THE LOON'S FOOT.
I thought it was the loon's foot, I saw beneath the tide,But no—it was my lover's shining paddle I espied;It was my lover's paddle, as my glance I upward cast,That dipped so light and gracefully as o'er the lake I passed.The loon's foot—the loon's foot,'Tis graceful on the sea;But not so light and joyous asThat paddle blade to me.My eyes were bent upon the wave, I cast them not aside,And thought I saw the loon's foot beneath the silver tide.But ah! my eyes deceived me—for as my glance I cast,It was my lover's paddle blade that dipped so light and fast.The loon's foot—the loon's foot,'Tis sweet and fair to see,But oh, my lover's paddle blade,Is sweeter far to me.The lake's wave—the long wave—the billow big and free,It wafts me up and down, within my yellow light canoe;But while I see beneath heaven pictured as I speed,It is that beauteous paddle blade, that makes it heaven indeed.The loon's foot—the loon's foot,The bird upon the sea,Ah! it is not so beauteousAs that paddle blade to me.
I thought it was the loon's foot, I saw beneath the tide,But no—it was my lover's shining paddle I espied;It was my lover's paddle, as my glance I upward cast,That dipped so light and gracefully as o'er the lake I passed.The loon's foot—the loon's foot,'Tis graceful on the sea;But not so light and joyous asThat paddle blade to me.
I thought it was the loon's foot, I saw beneath the tide,
But no—it was my lover's shining paddle I espied;
It was my lover's paddle, as my glance I upward cast,
That dipped so light and gracefully as o'er the lake I passed.
The loon's foot—the loon's foot,
'Tis graceful on the sea;
But not so light and joyous as
That paddle blade to me.
My eyes were bent upon the wave, I cast them not aside,And thought I saw the loon's foot beneath the silver tide.But ah! my eyes deceived me—for as my glance I cast,It was my lover's paddle blade that dipped so light and fast.The loon's foot—the loon's foot,'Tis sweet and fair to see,But oh, my lover's paddle blade,Is sweeter far to me.
My eyes were bent upon the wave, I cast them not aside,
And thought I saw the loon's foot beneath the silver tide.
But ah! my eyes deceived me—for as my glance I cast,
It was my lover's paddle blade that dipped so light and fast.
The loon's foot—the loon's foot,
'Tis sweet and fair to see,
But oh, my lover's paddle blade,
Is sweeter far to me.
The lake's wave—the long wave—the billow big and free,It wafts me up and down, within my yellow light canoe;But while I see beneath heaven pictured as I speed,It is that beauteous paddle blade, that makes it heaven indeed.The loon's foot—the loon's foot,The bird upon the sea,Ah! it is not so beauteousAs that paddle blade to me.
The lake's wave—the long wave—the billow big and free,
It wafts me up and down, within my yellow light canoe;
But while I see beneath heaven pictured as I speed,
It is that beauteous paddle blade, that makes it heaven indeed.
The loon's foot—the loon's foot,
The bird upon the sea,
Ah! it is not so beauteous
As that paddle blade to me.
TULCO, PRINCE OF NOTTO.
Tulco, a Cherokee chief, is said to have visited, in 1838, the rotunda, or excavations, under the great mound of Grave Creek, while the Indian antiquities were collected there, and the skeleton found in the lower vault was suspended to the wall, and the exudations of animal matter depended from the roof.
'Tis not enough that hated raceShould hunt us out from grove and place,And consecrated shores, where longOur fathers raised the lance and song—'Tis not enough that we must goWhere unknown streams and fountains flow,Whose murmurs heard amid our fears,Fall only now on foeman's ears—'Tis not enough, that with a wandThey sweep away our pleasant land,And bid us, as some giant foe,Or willing or unwilling go;But they must ope our very graves,To tell the dead they too are slaves!And hang their bones upon the wall,To please their gaze and gust of thrall;As if a dead dog from belowWere made a jesting-stock and show!See, from above! the restless deadPeer out, with exudation dread—That hangs in robes of clammy white,Like clouds upon the inky night;Their very ghosts are in this place,I see them pass before my face;With frowning brows they whirl aroundWithin this consecrated mound!Away—away, vile caitiff race,And give the dead their resting-place.They point—they cry—they bid me smiteThe Wa-bish-kiz-zee[118]in their sight!Did Europe come to crush us dead,Because on flying deer we fed,And worshipped gods of airy forms,Who ride in thunder-clouds, the storms?Because we use not plough or loom,Is ours a black and bitter doomThat has no light—no world of bliss?—Then is our hell commenced in this.* * * *Nay, it is well—but tell me notThe white race now possess the spot,That fury marks my brow, and allI see is but my fancy's pallThat glooms my eyes—ah, white man, no!The woe we taste is solid woe.Comes then the thought of better things,When we were men, and we were kings.Men are we now, and still there rollsA monarch's blood in all our souls!A warrior's fire is in our hearts,Our hands are strong in feathery darts;And let us die as they have diedWho are the Indian's boast and pride!Nor creep to graves, in flying west,Unplumed, dishonored, and unblest!
'Tis not enough that hated raceShould hunt us out from grove and place,And consecrated shores, where longOur fathers raised the lance and song—'Tis not enough that we must goWhere unknown streams and fountains flow,Whose murmurs heard amid our fears,Fall only now on foeman's ears—'Tis not enough, that with a wandThey sweep away our pleasant land,And bid us, as some giant foe,Or willing or unwilling go;But they must ope our very graves,To tell the dead they too are slaves!And hang their bones upon the wall,To please their gaze and gust of thrall;As if a dead dog from belowWere made a jesting-stock and show!
'Tis not enough that hated race
Should hunt us out from grove and place,
And consecrated shores, where long
Our fathers raised the lance and song—
'Tis not enough that we must go
Where unknown streams and fountains flow,
Whose murmurs heard amid our fears,
Fall only now on foeman's ears—
'Tis not enough, that with a wand
They sweep away our pleasant land,
And bid us, as some giant foe,
Or willing or unwilling go;
But they must ope our very graves,
To tell the dead they too are slaves!
And hang their bones upon the wall,
To please their gaze and gust of thrall;
As if a dead dog from below
Were made a jesting-stock and show!
See, from above! the restless deadPeer out, with exudation dread—That hangs in robes of clammy white,Like clouds upon the inky night;Their very ghosts are in this place,I see them pass before my face;With frowning brows they whirl aroundWithin this consecrated mound!Away—away, vile caitiff race,And give the dead their resting-place.
See, from above! the restless dead
Peer out, with exudation dread—
That hangs in robes of clammy white,
Like clouds upon the inky night;
Their very ghosts are in this place,
I see them pass before my face;
With frowning brows they whirl around
Within this consecrated mound!
Away—away, vile caitiff race,
And give the dead their resting-place.
They point—they cry—they bid me smiteThe Wa-bish-kiz-zee[118]in their sight!Did Europe come to crush us dead,Because on flying deer we fed,And worshipped gods of airy forms,Who ride in thunder-clouds, the storms?Because we use not plough or loom,Is ours a black and bitter doomThat has no light—no world of bliss?—Then is our hell commenced in this.
They point—they cry—they bid me smite
The Wa-bish-kiz-zee[118]in their sight!
Did Europe come to crush us dead,
Because on flying deer we fed,
And worshipped gods of airy forms,
Who ride in thunder-clouds, the storms?
Because we use not plough or loom,
Is ours a black and bitter doom
That has no light—no world of bliss?—
Then is our hell commenced in this.
* * * *
* * * *
Nay, it is well—but tell me notThe white race now possess the spot,That fury marks my brow, and allI see is but my fancy's pallThat glooms my eyes—ah, white man, no!The woe we taste is solid woe.Comes then the thought of better things,When we were men, and we were kings.Men are we now, and still there rollsA monarch's blood in all our souls!A warrior's fire is in our hearts,Our hands are strong in feathery darts;And let us die as they have diedWho are the Indian's boast and pride!Nor creep to graves, in flying west,Unplumed, dishonored, and unblest!
Nay, it is well—but tell me not
The white race now possess the spot,
That fury marks my brow, and all
I see is but my fancy's pall
That glooms my eyes—ah, white man, no!
The woe we taste is solid woe.
Comes then the thought of better things,
When we were men, and we were kings.
Men are we now, and still there rolls
A monarch's blood in all our souls!
A warrior's fire is in our hearts,
Our hands are strong in feathery darts;
And let us die as they have died
Who are the Indian's boast and pride!
