare it, and he ordered his servants to cut it down. When he saw them hesitate he snatched an axe from one, and thus impiously exclaimed, “I care not whether it be a tree beloved of the goddess or not. Were it the goddess herself it should come down, if it stood in my way.” So saying, he lifted the axe, and the oak seemed to shudder and utter a groan. When the first blow fell upon the trunk, blood flowed from the wound. All the bystanders were horror-struck, and one of them ventured to remonstrate and hold back the fatal axe. Erisichthon, with a scornful look, said to him, “Receive the reward of your piety,” and turned against him the weapon which he had held aside from the tree, gashed his body with many wounds, and cut off his head. Then from the midst of the oak came a voice: “I who dwell in this tree am a nymph, beloved by Ceres, and, dying by your hands, forewarn you that punishment awaits you.” He desisted not from his crime; and at last the tree, sundered by repeated blows and drawn by ropes, fell with a crash, and prostrated a great part of the grove in its fall.
The dryads, in dismay at the loss of their companion, and at seeing the pride of the forest laid low, went in a body to Ceres, all clad in garments of mourning, and invoked punishment upon Erisichthon. She nodded her assent, and as she bowed her head, the grain ripe for harvest in the laden fields bowed also. She planned a punishment so dire that one would pity him, if such a culprit as he could be pitied—to deliver him over to Famine. As Ceresherself could not approach Famine, for the Fates have ordained that these two goddesses shall never come together, she called on Oread from her mountain and spoke to her in these words: “There is a place in the farthest part of ice-clad Scythia, a sad and sterile region without trees and without crops. Cold dwells there, and Fear, and Shuddering, and Famine. Go and tell the last to take possession of the bowels of Erisichthon. Let not Abundance subdue her, nor the power of my gifts drive her away. Be not alarmed at the distance, for Famine dwells very far from Ceres, but take my chariot. The dragons are fleet and obey the rein, and will take you through the air in a short time.” So she gave her the reins, and she drove away and soon reached Scythia. On arriving at Mount Caucasus she stopped the dragons and found Famine in a stony field, pulling up with teeth and claws the scanty herbage. Her hair was rough, her eyes sunk, her face pale, her lips blanched, her jaws covered with dust, and her skin drawn tight, so as to show all her bones. As Oread saw her afar off (for she did not dare to come near), she delivered the commands of Ceres; and though she stopped as short a time as possible, and kept her distance as well as she could, yet she began to feel hungry, and turned the dragons’ heads and drove back to Thessaly.
Famine obeyed the commands of Ceres and sped through the air to the dwelling of Erisichthon, entered the bed-chamber of the guilty man, and found him asleep. She enfolded him with her wings andbreathed herself into him, infusing her poison into his veins. Having discharged her task, she hastened to leave the land of plenty and returned to her accustomed haunts. Erisichthon still slept, and in his dreams craved food, and moved his jaws as if eating. When he awoke his hunger was raging. Without a moment’s delay he would have food set before him, of whatever kind earth, sea, or air produces, and complained of hunger even while he ate. What would have sufficed for a city or a nation was not enough for him. The more he ate the more he craved.
His property rapidly diminished under the unceasing demands of his appetite, but his hunger continued unabated. At length he had spent all, and had only his daughter left, a daughter worthy of a better parent. Her, too, he sold. She scorned to be the slave of a purchaser, and, as she stood by the sea-side, raised her hands in prayer to Neptune. He heard her prayer, and, though her new master was not far off, and had his eyes on her a moment before, Neptune changed her form, and made her assume that of a fisherman busy at his occupation. Her master, looking for her and seeing her in her altered form, addressed her and said: “Good fisherman, whither went the maiden whom I saw just now, with hair dishevelled and in humble garb, standing about where you stand? Tell me truly, so may your luck be good, and not a fish nibble at your hook and get away.” She perceived that her prayer was answered, and rejoiced inwardly at hearing herself inquiredof about herself. She replied: “Pardon me, stranger, but I have been so intent upon my line that I have seen nothing else; but I wish I may never catch another fish if I believe any woman or other person except myself to have been hereabouts for some time.” He was deceived and went his way, thinking his slave had escaped. Then she resumed her own form. Her father was well pleased to find her still with him, and the money, too, that he got by the sale of her; so he sold her again. But she was changed by the favor of Neptune as often as she was sold—now into a horse, now a bird, now an ox, and now a stag—got away from her purchasers, and came home.