Nor creep to graves, in flying west,
Unplumed, dishonored, and unblest!
ON PRESENTING A WILD ROSE
PLUCKED ON THE SOURCES OF THE MISSISSIPPI.
Take thou the rose, though blighted,Its sweetness is not gone,And like the heart, though slighted,In memory it blooms on.Thy hand its leaves may nourish,Thy smiles its bloom restore;So warmed its buds may flourish,And bloom to life once more.Yet if they bloom not ever,These thoughts may life impartTo hopes I ne'er could severOne moment from my heart.Oh, then, receive my token,From far-off northern sky,That speech, once kindly spoken,Can never—never die.
Take thou the rose, though blighted,Its sweetness is not gone,And like the heart, though slighted,In memory it blooms on.
Take thou the rose, though blighted,
Its sweetness is not gone,
And like the heart, though slighted,
In memory it blooms on.
Thy hand its leaves may nourish,Thy smiles its bloom restore;So warmed its buds may flourish,And bloom to life once more.
Thy hand its leaves may nourish,
Thy smiles its bloom restore;
So warmed its buds may flourish,
And bloom to life once more.
Yet if they bloom not ever,These thoughts may life impartTo hopes I ne'er could severOne moment from my heart.
Yet if they bloom not ever,
These thoughts may life impart
To hopes I ne'er could sever
One moment from my heart.
Oh, then, receive my token,From far-off northern sky,That speech, once kindly spoken,Can never—never die.
Oh, then, receive my token,
From far-off northern sky,
That speech, once kindly spoken,
Can never—never die.
THE RED MAN.
I stood upon an eminence, that wideO'erlooked a length of land, where spreadThe sounding shores of Lake Superior;And at my side there lay a valeReplete with little glens, where oftThe Indian wigwam rose, and little fieldsOf waving corn displayed their tasselled heads.A stream ran through the vale, and on its margeThere grew wild rice, and bending alders dippedInto the tide, and on the rising heightsThe ever-verdant pine laughed in the breeze.I turned around, to gaze upon the scenesMore perfectly, and there beheld a manTall and erect, with feathers on his head,And air and step majestic; in his handsHeld he a bow and arrows, and he would have passed,Intent on other scene, but that I spake to him:"Pray, whither comest thou? and whither goest?""My coming," he replied, "is from the Master of Life,The Lord of all things, and I go at his commands.""Then why," I further parleyed, "since thou artSo much the friend of Him, whom white men seekBy prayer and rite so fervently to obey—why, tell,Art thou so oft in want of e'en a mealTo satisfy the cravings of a man? Why cast abroadTo live in wilds, where oft the scantiest shapesOf foot and wing must fill thy board, while pallid hunger straysWith hideous shouts, by mountain, vale, and stream?""The Great Spirit," he replied, "hath not alikeMade all men; or, if once alike, the force of climes,And wants and wanderings have estranged them quite.To me, and to my kind, forest, and lake, and wood,The rising mountain, and the drawn-out streamThat sweeps, meandering, through wild ranges vast,Possess a charm no marble halls can give.We rove, as winds escaped the Master's fists—Now, sweeping over beds of prairie flowers—Now, dallying on the tops of leafy trees,Or murmuring in the corn-fields, and, when tiredWith roving, we lie down on beds where springsThe simple wild flower, and some shreds of bark,Plucked from the white, white birch, defends our heads,And hides us from the blue ethereal skies,Where, in his sovereign majesty, this Spirit rules;Now, casting lightning from his glowing eyes—Now, uttering thunder with his mighty voice."To you, engendered in another climeOf which our fathers knew not, he hath givenArts, arms, and skill we know not, or if ever knew,Have quite forgot. Your hands are thickened upWith toils of field and shop, where whirring wheels resound,And hammers clink. The anvil and the ploughBelong to you; the very ox construes your speech,And turns him to obey you. All this toilWe deem a slavery too heavy to be borne,And which our tribes revolt at. Oft we standTo view the reeking smith, who pounds his ironWith blow on blow, to fit it for the beastThat drags your ploughshares through the rooty soil.The very streams—bright ribbons of the woods!—are yoked,And made to turn your mills, and grind your corn;And yet this progress stays not in its toilsTo alter nature and pervert her plans.Steam drags your vessels now, that onceLeapt in their beauty by the winds of heaven.Some subtle principle ye find in fire,And with a cunning art fit rattling carsTo run on strips of iron, with scream and clangThat seem symbolic of an angry powerWhich dwells below, and is infernal called.The war-crowned lightning skips from pole to poleOn strings of iron, to haste with quick intelligence."Once, nature could be hid, and fondly thinkShe had some jewels in the earth, but now ye digInto her very bowels, to recover morsels sweetShe erst with deglutition had drawn in. The rocksYour toils dissolve, to find perchance some treasureLying there. Is yonder land of gold aloneYour care? Observe along these shoresThe wheezing engine clank—the stamper ring.Once, hawks and eagles here pursued their prey,But now the white man ravens more than they.No! give me but my water and God's meats,And take your cares, your riches, and your thrones.What the Great Spirit gives, I take with joy,And scorn those gains which nothing can content."Drudge ye, and grind ye, white man! make your pence,And store your purses with the shining poison.It was not Manito who made this trashTo curse the human race, but Vatipa the black,Who rules below—he changed the blood of innocenceAnd tears of pity into gold, and strewed it wideO'er lands where still the murderer digsAnd the deceptious delve, to find the cockle outAnd pick it up, but laughs the while to seeWhat fools they are, and how himself has foiledThe Spirit of Good, that made mankindErst friends and brothers. Scanty is my food,But that sweet bird, chileelee, blue of wing,Sings songs of peace within the wild-wood dellAnd round the enchanted shores of these blue seas—Not long, perhaps, our own—which tell me of a restIn far-off lands—the islands of the blest!"
I stood upon an eminence, that wideO'erlooked a length of land, where spreadThe sounding shores of Lake Superior;And at my side there lay a valeReplete with little glens, where oftThe Indian wigwam rose, and little fieldsOf waving corn displayed their tasselled heads.A stream ran through the vale, and on its margeThere grew wild rice, and bending alders dippedInto the tide, and on the rising heightsThe ever-verdant pine laughed in the breeze.
I stood upon an eminence, that wide
O'erlooked a length of land, where spread
The sounding shores of Lake Superior;
And at my side there lay a vale
Replete with little glens, where oft
The Indian wigwam rose, and little fields
Of waving corn displayed their tasselled heads.
A stream ran through the vale, and on its marge
There grew wild rice, and bending alders dipped
Into the tide, and on the rising heights
The ever-verdant pine laughed in the breeze.
I turned around, to gaze upon the scenesMore perfectly, and there beheld a manTall and erect, with feathers on his head,And air and step majestic; in his handsHeld he a bow and arrows, and he would have passed,Intent on other scene, but that I spake to him:"Pray, whither comest thou? and whither goest?""My coming," he replied, "is from the Master of Life,The Lord of all things, and I go at his commands."
I turned around, to gaze upon the scenes
More perfectly, and there beheld a man
Tall and erect, with feathers on his head,
And air and step majestic; in his hands
Held he a bow and arrows, and he would have passed,
Intent on other scene, but that I spake to him:
"Pray, whither comest thou? and whither goest?"
"My coming," he replied, "is from the Master of Life,
The Lord of all things, and I go at his commands."
"Then why," I further parleyed, "since thou artSo much the friend of Him, whom white men seekBy prayer and rite so fervently to obey—why, tell,Art thou so oft in want of e'en a mealTo satisfy the cravings of a man? Why cast abroadTo live in wilds, where oft the scantiest shapesOf foot and wing must fill thy board, while pallid hunger straysWith hideous shouts, by mountain, vale, and stream?"
"Then why," I further parleyed, "since thou art
So much the friend of Him, whom white men seek
By prayer and rite so fervently to obey—why, tell,
Art thou so oft in want of e'en a meal
To satisfy the cravings of a man? Why cast abroad
To live in wilds, where oft the scantiest shapes
Of foot and wing must fill thy board, while pallid hunger strays
With hideous shouts, by mountain, vale, and stream?"
"The Great Spirit," he replied, "hath not alikeMade all men; or, if once alike, the force of climes,And wants and wanderings have estranged them quite.To me, and to my kind, forest, and lake, and wood,The rising mountain, and the drawn-out streamThat sweeps, meandering, through wild ranges vast,Possess a charm no marble halls can give.We rove, as winds escaped the Master's fists—Now, sweeping over beds of prairie flowers—Now, dallying on the tops of leafy trees,Or murmuring in the corn-fields, and, when tiredWith roving, we lie down on beds where springsThe simple wild flower, and some shreds of bark,Plucked from the white, white birch, defends our heads,And hides us from the blue ethereal skies,Where, in his sovereign majesty, this Spirit rules;Now, casting lightning from his glowing eyes—Now, uttering thunder with his mighty voice.
"The Great Spirit," he replied, "hath not alike
Made all men; or, if once alike, the force of climes,
And wants and wanderings have estranged them quite.
To me, and to my kind, forest, and lake, and wood,
The rising mountain, and the drawn-out stream
That sweeps, meandering, through wild ranges vast,
Possess a charm no marble halls can give.
We rove, as winds escaped the Master's fists—
Now, sweeping over beds of prairie flowers—
Now, dallying on the tops of leafy trees,
Or murmuring in the corn-fields, and, when tired
With roving, we lie down on beds where springs
The simple wild flower, and some shreds of bark,
Plucked from the white, white birch, defends our heads,
And hides us from the blue ethereal skies,
Where, in his sovereign majesty, this Spirit rules;
Now, casting lightning from his glowing eyes—
Now, uttering thunder with his mighty voice.
"To you, engendered in another climeOf which our fathers knew not, he hath givenArts, arms, and skill we know not, or if ever knew,Have quite forgot. Your hands are thickened upWith toils of field and shop, where whirring wheels resound,And hammers clink. The anvil and the ploughBelong to you; the very ox construes your speech,And turns him to obey you. All this toilWe deem a slavery too heavy to be borne,And which our tribes revolt at. Oft we standTo view the reeking smith, who pounds his ironWith blow on blow, to fit it for the beastThat drags your ploughshares through the rooty soil.The very streams—bright ribbons of the woods!—are yoked,And made to turn your mills, and grind your corn;And yet this progress stays not in its toilsTo alter nature and pervert her plans.Steam drags your vessels now, that onceLeapt in their beauty by the winds of heaven.Some subtle principle ye find in fire,And with a cunning art fit rattling carsTo run on strips of iron, with scream and clangThat seem symbolic of an angry powerWhich dwells below, and is infernal called.The war-crowned lightning skips from pole to poleOn strings of iron, to haste with quick intelligence.
"To you, engendered in another clime
Of which our fathers knew not, he hath given
Arts, arms, and skill we know not, or if ever knew,
Have quite forgot. Your hands are thickened up
With toils of field and shop, where whirring wheels resound,
And hammers clink. The anvil and the plough
Belong to you; the very ox construes your speech,
And turns him to obey you. All this toil
We deem a slavery too heavy to be borne,
And which our tribes revolt at. Oft we stand
To view the reeking smith, who pounds his iron
With blow on blow, to fit it for the beast
That drags your ploughshares through the rooty soil.
The very streams—bright ribbons of the woods!—are yoked,
And made to turn your mills, and grind your corn;
And yet this progress stays not in its toils
To alter nature and pervert her plans.
Steam drags your vessels now, that once
Leapt in their beauty by the winds of heaven.
Some subtle principle ye find in fire,
And with a cunning art fit rattling cars
To run on strips of iron, with scream and clang
That seem symbolic of an angry power
Which dwells below, and is infernal called.
The war-crowned lightning skips from pole to pole
On strings of iron, to haste with quick intelligence.
"Once, nature could be hid, and fondly thinkShe had some jewels in the earth, but now ye digInto her very bowels, to recover morsels sweetShe erst with deglutition had drawn in. The rocksYour toils dissolve, to find perchance some treasureLying there. Is yonder land of gold aloneYour care? Observe along these shoresThe wheezing engine clank—the stamper ring.Once, hawks and eagles here pursued their prey,But now the white man ravens more than they.No! give me but my water and God's meats,And take your cares, your riches, and your thrones.What the Great Spirit gives, I take with joy,And scorn those gains which nothing can content.
"Once, nature could be hid, and fondly think
She had some jewels in the earth, but now ye dig
Into her very bowels, to recover morsels sweet
She erst with deglutition had drawn in. The rocks
Your toils dissolve, to find perchance some treasure
Lying there. Is yonder land of gold alone
Your care? Observe along these shores
The wheezing engine clank—the stamper ring.
Once, hawks and eagles here pursued their prey,
But now the white man ravens more than they.
No! give me but my water and God's meats,
And take your cares, your riches, and your thrones.
What the Great Spirit gives, I take with joy,
And scorn those gains which nothing can content.
"Drudge ye, and grind ye, white man! make your pence,And store your purses with the shining poison.It was not Manito who made this trashTo curse the human race, but Vatipa the black,Who rules below—he changed the blood of innocenceAnd tears of pity into gold, and strewed it wideO'er lands where still the murderer digsAnd the deceptious delve, to find the cockle outAnd pick it up, but laughs the while to seeWhat fools they are, and how himself has foiledThe Spirit of Good, that made mankindErst friends and brothers. Scanty is my food,But that sweet bird, chileelee, blue of wing,Sings songs of peace within the wild-wood dellAnd round the enchanted shores of these blue seas—Not long, perhaps, our own—which tell me of a restIn far-off lands—the islands of the blest!"
"Drudge ye, and grind ye, white man! make your pence,
And store your purses with the shining poison.
It was not Manito who made this trash
To curse the human race, but Vatipa the black,
Who rules below—he changed the blood of innocence
And tears of pity into gold, and strewed it wide
O'er lands where still the murderer digs
And the deceptious delve, to find the cockle out
And pick it up, but laughs the while to see
What fools they are, and how himself has foiled
The Spirit of Good, that made mankind
Erst friends and brothers. Scanty is my food,
But that sweet bird, chileelee, blue of wing,
Sings songs of peace within the wild-wood dell
And round the enchanted shores of these blue seas—
Not long, perhaps, our own—which tell me of a rest
In far-off lands—the islands of the blest!"
THE SKELETON WRAPPED IN GOLD.
In digging, in 1854, a railroad in Chili, seventy feet below the surface, in a sandy plain, which had been an ancient graveyard, an Indian skeleton, wrapped in a sheet of solid gold, rolled into the excavation. Its appearance denoted an ancient Inca, of the Atacama period.
The Indian laid in his shroud of gold,Where his friends had kindly bound him;For, in their raid so strong and bold,The Spaniards had never found him.Kind guardian spirits had watched him there,From ages long—long faded,Embalmed with gems and spices rare,And in folds of sweet grass braided.And priestly rites were duly done,And hymns upraised to bless him,And that gold mantle of the sun,Put on, as a monarch to dress him."Sleep on," they said, in whispers low,"Nor fear the white man's coming,For we have put noglyphto show,The spot of thy entombing."Inca, thy warfare here is done,Each bitter scene or tender,Go to thy sire, the shining Sun,In kingly garb and splendor."Earth hath no honors thou hast not,Brave, wise, in every station,Or battle, temple, council, cot,Beloved of all thy nation."Take thou this wand of magic might,With signet-jewels glowing,As heralds to the God of Light,Where, father, thou art going."A thousand years the charm shall last,The charm of thy ensealment,Till there shall come a spirit vast,To trouble thy concealment."And safe he slept in Tlalcol's[119]train,With all his genii by him,Through Atacama's pleasing reign,Ere Manco came a-nigh him.Thatgolden reign spread arts anew,O'er all his Andes mountains,And temples that his sires ne'er knew,Arose beside their fountains.Pizarro's bloody day flew past,Nor shook his place of sleeping,Though, as with earthquakes, deep and vast,The land with ruins heaping.Nor had the cherished ruler more,Broke the deep trance from under,But that a stronger, sterner power,Arose the charm to sunder.No gentle genii more could wield,The wand of his dominion;No power of Indian guardian yield,Or wave her golden pinion.It was the spirit ofprogressfell,And trade, and gain united,Who swore an oath, and kept it well,That Tlalcol's blessing blighted.Deep dug they down in Chili's hills,Deep—deeper laid their levels,To drive those cars, whose screaming fillsThe ear, with sounds like devils.And as they dug, they sang and dug,As digging for a treasure,That should, like dire Arabic drug,Rise, with unmeasured measure.Old Indian arts, and Indian spells,And all their subtle seeming,Passed quick away—as truth expels,The palsied power in dreaming.Down rolled the cherished Indian corse,The sands no more could hold him,Nor rite—nor genii—art or force,Nor golden shroud enfold him.