(Greek)
Once there was a beautiful nymph of the woods whose name was Syrinx. She was much admired by all the satyrs and spirits of the wood, but she was a faithful worshipper of Artemis and did not respond to the attentions of any of her admirers. One day, however, Pan met her, and was so delighted with her that he persistently wooed her with many compliments. Away she ran from him without stopping to hear what he had to say, but on the bank of the river he overtook her. Then she called on her friends the water-nymphs to help her. They heard her, and just as Pan was about to throw his arms around her they changed her into a tuft of reeds. As he breathed a sigh, the air sounded throughthe reeds and produced a plaintive melody. Pan, delighted with the music and with the novelty of the experience, exclaimed, “Thus, then, at least, you shall be mine.” So he took some of the reeds, of unequal lengths, and placing them together side by side, he made an instrument and called it Syrinx, in honor of the nymph.
(Roman)
Pomona was a hamadryad who presided over fruit trees and especially over apple orchards. She had scorned the offers of love made her by Pan and other spirits of the woods, and also those of Vertumnus, the god of gardens and of the changing seasons. But, unwearied, he wooed her in as many guises as his seasons themselves could assume. Now as a reaper, now as haymaker, now as ploughman, now as vine-dresser, now as apple picker, now as fisherman, now as soldier, all to no avail.
At last he disguised himself as an old woman and came to her. He admired her fruit, especially the luxuriance of her grapes, and enlarged upon the dependence of the luxuriant vine, close by, upon the elm to which it was clinging; advised Pomona, likewise, to choose some youth—say, for instance, the young Vertumnus—about whom to twine her arms. Then he told the melancholy tale of how the worthy Iphio, spurned by Anaxarete, had hanged himself to her gate-post; and how the gods had turnedthe hard-hearted virgin to stone even as she gazed on her lover’s funeral. “Consider these things, dearest child,” said the seeming old woman, “lay aside thy scorn and thy delays, and accept a lover. So may neither the vernal frosts blight thy young fruits, nor furious winds scatter thy blossoms!”
When Vertumnus had thus spoken he dropped his disguise, and stood before Pomona in his proper person, a comely youth. Pleased with such ardent wooing, Pomona consented and became his wife.
Although the god Osiris in Egyptian Mythology has been frequently identified with the sun, there is no doubt that he was also regarded as a god of vegetation. There is a representation of him in one of the great temples in Egypt in which the dead body of Osiris is shown with stalks of corn springing from it, and a priest is watering the stalks from a pitcher which he holds in his hands. The inscription which accompanies this representation sets forth, “This is the form of him one may not name, Osiris of the Mysteries, who springs from the returning waters.” He is often spoken of, also, as “The one in the tree,” “The solitary one in the Acacia.” The myth here related seems to be one of the death of vegetation, slain by the evil Typhon. This was caused in Egypt by drought, while the springing up of vegetation was caused by the annual overflow of the Nile.
A similar myth exists in Greece in which the godof vegetation, Adonis, is mourned by Aphrodite, also called Cypris and Cytherea (Roman Venus), who loved him.