The Indian laid in his shroud of gold,Where his friends had kindly bound him;For, in their raid so strong and bold,The Spaniards had never found him.
The Indian laid in his shroud of gold,
Where his friends had kindly bound him;
For, in their raid so strong and bold,
The Spaniards had never found him.
Kind guardian spirits had watched him there,From ages long—long faded,Embalmed with gems and spices rare,And in folds of sweet grass braided.
Kind guardian spirits had watched him there,
From ages long—long faded,
Embalmed with gems and spices rare,
And in folds of sweet grass braided.
And priestly rites were duly done,And hymns upraised to bless him,And that gold mantle of the sun,Put on, as a monarch to dress him.
And priestly rites were duly done,
And hymns upraised to bless him,
And that gold mantle of the sun,
Put on, as a monarch to dress him.
"Sleep on," they said, in whispers low,"Nor fear the white man's coming,For we have put noglyphto show,The spot of thy entombing.
"Sleep on," they said, in whispers low,
"Nor fear the white man's coming,
For we have put noglyphto show,
The spot of thy entombing.
"Inca, thy warfare here is done,Each bitter scene or tender,Go to thy sire, the shining Sun,In kingly garb and splendor.
"Inca, thy warfare here is done,
Each bitter scene or tender,
Go to thy sire, the shining Sun,
In kingly garb and splendor.
"Earth hath no honors thou hast not,Brave, wise, in every station,Or battle, temple, council, cot,Beloved of all thy nation.
"Earth hath no honors thou hast not,
Brave, wise, in every station,
Or battle, temple, council, cot,
Beloved of all thy nation.
"Take thou this wand of magic might,With signet-jewels glowing,As heralds to the God of Light,Where, father, thou art going.
"Take thou this wand of magic might,
With signet-jewels glowing,
As heralds to the God of Light,
Where, father, thou art going.
"A thousand years the charm shall last,The charm of thy ensealment,Till there shall come a spirit vast,To trouble thy concealment."
"A thousand years the charm shall last,
The charm of thy ensealment,
Till there shall come a spirit vast,
To trouble thy concealment."
And safe he slept in Tlalcol's[119]train,With all his genii by him,Through Atacama's pleasing reign,Ere Manco came a-nigh him.
And safe he slept in Tlalcol's[119]train,
With all his genii by him,
Through Atacama's pleasing reign,
Ere Manco came a-nigh him.
Thatgolden reign spread arts anew,O'er all his Andes mountains,And temples that his sires ne'er knew,Arose beside their fountains.
Thatgolden reign spread arts anew,
O'er all his Andes mountains,
And temples that his sires ne'er knew,
Arose beside their fountains.
Pizarro's bloody day flew past,Nor shook his place of sleeping,Though, as with earthquakes, deep and vast,The land with ruins heaping.
Pizarro's bloody day flew past,
Nor shook his place of sleeping,
Though, as with earthquakes, deep and vast,
The land with ruins heaping.
Nor had the cherished ruler more,Broke the deep trance from under,But that a stronger, sterner power,Arose the charm to sunder.
Nor had the cherished ruler more,
Broke the deep trance from under,
But that a stronger, sterner power,
Arose the charm to sunder.
No gentle genii more could wield,The wand of his dominion;No power of Indian guardian yield,Or wave her golden pinion.
No gentle genii more could wield,
The wand of his dominion;
No power of Indian guardian yield,
Or wave her golden pinion.
It was the spirit ofprogressfell,And trade, and gain united,Who swore an oath, and kept it well,That Tlalcol's blessing blighted.
It was the spirit ofprogressfell,
And trade, and gain united,
Who swore an oath, and kept it well,
That Tlalcol's blessing blighted.
Deep dug they down in Chili's hills,Deep—deeper laid their levels,To drive those cars, whose screaming fillsThe ear, with sounds like devils.
Deep dug they down in Chili's hills,
Deep—deeper laid their levels,
To drive those cars, whose screaming fills
The ear, with sounds like devils.
And as they dug, they sang and dug,As digging for a treasure,That should, like dire Arabic drug,Rise, with unmeasured measure.
And as they dug, they sang and dug,
As digging for a treasure,
That should, like dire Arabic drug,
Rise, with unmeasured measure.
Old Indian arts, and Indian spells,And all their subtle seeming,Passed quick away—as truth expels,The palsied power in dreaming.
Old Indian arts, and Indian spells,
And all their subtle seeming,
Passed quick away—as truth expels,
The palsied power in dreaming.
Down rolled the cherished Indian corse,The sands no more could hold him,Nor rite—nor genii—art or force,Nor golden shroud enfold him.
Down rolled the cherished Indian corse,
The sands no more could hold him,
Nor rite—nor genii—art or force,
Nor golden shroud enfold him.
WAUB OJEEG'S DEATH WHISPERINGS.
I go to the land where our heroes are gone, are gone,That land where our sages are gone;And I go with bright tone, to join hearts who are one,That drew the bold dart at my side, at my side,That drew the bold dart at my side.Those lands in the bright beamy west, the west,Those lands in the bright beamy west,As our fathers foretold, are the plenty crowned fold,Where the world-weary warrior may rest, may rest,Where the war-honored hero may rest.My life has been given to war, to war,My strength has been offered to war,And the foes of my land, ne'er before me could stand,But fled as base cowards in fear, in fear,They fled like base cowards in fear.My warfare in life it is done, it is done,My warfare, my friends, it is done;I go to that Spirit, whose form in the sky,So oft we have seen in the cloud-garnished sun,So oft in dread lightning espy.My friends, when my spirit is fled, is fled,My friends, when my spirit is fled,Ah, put me not bound, in the dark and cold ground,Where light shall no longer be shed, be shed,Where daylight no more shall be shed.But lay me up scaffolded high, all high,Chiefs, lay me up scaffolded high,Where my tribe shall still say, as they point to my clay,He ne'er from the foe sought to fly, to fly,He ne'er from the foe sought to fly.And children, who play on the shore, the shore,And children who play on the shore,As the war-dance they beat, my name shall repeat,And the fate of their chieftain deplore, deplore,And the fate of their chieftain deplore.
I go to the land where our heroes are gone, are gone,That land where our sages are gone;And I go with bright tone, to join hearts who are one,That drew the bold dart at my side, at my side,That drew the bold dart at my side.
I go to the land where our heroes are gone, are gone,
That land where our sages are gone;
And I go with bright tone, to join hearts who are one,
That drew the bold dart at my side, at my side,
That drew the bold dart at my side.
Those lands in the bright beamy west, the west,Those lands in the bright beamy west,As our fathers foretold, are the plenty crowned fold,Where the world-weary warrior may rest, may rest,Where the war-honored hero may rest.
Those lands in the bright beamy west, the west,
Those lands in the bright beamy west,
As our fathers foretold, are the plenty crowned fold,
Where the world-weary warrior may rest, may rest,
Where the war-honored hero may rest.
My life has been given to war, to war,My strength has been offered to war,And the foes of my land, ne'er before me could stand,But fled as base cowards in fear, in fear,They fled like base cowards in fear.
My life has been given to war, to war,
My strength has been offered to war,
And the foes of my land, ne'er before me could stand,
But fled as base cowards in fear, in fear,
They fled like base cowards in fear.
My warfare in life it is done, it is done,My warfare, my friends, it is done;I go to that Spirit, whose form in the sky,So oft we have seen in the cloud-garnished sun,So oft in dread lightning espy.
My warfare in life it is done, it is done,
My warfare, my friends, it is done;
I go to that Spirit, whose form in the sky,
So oft we have seen in the cloud-garnished sun,
So oft in dread lightning espy.
My friends, when my spirit is fled, is fled,My friends, when my spirit is fled,Ah, put me not bound, in the dark and cold ground,Where light shall no longer be shed, be shed,Where daylight no more shall be shed.
My friends, when my spirit is fled, is fled,
My friends, when my spirit is fled,
Ah, put me not bound, in the dark and cold ground,
Where light shall no longer be shed, be shed,
Where daylight no more shall be shed.
But lay me up scaffolded high, all high,Chiefs, lay me up scaffolded high,Where my tribe shall still say, as they point to my clay,He ne'er from the foe sought to fly, to fly,He ne'er from the foe sought to fly.
But lay me up scaffolded high, all high,
Chiefs, lay me up scaffolded high,
Where my tribe shall still say, as they point to my clay,
He ne'er from the foe sought to fly, to fly,
He ne'er from the foe sought to fly.
And children, who play on the shore, the shore,And children who play on the shore,As the war-dance they beat, my name shall repeat,And the fate of their chieftain deplore, deplore,And the fate of their chieftain deplore.
And children, who play on the shore, the shore,
And children who play on the shore,
As the war-dance they beat, my name shall repeat,
And the fate of their chieftain deplore, deplore,
And the fate of their chieftain deplore.
TO THE MISCODEED.[120]
Thy petals, tipped with red, declareThe sanguinary rites of war;But when I view thy base of white,Thoughts of heaven's purity invite.Symbols at once that hearts like theeContaintwopowers, in which we seeA passion strong to war inclined,And a soft, pure, and tender mind.Earliest of buds when snows decayFrom these wild northern fields away,Thou comest as a herald dear,To tell us that the spring is near;And shall with sweets and flowers relumeOur hearts, for all the winter's gloom.Soon the opeechee[121]comes to singThe pleasures of an early spring;Soon shall the swelling water's roarTell us that winter is no more;The water-fowl set up their cry,Or hasten to more northern sky;And on the sandy shore shall stray,The plover, thetwee-tweesh-ke-way.Soon shall the budding trees expand,And genial skies pervade the land;The little garden hoes shall peck,And female hands the moss beds deck;The apple-tree refresh our sight,With its fair blows of pink and white;The cherry bloom, the strawberry run,And joy fill all the new Seegwun.[122]
Thy petals, tipped with red, declareThe sanguinary rites of war;But when I view thy base of white,Thoughts of heaven's purity invite.Symbols at once that hearts like theeContaintwopowers, in which we seeA passion strong to war inclined,And a soft, pure, and tender mind.
Thy petals, tipped with red, declare
The sanguinary rites of war;
But when I view thy base of white,
Thoughts of heaven's purity invite.
Symbols at once that hearts like thee
Containtwopowers, in which we see
A passion strong to war inclined,
And a soft, pure, and tender mind.
Earliest of buds when snows decayFrom these wild northern fields away,Thou comest as a herald dear,To tell us that the spring is near;And shall with sweets and flowers relumeOur hearts, for all the winter's gloom.Soon the opeechee[121]comes to singThe pleasures of an early spring;Soon shall the swelling water's roarTell us that winter is no more;The water-fowl set up their cry,Or hasten to more northern sky;And on the sandy shore shall stray,The plover, thetwee-tweesh-ke-way.Soon shall the budding trees expand,And genial skies pervade the land;The little garden hoes shall peck,And female hands the moss beds deck;The apple-tree refresh our sight,With its fair blows of pink and white;The cherry bloom, the strawberry run,And joy fill all the new Seegwun.[122]
Earliest of buds when snows decay
From these wild northern fields away,
Thou comest as a herald dear,
To tell us that the spring is near;
And shall with sweets and flowers relume
Our hearts, for all the winter's gloom.
Soon the opeechee[121]comes to sing
The pleasures of an early spring;
Soon shall the swelling water's roar
Tell us that winter is no more;
The water-fowl set up their cry,
Or hasten to more northern sky;
And on the sandy shore shall stray,
The plover, thetwee-tweesh-ke-way.
Soon shall the budding trees expand,
And genial skies pervade the land;
The little garden hoes shall peck,
And female hands the moss beds deck;
The apple-tree refresh our sight,
With its fair blows of pink and white;
The cherry bloom, the strawberry run,
And joy fill all the new Seegwun.[122]
THE STAR FAMILY.
Waupee found a deep-trod circleIn the boundless prairie wide;In the grassy sea of prairies,Without trace of path beside.To or fro, there was no tokenMan had ever trod the plain;And he gazed upon the wonder,Gazed the wonder to explain.I will watch the place, quoth Waupee,And conceal myself awhile;This strange mystery to unravel,This new thing to reconcile.Tracks I know of deer and bison,Tracks of panther, lynx, or hind,Beasts and birds of every nature,But this beaten ring is blind.Do the spirits here assemble,War-dance light to trip and sing?Gather Medas of the prairie,Here their magic charm to fling?Waupee crept beneath the hushes,Near the wondrous magic ring;Close beneath the shrubs and grasses,To behold so rare a thing.Soon he heard, high in the heavens,Issuing from the feathery clouds—Sounds of music, quick descending,As if angels came in crowds.Louder, sweeter, was the music,Every moment that he stayed;Till a basket, with twelve sisters,Was with all its charms displayed.Down they came, in air suspended,As if by thin silver cords;And within the circle landed,Gay and bright as beauteous birds.Out they leaped with nimble gestures,Dancing softly round and round;Each a ball of silver chiming,With the most enchanting sound.Beauteous were they all—but one soMore than all the other eleven,Youngest she, he sighed to clasp herTo his ardent, glowing breast.Up he rose from his concealment,From his flower-encircled bed;But, as quick-eyed birds, they spied him,Stepped into the car and fled.Fled into the starry heavens,While with open ear he stood,Drinking the receding music,As it left his solitude.Now, indeed, was he a stranger,And a fugitive alone;For the peace that once he cherished,With the heavenly car had flown.Touched his heart was by love's fervors,He no longer wished to rove;Lost the charm of war and hunting,Waupee was transfixed by love.Ah! 'tis love that wins the savageFrom his wanderings, and can teach,Where the truth could never touch him,Where the gospel could not reach.Long he mourned—and lingering, waitedRound the charmed celestial ring;Day by day he lingered, hopingOnce to hear those angels sing.To deceive, the quick eyes glancing,An opossum's form he tries;And crouched low, beside the circle,Stooped, that he might win the prize.Soon the sounds he heard descending,Soon they leaped within the ring;Joining hand in hand in dancing,Round and round—sweet revelling.Up he rose, quick disenchanted,Rose and clasped his female star,While, as lightning, quick the elevenLeaped, and rose within their car.vHome he took her to his wigwam,Sought each varied way to please;Gave her flowers and rarest presents,All to yield her joy and ease.And a beauteous son rewardedLove so constant, true, and mild;Who renewed in every feature,Nature's lonely forest child.But, as thoughts of youth will lingerLong within the heart's fond core;So she nursed the pleasing passion,Her star-home to see once more—Made an ark of wicker branches,All by secret arts and care;Sought the circle with her earth-boy,Fleeing to her Father star.There, at length, the boy grew weary,Weary e'en of heavenly spheres,Longing for earth's cares and pleasures,Hunting, feasting, joys, and tears."Call thy husband," quoth the star chief,"Take the magic car and go;But bring with thee some fit emblems,Of the sounding chase below."Claw, or wing, or toe, or feathers,Scalp of bird or beast to tell;What he follows in the wood-chase,Arts the hunter knows so well."Waupee searched the deepest forests,Prairies vast, or valleys low;All to find out the rarest species,That he might the star-world show.Then he sought the ring of magic,With his forest stores so rare;And within the starry basket,Rose with all his emblems fair.Joys of greeting—joys of seeing—Hand to hand, and eye to eye;These o'ercrowned with smiles and laughing,This lodge-meeting in the sky.Then a glorious feast was ordered,To receive the forest guest;While the sweet reunion lighted,Joy in every beating breast.Broad the feasting board was covered,The high starry group to bind;When the star chief rose to utterHis congratulations kind."List, my guests—the Spirit wills it,Earth to earth, and sky to sky;Choose ye each a claw or pinion,Such as ye may wish to try."Wondrous change! by arts' transformance,At the typic heavenly feast;Each who chose a wing a bird was,Each who chose a claw, a beast.Off they ran on plains of silver,Squirrel, rabbit, elk, or deer;White Hawk chose a wing, descendingDown again to forests here,Where the Waupees are still notedFor their high essays of wing;And their noble deeds of bravery,In the forest, mount, and ring.
Waupee found a deep-trod circleIn the boundless prairie wide;In the grassy sea of prairies,Without trace of path beside.
Waupee found a deep-trod circle
In the boundless prairie wide;
In the grassy sea of prairies,
Without trace of path beside.
To or fro, there was no tokenMan had ever trod the plain;And he gazed upon the wonder,Gazed the wonder to explain.
To or fro, there was no token
Man had ever trod the plain;
And he gazed upon the wonder,
Gazed the wonder to explain.
I will watch the place, quoth Waupee,And conceal myself awhile;This strange mystery to unravel,This new thing to reconcile.
I will watch the place, quoth Waupee,
And conceal myself awhile;
This strange mystery to unravel,
This new thing to reconcile.