(Egyptian)
Osiris and Isis were at one time induced to descend to the earth to bestow gifts and blessings on its inhabitants. Isis showed them first the use of wheat and barley, and Osiris made the instruments of agriculture and taught men the use of them, as well as how to harness the ox to the plough. He then gave men laws, the institution of marriage, a civil organization, and taught them how to worship the gods. After he had thus made the valley of the Nile a happy country, he assembled a host with which he went to bestow his blessings upon the rest of the world. He conquered the nations everywhere but only with music and eloquence. His brother Typhon saw this, and sought during his absence to usurp his throne. But Isis, who held the reins of government, frustrated his plans. Still more imbittered, he now resolved to kill his brother. Having organized a conspiracy of seventy-two members, he went with them to the feast which was celebrated in honor of the king’s return. He then caused a box or chest to be brought in, which had been made to fit exactly the size of Osiris, and declared that he would give that chest of precious wood to whosoever could get into it. The rest tried in vain, but no sooner was Osiris in it than Typhonand his companions closed the lid and flung the chest into the Nile. When Isis heard of the cruel murder she wept and mourned; and then, with her hair shorn, clothed in black, and beating her breast, she sought diligently for the body of her husband. In the search she was assisted by Anubis. They sought in vain for some time; for when the chest, carried by the waves to the shores of Byblos, had become entangled in the reeds that grew at the edge of the water, the divine power that dwelt in the body of Osiris imparted such strength to the shrub that it grew into a mighty tree, enclosing in its trunk the coffin of the god. This tree, with its sacred deposit, was shortly after felled, and erected as a column in the palace of the King of Phœnicia. But at length, by the aid of Anubis and the sacred birds, Isis ascertained these facts, and then went to the royal city. There she offered herself at the palace as a servant, and, being admitted, threw off her disguise, and appeared as the goddess, surrounded with thunder and lightning. Striking the column with her wand, she caused it to split open and give up the sacred coffin. This she seized, and returned with it, and concealed it in the depth of a forest; but Typhon discovered it, and cutting the body into fourteen pieces, scattered them hither and thither. After a tedious search, Isis found thirteen pieces, the fishes of the Nile having eaten the other. This she replaced by an imitation of sycamore wood, and buried the body at Philæ, which became ever after the burying place of the nation, and the spotto which pilgrimages were made from all parts of the country. A temple of surpassing magnificence was also erected there in honor of the god, and at every place where one of his limbs had been found minor temples and tombs were built in commemoration of the event.
(From Bion’s Lament for Adonis)
Low on the hills is lying the lovely Adonis, and his thigh with the boar’s tusk, his white thigh with the boar’s tusk, is wounded, and sorrow on Cypris he brings, as softly he breathes his life away.
To Cypris his kiss is dear, though he lives no longer, but Adonis knew not that she kissed him whenas he died.
Woe, woe for Adonis, the Loves join in the lament!
A cruel, cruel wound on his thigh hath Adonis, but a deeper wound in her heart Cytherea bears. About him his dear hounds are loudly baying, and the nymphs of the wild wood wail him; but Aphrodite with unbound locks through the glades goes wandering—wretched, with hair unbraided, with feet unsandalled, and the thorns as she passes wound her and pluck the blossom of her sacred blood. Shrill she wails as down the long woodlands she is borne, lamenting her Assyrian lord, and again calling him and again.
Woe, woe for Cytherea, the Loves join in the lament!
...
No more in the oak woods, Cypris, lament thy lord. It is no fair couch for Adonis, the lonely bed of reeds!
Now lay him down to sleep in his own soft coverlets, in a couch all of gold, that yearns for Adonis, though sad is he to look upon. Cast on him garlands and blossoms: all things have perished in his death, yea, all the flowers are faded. Sprinkle him with ointments of Syria, sprinkle him with unguents of myrrh. Nay, perish all perfumes, for Adonis, who was thy perfume, hath perished.
He reclines, the delicate Adonis, in his raiment of purple, and around him the Loves are weeping, and groaning aloud, clipping their locks for Adonis. And one upon his shafts, another on his bow is treading, and one hath loosed the sandals of Adonis, and another hath broken his own feathered quiver, and one in a golden vessel bears water, and another laves the wound, and another from behind him with his wings is fanning Adonis.
Woe, woe for Cytherea, the Loves join in the lament!
...
And woe, woe for Adonis, shrilly cry the Muses, neglecting Pæan (Apollo), and they lament Adonis aloud, and songs they chant to him, but he does notheed them, not that he is loath to hear, but that the Maiden of Hades doth not let him go.
Cease, Cytherea, from thy lamentations, to-day refrain from thy dirges. Thou must again bewail him, again must weep for him another year.