Tracks I know of deer and bison,Tracks of panther, lynx, or hind,Beasts and birds of every nature,But this beaten ring is blind.
Tracks I know of deer and bison,
Tracks of panther, lynx, or hind,
Beasts and birds of every nature,
But this beaten ring is blind.
Do the spirits here assemble,War-dance light to trip and sing?Gather Medas of the prairie,Here their magic charm to fling?
Do the spirits here assemble,
War-dance light to trip and sing?
Gather Medas of the prairie,
Here their magic charm to fling?
Waupee crept beneath the hushes,Near the wondrous magic ring;Close beneath the shrubs and grasses,To behold so rare a thing.
Waupee crept beneath the hushes,
Near the wondrous magic ring;
Close beneath the shrubs and grasses,
To behold so rare a thing.
Soon he heard, high in the heavens,Issuing from the feathery clouds—Sounds of music, quick descending,As if angels came in crowds.
Soon he heard, high in the heavens,
Issuing from the feathery clouds—
Sounds of music, quick descending,
As if angels came in crowds.
Louder, sweeter, was the music,Every moment that he stayed;Till a basket, with twelve sisters,Was with all its charms displayed.
Louder, sweeter, was the music,
Every moment that he stayed;
Till a basket, with twelve sisters,
Was with all its charms displayed.
Down they came, in air suspended,As if by thin silver cords;And within the circle landed,Gay and bright as beauteous birds.
Down they came, in air suspended,
As if by thin silver cords;
And within the circle landed,
Gay and bright as beauteous birds.
Out they leaped with nimble gestures,Dancing softly round and round;Each a ball of silver chiming,With the most enchanting sound.
Out they leaped with nimble gestures,
Dancing softly round and round;
Each a ball of silver chiming,
With the most enchanting sound.
Beauteous were they all—but one soMore than all the other eleven,Youngest she, he sighed to clasp herTo his ardent, glowing breast.
Beauteous were they all—but one so
More than all the other eleven,
Youngest she, he sighed to clasp her
To his ardent, glowing breast.
Up he rose from his concealment,From his flower-encircled bed;But, as quick-eyed birds, they spied him,Stepped into the car and fled.
Up he rose from his concealment,
From his flower-encircled bed;
But, as quick-eyed birds, they spied him,
Stepped into the car and fled.
Fled into the starry heavens,While with open ear he stood,Drinking the receding music,As it left his solitude.
Fled into the starry heavens,
While with open ear he stood,
Drinking the receding music,
As it left his solitude.
Now, indeed, was he a stranger,And a fugitive alone;For the peace that once he cherished,With the heavenly car had flown.
Now, indeed, was he a stranger,
And a fugitive alone;
For the peace that once he cherished,
With the heavenly car had flown.
Touched his heart was by love's fervors,He no longer wished to rove;Lost the charm of war and hunting,Waupee was transfixed by love.
Touched his heart was by love's fervors,
He no longer wished to rove;
Lost the charm of war and hunting,
Waupee was transfixed by love.
Ah! 'tis love that wins the savageFrom his wanderings, and can teach,Where the truth could never touch him,Where the gospel could not reach.
Ah! 'tis love that wins the savage
From his wanderings, and can teach,
Where the truth could never touch him,
Where the gospel could not reach.
Long he mourned—and lingering, waitedRound the charmed celestial ring;Day by day he lingered, hopingOnce to hear those angels sing.
Long he mourned—and lingering, waited
Round the charmed celestial ring;
Day by day he lingered, hoping
Once to hear those angels sing.
To deceive, the quick eyes glancing,An opossum's form he tries;And crouched low, beside the circle,Stooped, that he might win the prize.
To deceive, the quick eyes glancing,
An opossum's form he tries;
And crouched low, beside the circle,
Stooped, that he might win the prize.
Soon the sounds he heard descending,Soon they leaped within the ring;Joining hand in hand in dancing,Round and round—sweet revelling.
Soon the sounds he heard descending,
Soon they leaped within the ring;
Joining hand in hand in dancing,
Round and round—sweet revelling.
Up he rose, quick disenchanted,Rose and clasped his female star,While, as lightning, quick the elevenLeaped, and rose within their car.
Up he rose, quick disenchanted,
Rose and clasped his female star,
While, as lightning, quick the eleven
Leaped, and rose within their car.
vHome he took her to his wigwam,Sought each varied way to please;Gave her flowers and rarest presents,All to yield her joy and ease.
vHome he took her to his wigwam,
Sought each varied way to please;
Gave her flowers and rarest presents,
All to yield her joy and ease.
And a beauteous son rewardedLove so constant, true, and mild;Who renewed in every feature,Nature's lonely forest child.
And a beauteous son rewarded
Love so constant, true, and mild;
Who renewed in every feature,
Nature's lonely forest child.
But, as thoughts of youth will lingerLong within the heart's fond core;So she nursed the pleasing passion,Her star-home to see once more—
But, as thoughts of youth will linger
Long within the heart's fond core;
So she nursed the pleasing passion,
Her star-home to see once more—
Made an ark of wicker branches,All by secret arts and care;Sought the circle with her earth-boy,Fleeing to her Father star.
Made an ark of wicker branches,
All by secret arts and care;
Sought the circle with her earth-boy,
Fleeing to her Father star.
There, at length, the boy grew weary,Weary e'en of heavenly spheres,Longing for earth's cares and pleasures,Hunting, feasting, joys, and tears.
There, at length, the boy grew weary,
Weary e'en of heavenly spheres,
Longing for earth's cares and pleasures,
Hunting, feasting, joys, and tears.
"Call thy husband," quoth the star chief,"Take the magic car and go;But bring with thee some fit emblems,Of the sounding chase below.
"Call thy husband," quoth the star chief,
"Take the magic car and go;
But bring with thee some fit emblems,
Of the sounding chase below.
"Claw, or wing, or toe, or feathers,Scalp of bird or beast to tell;What he follows in the wood-chase,Arts the hunter knows so well."
"Claw, or wing, or toe, or feathers,
Scalp of bird or beast to tell;
What he follows in the wood-chase,
Arts the hunter knows so well."
Waupee searched the deepest forests,Prairies vast, or valleys low;All to find out the rarest species,That he might the star-world show.
Waupee searched the deepest forests,
Prairies vast, or valleys low;
All to find out the rarest species,
That he might the star-world show.
Then he sought the ring of magic,With his forest stores so rare;And within the starry basket,Rose with all his emblems fair.
Then he sought the ring of magic,
With his forest stores so rare;
And within the starry basket,
Rose with all his emblems fair.
Joys of greeting—joys of seeing—Hand to hand, and eye to eye;These o'ercrowned with smiles and laughing,This lodge-meeting in the sky.
Joys of greeting—joys of seeing—
Hand to hand, and eye to eye;
These o'ercrowned with smiles and laughing,
This lodge-meeting in the sky.
Then a glorious feast was ordered,To receive the forest guest;While the sweet reunion lighted,Joy in every beating breast.
Then a glorious feast was ordered,
To receive the forest guest;
While the sweet reunion lighted,
Joy in every beating breast.
Broad the feasting board was covered,The high starry group to bind;When the star chief rose to utterHis congratulations kind.
Broad the feasting board was covered,
The high starry group to bind;
When the star chief rose to utter
His congratulations kind.
"List, my guests—the Spirit wills it,Earth to earth, and sky to sky;Choose ye each a claw or pinion,Such as ye may wish to try."
"List, my guests—the Spirit wills it,
Earth to earth, and sky to sky;
Choose ye each a claw or pinion,
Such as ye may wish to try."
Wondrous change! by arts' transformance,At the typic heavenly feast;Each who chose a wing a bird was,Each who chose a claw, a beast.
Wondrous change! by arts' transformance,
At the typic heavenly feast;
Each who chose a wing a bird was,
Each who chose a claw, a beast.
Off they ran on plains of silver,Squirrel, rabbit, elk, or deer;White Hawk chose a wing, descendingDown again to forests here,
Off they ran on plains of silver,
Squirrel, rabbit, elk, or deer;
White Hawk chose a wing, descending
Down again to forests here,
Where the Waupees are still notedFor their high essays of wing;And their noble deeds of bravery,In the forest, mount, and ring.
Where the Waupees are still noted
For their high essays of wing;
And their noble deeds of bravery,
In the forest, mount, and ring.
SONG OP THE WOLF-BROTHER.
Nësia, my elder brother,Bones have been my forest meal,Shared with wolves the long, long winter,And their nature now I feel.Nësia, my elder brother,Now my fate is near its close;Soon my state shall cease to press me,Soon shall cease my day of woes.Left by friends I loved the dearest,All who knew and loved me most;Woes the darkest and severest,Bide me on this barren coast.Pity! ah, that manly feeling,Fled from hearts where once it grew,Now in wolfish forms revealing,Glows more warmly than in you.Stony hearts! that saw me languish,Deaf to all a father said,Deaf to all a mother's anguish,All a brother's feelings fled.Ah, ye wolves, in all your ranging,I have found you kind and true;More than man—and now I'm changing,And will soon be one of you.Lodge of kindred once respected,Now my heart abhors your plan;Hated, shunned, disowned, neglected,Wolves are truer far than man.And like them, I'll be a rover,With an honesty of biteThat feigns not to be a lover,When the heart o'erflows with spite.Go, ye traitors, to my lodge-fire;Go, ye serpents, swift to flee,War with kinds that have your natures,I am disenthrall'd and free.
Nësia, my elder brother,Bones have been my forest meal,Shared with wolves the long, long winter,And their nature now I feel.
Nësia, my elder brother,
Bones have been my forest meal,
Shared with wolves the long, long winter,
And their nature now I feel.
Nësia, my elder brother,Now my fate is near its close;Soon my state shall cease to press me,Soon shall cease my day of woes.
Nësia, my elder brother,
Now my fate is near its close;
Soon my state shall cease to press me,
Soon shall cease my day of woes.
Left by friends I loved the dearest,All who knew and loved me most;Woes the darkest and severest,Bide me on this barren coast.
Left by friends I loved the dearest,
All who knew and loved me most;
Woes the darkest and severest,
Bide me on this barren coast.
Pity! ah, that manly feeling,Fled from hearts where once it grew,Now in wolfish forms revealing,Glows more warmly than in you.
Pity! ah, that manly feeling,
Fled from hearts where once it grew,
Now in wolfish forms revealing,
Glows more warmly than in you.
Stony hearts! that saw me languish,Deaf to all a father said,Deaf to all a mother's anguish,All a brother's feelings fled.
Stony hearts! that saw me languish,
Deaf to all a father said,
Deaf to all a mother's anguish,
All a brother's feelings fled.
Ah, ye wolves, in all your ranging,I have found you kind and true;More than man—and now I'm changing,And will soon be one of you.
Ah, ye wolves, in all your ranging,
I have found you kind and true;
More than man—and now I'm changing,
And will soon be one of you.
Lodge of kindred once respected,Now my heart abhors your plan;Hated, shunned, disowned, neglected,Wolves are truer far than man.
Lodge of kindred once respected,
Now my heart abhors your plan;
Hated, shunned, disowned, neglected,
Wolves are truer far than man.
And like them, I'll be a rover,With an honesty of biteThat feigns not to be a lover,When the heart o'erflows with spite.
And like them, I'll be a rover,
With an honesty of bite
That feigns not to be a lover,
When the heart o'erflows with spite.
Go, ye traitors, to my lodge-fire;Go, ye serpents, swift to flee,War with kinds that have your natures,I am disenthrall'd and free.
Go, ye traitors, to my lodge-fire;
Go, ye serpents, swift to flee,
War with kinds that have your natures,
I am disenthrall'd and free.
ABBINOCHI.
A MOTHER'S CHANT TO HER SICK INFANT.
Abbinochi,[123]baby dear,Leave me not—ah, leave me not;I have nursed with love sincere,Nursed thee in my forest cot—Tied thee in thy cradle trimKind adjusting every limb;With the fairest beads and bandsDeck'd thy cradle with my hands,And with sweetest corn panädFrom my little kettle fed,Oft with miscodeed[124]roots shred,Fed thee in thy baby bed.Abbinochi, droop not so,Leave me not—away to goTo strange lands—thy little feetAre not grown the path to greetOr find out, with none to showWhere the flowers of grave-land grow.Stay, my dear one, stay till grown,I will lead thee to that zoneWhere the stars like silver shine,And the scenes are all divine,And the happy, happy stray,And, like Abbinochi, play.
Abbinochi,[123]baby dear,Leave me not—ah, leave me not;I have nursed with love sincere,Nursed thee in my forest cot—Tied thee in thy cradle trimKind adjusting every limb;With the fairest beads and bandsDeck'd thy cradle with my hands,And with sweetest corn panädFrom my little kettle fed,Oft with miscodeed[124]roots shred,Fed thee in thy baby bed.
Abbinochi,[123]baby dear,
Leave me not—ah, leave me not;
I have nursed with love sincere,
Nursed thee in my forest cot—
Tied thee in thy cradle trim
Kind adjusting every limb;
With the fairest beads and bands
Deck'd thy cradle with my hands,
And with sweetest corn panäd
From my little kettle fed,
Oft with miscodeed[124]roots shred,
Fed thee in thy baby bed.
Abbinochi, droop not so,Leave me not—away to goTo strange lands—thy little feetAre not grown the path to greetOr find out, with none to showWhere the flowers of grave-land grow.Stay, my dear one, stay till grown,I will lead thee to that zoneWhere the stars like silver shine,And the scenes are all divine,And the happy, happy stray,And, like Abbinochi, play.
Abbinochi, droop not so,
Leave me not—away to go
To strange lands—thy little feet
Are not grown the path to greet
Or find out, with none to show
Where the flowers of grave-land grow.
Stay, my dear one, stay till grown,
I will lead thee to that zone
Where the stars like silver shine,
And the scenes are all divine,
And the happy, happy stray,
And, like Abbinochi, play.
TO PAUGUK.
(This is the impersonation of death in Indian mythology. He is represented with a bow and arrows.)
Pauguk! 'tis a scene of woe,This world of troubles; let me goArm'd to show forth the Master's will,Strike on thy purpose to fulfil.I fear not death—my only fearIs ills and woes that press me here.Want stares me in the face, or woe,Where'er I dwell—where'er I go;Fishing and hunting only giveThe pinching means to let me live;And if, at night, I lay me down,In dreams and sleep my rest to crown,Ere day awakes its slumbering eyes,I start to hear the foe's mad cries,Louder and louder, as I clutchMy club, or lance, or bow and dart,And, springing with a panther's touch,Display the red man's bloody art.Nay, I am sick of life and blood,That drowns my country like a flood,Pouring o'er hill, and vale, and lea,Lodge, ville, and council, like a sea,Where one must gasp and gasp for breathTo live—and stay the power of death.Ah! life's good things are all too poor,Its daily hardships to endure.My fathers told me, there's a landWhere peace and joy abound in hand,And plenty smiles, and sweetest scenesExpand in lakes, and groves, and greens.No pain or hunger there is known,And pleasure reigns throughout alone—I would go there, and taste and seeA life so beauteous, bless'd and free,Where man has no more power to kill,And the Great Spirit all things fills.Blanch not, Pauguk, I have no fear,And would not longer linger here;But bend thy bow and aim thy dart,Behold an honest hunter's heart:Thereby a dart, a boon may give,A happy life on high to live.'Tis all the same, in countries here,Or where Pacific billows roar,We roved in want, and woe and fearAlong the Mississippi shore.And where Missouri's waters rush,To tell to man that God is strong,We shrank as from a tiger's touch,To hear the white man's shout or song.O not for us is peace and joyArising from the race that spread,Their purpose only's to destroy—Our only peace is with the dead.Think not my heart is pale with fear,But strike, Pauguk—strike boldly here.
Pauguk! 'tis a scene of woe,This world of troubles; let me goArm'd to show forth the Master's will,Strike on thy purpose to fulfil.I fear not death—my only fearIs ills and woes that press me here.Want stares me in the face, or woe,Where'er I dwell—where'er I go;Fishing and hunting only giveThe pinching means to let me live;And if, at night, I lay me down,In dreams and sleep my rest to crown,Ere day awakes its slumbering eyes,I start to hear the foe's mad cries,Louder and louder, as I clutchMy club, or lance, or bow and dart,And, springing with a panther's touch,Display the red man's bloody art.
Pauguk! 'tis a scene of woe,
This world of troubles; let me go
Arm'd to show forth the Master's will,
Strike on thy purpose to fulfil.
I fear not death—my only fear
Is ills and woes that press me here.
Want stares me in the face, or woe,
Where'er I dwell—where'er I go;
Fishing and hunting only give
The pinching means to let me live;
And if, at night, I lay me down,
In dreams and sleep my rest to crown,
Ere day awakes its slumbering eyes,
I start to hear the foe's mad cries,
Louder and louder, as I clutch
My club, or lance, or bow and dart,
And, springing with a panther's touch,
Display the red man's bloody art.
Nay, I am sick of life and blood,That drowns my country like a flood,Pouring o'er hill, and vale, and lea,Lodge, ville, and council, like a sea,Where one must gasp and gasp for breathTo live—and stay the power of death.Ah! life's good things are all too poor,Its daily hardships to endure.My fathers told me, there's a landWhere peace and joy abound in hand,And plenty smiles, and sweetest scenesExpand in lakes, and groves, and greens.No pain or hunger there is known,And pleasure reigns throughout alone—I would go there, and taste and seeA life so beauteous, bless'd and free,Where man has no more power to kill,And the Great Spirit all things fills.Blanch not, Pauguk, I have no fear,And would not longer linger here;But bend thy bow and aim thy dart,Behold an honest hunter's heart:Thereby a dart, a boon may give,A happy life on high to live.
Nay, I am sick of life and blood,
That drowns my country like a flood,
Pouring o'er hill, and vale, and lea,
Lodge, ville, and council, like a sea,
Where one must gasp and gasp for breath
To live—and stay the power of death.
Ah! life's good things are all too poor,
Its daily hardships to endure.
My fathers told me, there's a land
Where peace and joy abound in hand,
And plenty smiles, and sweetest scenes
Expand in lakes, and groves, and greens.
No pain or hunger there is known,
And pleasure reigns throughout alone—
I would go there, and taste and see
A life so beauteous, bless'd and free,
Where man has no more power to kill,
And the Great Spirit all things fills.
Blanch not, Pauguk, I have no fear,
And would not longer linger here;
But bend thy bow and aim thy dart,
Behold an honest hunter's heart:
Thereby a dart, a boon may give,
A happy life on high to live.
'Tis all the same, in countries here,Or where Pacific billows roar,We roved in want, and woe and fearAlong the Mississippi shore.And where Missouri's waters rush,To tell to man that God is strong,We shrank as from a tiger's touch,To hear the white man's shout or song.O not for us is peace and joyArising from the race that spread,Their purpose only's to destroy—Our only peace is with the dead.Think not my heart is pale with fear,But strike, Pauguk—strike boldly here.
'Tis all the same, in countries here,
Or where Pacific billows roar,
We roved in want, and woe and fear
Along the Mississippi shore.
And where Missouri's waters rush,
To tell to man that God is strong,
We shrank as from a tiger's touch,
To hear the white man's shout or song.
O not for us is peace and joy
Arising from the race that spread,
Their purpose only's to destroy—
Our only peace is with the dead.
Think not my heart is pale with fear,
But strike, Pauguk—strike boldly here.
FOOTNOTES
1 (Return)If Edwards the younger, to whom the Mohican was familiar from his childhood, could say, that he doubted whether there were any true adjectives in that language, it can easily be imagined that the subtlety of the transitive principle had not been sufficiently analyzed; but the remark is here quoted in relation to the paucity of adjectives.
2 (Return)VideCriterion.
3 (Return)When the volumes of Algic Researches, in 1839, were published, the book-trade had hardly awakened to that wide and diffusive impulse which it has since received. No attention had been given to topics so obscure as inquiries into the character of the Indian mind--if, indeed, it was thought the Indian had any mind at all. It was still supposed that the Indian was, at all times and in all places, "a stoic of the woods," always statuesque, always formal, always passionless, always on stilts, always speaking in metaphors, a cold embodiment of bravery, endurance, and savage heroism. Writers depicted him as a man who uttered nothing but high principles of natural right, who always harangued eloquently, and was ready, with unmoved philosophy on all occasions, to sing his death song at the stake to show the world how a warrior should die.
4 (Return)The songs and chants which form so striking a part of the original legends, and also the poetic use of aboriginal ideas, are transferred to the end of the volume, and will thus, it is apprehended, relieve and simplify the text.
5 (Return)Gross.
6 (Return)An abbreviated term for "my grandmother," derived from no-kó-miss.
7 (Return)This is a term for the west wind. It is a derivative fromKabian-oong, the proper appellation for the occident.
8 (Return)An interjection indicating pain.
9 (Return)The scirpus, or bulrush.
10 (Return)Do not--do not.
11 (Return)The Northern Indians, when travelling in company with each other, or with white persons who possess their confidence, so as to put them at ease, are in the habit of making frequent allusions to Manabozho and his exploits. "There," said a young Chippewa, pointing to some huge boulders of greenstone, "are pieces of the rock broken off in Manabozho's combat with his father." "This is the duck," said an Indian interpreter on the sources of the Mississippi, "that Manabozho kicked." "Under that island," said a friend conversant with their language, "under that island Manabozho lost a beaver."
12 (Return)The term weendigo, translated here monster, is commonly applied, at this time, by the Indians, to cannibals. Its ancient use appears, however, to have embraced giants and anomalous voracious beasts of the land, to the former existence of which, on this Continent, their traditions refer.
The word genábik, rendered serpent, appears likewise to have been used in a generic sense for amphibious animals of large and venomous character. When applied to existing species of serpents, it requires an adjective prefix or qualifying term.
13 (Return)The wampum or pearl feather.
14 (Return)An interjection equivalent to shame! shame!
15 (Return)Animal tail, or bottom upward.
16 (Return)A free translation of this expression might be rendered, noble scratchers, or grabbers.
17 (Return)The conaus is the most ancient garment known to these tribes, being a simple extended single piece, without folds. The word is the apparent root of godaus, a female garment. Waub-e-wion, a blanket, is a comparatively modern phrase for a wrapper, signifying, literally, a white skin with the wool on.
18 (Return)Fasts. The rite of fasting is one of the most deep-seated and universal in the Indian ritual. It is practised among all the American tribes, and is deemed by them essential to their success in life in every situation. No young man is fitted and prepared to begin the career of life until he has accomplished his great fast. Seven days appear to have been the ancient maximum limit of endurance, and the success of the devotee is inferred from the length of continued abstinence to which he is known to have attained. These fasts are anticipated by youth as one of the most important events of life. They are awaited with interest, prepared for with solemnity, and endured with a self-devotion bordering on the heroic. Character is thought to be fixed from this period, and the primary fast, thus prepared for and successfully established, seems to hold that relative importance to subsequent years that is attached to a public profession of religious faith in civilized communities. It is at this period that the young men and the young women "see visions and dream dreams," and fortune or misfortune is predicted from the guardian spirit chosen during this, to them, religious ordeal. The hallucinations of the mind are taken for divine inspiration. The effect is deeply felt and strongly impressed on the mind; too deeply, indeed, to be ever obliterated in after life. The father in the circle of his lodge, the hunter in the pursuit of the chase, and the warrior in the field of battle, think of the guardian genius which they fancy to accompany them, and trust to his power and benign influence under every circumstance. This genius is the absorbing theme of their silent meditations, and stands to them in all respects in place of the Christian's hope, with the single difference that, however deeply mused upon, thenameis never uttered, and every circumstance connected with its selection, and the devotion paid to it, is most studiously and professedly concealed even from their nearest friends.
Fasts in subsequent life appear to have for their object a renewal of the powers and virtues which they attribute to the rite. And they are observed more frequently by those who strive to preserve unaltered the ancient state of society among them, or by men who assume austere habits for the purpose of acquiring influence in the tribe, or as preparatives for war or some extraordinary feat. It is not known that there is any fixed day observed as a general fast. So far as a rule is followed, a general fast seems to have been observed in the spring, and to haveprecededthe general and customary feasts at that season.
It will be inferred from these facts, that the Indians believe fasts to be very meritorious. They are deemed most acceptable to the Manitoes or spirits whose influence and protection they wish to engage or preserve. And it is thus clearly deducible, that a very large proportion of the time devoted by the Indians to secret worship, so to say, is devoted to these guardian or intermediate spirits, and not to the Great Spirit or Creator.
19 (Return)The tuft feathers of the red-headed woodpecker are used to ornament the stems of the Indian pipe, and are symbolical of valor.
20 (Return)Abbreviated from Neshomiss, my grandfather.
21 (Return)That part of the intestines of a fish, which by its expansion from air in the first stage of decomposition, causes the body to rise and float. The expression here means float.
22 (Return)The Alcedo or Kingfisher.
23 (Return)This bird has a white spot on the breast, and a tufted head.
24 (Return)Shau-go-dai-a,i. e., a Coward.
25 (Return)The war-cry.