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+Project Gutenberg's The Feast of the Virgins and Other Poems, by H. L. Gordon
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: The Feast of the Virgins and Other Poems
+
+Author: H. L. Gordon
+
+Release Date: February 28, 2005 [EBook #15205]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ASCII
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE FEAST OF THE VIRGINS ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Eric Eldred, Susan Skinner and the Online Distributed
+Proofreading Team. Produced from images generously made available
+by the Canadiana.org.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration: H. L. Gordon]
+
+
+THE FEAST OF THE VIRGINS
+
+AND OTHER POEMS
+
+BY
+
+H.L. GORDON
+
+
+  _I had rather write one word upon the rock
+  Of ages, than ten thousand in the sand._
+
+
+Entered according to act of Congress in the year 1891 by H.L. GORDON in
+the office of the Librarian of Congress, Washington, D.C.
+
+
+
+
+TABLE OF CONTENTS
+
+Address to the Flag
+A Million More
+An Old English Oak
+Anthem
+Betzko
+Beyond
+Byron and the Angel
+Change
+Charge of the "Black-Horse"
+Charge of Fremont's Body-Guard
+Charity
+Chickadee
+Christmas Eve [Illustrated]
+Daniel
+Do They Think of Us?
+Dust to Dust
+Fame
+Fido
+Gettysburg: Charge of the First Minnesota
+Heloise
+Hope
+Hurrah for the Volunteers!
+Isabel
+Lines on the Death of Captain Coats
+Love will Find
+Mauley [Illustrated]
+Men
+Minnetonka [Illustrated]
+Mrs. McNair
+My Dead
+My Father-Land
+My Heart's on the Rhine
+Night Thoughts
+New Years Address, 1866 [Illustrated]
+O Let Me Dream the Dreams of Long Ago
+Only a Private Killed
+On Reading President Lincoln's Letter
+Out of the Depths
+Pat and the Pig
+Pauline [Illustrated]
+Poetry
+Prelude--The Mississippi
+Sailor Boy's Song
+Spring [Illustrated]
+Thanksgiving
+The Devil and the Monk [Illustrated]
+The Draft
+The Dying Veteran
+The Feast of the Virgins [Illustrated]
+The Legend of the Falls [Illustrated]
+The Minstrel
+The Old Flag
+The Pioneer [Illustrated]
+The Reign of Reason
+The Sea-Gull [Illustrated]
+The Tariff on Tin [Illustrated]
+To Mollie
+To Sylva
+Twenty Years Ago [Illustrated]
+Wesselenyi [Illustrated]
+Winona [Illustrated]
+
+
+
+
+PREFACE
+
+At odd hours during an active and busy life I have dallied with the
+Muses. I found in them, in earlier years, rest from toil and drudgery
+and, later, relief from physical suffering.
+
+Broken by over-work and compelled to abandon the practice of my
+profession--the law, I wrote _Pauline_ after I had been given up to die
+by my physicians. It proved to be a better 'medicine' for me than all
+the quackeries of the quacks. It diverted my mind from myself and,
+perhaps, saved my life. When published, its reception by the best
+journals of this country and England was so flattering and, at the same
+time, the criticisms of some were so just, that I have been induced to
+carefully revise the poem and to publish my re-touched _Pauline_ in this
+volume. I hope and believe I have greatly improved it. Several of the
+minor poems have been published heretofore in journals and magazines;
+others of equal or greater age flap their wings herein for the first
+time; a few peeped from the shell but yesterday.
+
+I am aware that this volume contains several poems that a certain class
+of critics will condemn, but they are my "chicks" and I will gather them
+under my wings.
+
+"None but an author knows an author's cares,
+Or Fancy's fondness for the child she bears."--_Cowper._
+
+Much of my life has been spent in the Northwest--on the frontier of
+civilization, and I became personally acquainted with many of the chiefs
+and braves of the Dakota and Ojibway (Chippewa) Indians. I have written
+of them largely from my own personal knowledge, and endeavored, above
+all things, to be accurate, and to present them true to the life.
+
+For several years I devoted my leisure hours to the study of the
+language, history, traditions, customs and superstitions of the Dakotas.
+These Indians are now commonly called the "_Sioux_"--a name given them
+by the early French traders and _voyageurs_. "Dakota" signifies
+_alliance_ or _confederation_. Many separate bands, all having a common
+origin and speaking a common tongue, were united under this name. See
+"_Tah-Koo Wah-Kan,_" or "_The Gospel Among the Dakotas,_" by Stephen R.
+Riggs, pp. 1 to 6 inc.
+
+They were but yesterday the occupants and owners of the fair forests and
+fertile prairies of Minnesota--a brave, hospitable and generous
+people--barbarians, indeed, but noble in their barbarism. They may be
+fitly called the Iroquois of the West. In form and features, in language
+and traditions, they are distinct from all other Indian tribes. When
+first visited by white men, and for many years afterwards, the Falls of
+St. Anthony (by them called the _Ha Ha_) was the center of their
+country. They cultivated corn and tobacco, and hunted the elk, the
+beaver and the bison. They were open-hearted, truthful and brave. In
+their wars with other tribes they seldom slew women or children, and
+rarely sacrificed the lives of their prisoners.
+
+For many years their chiefs and head men successfully resisted the
+attempts to introduce spirituous liquors among them. More than a century
+ago an English trader was killed at Mendota, near the present city of
+St. Paul, because he persisted, after repeated warnings by the chiefs,
+in dealing out _mini wakan_ (Devil-water) to the Dakota braves.
+
+With open arms and generous hospitality they welcomed the first white
+men to their land, and were ever faithful in their friendship, till
+years of wrong and robbery, and want and insult, drove them to
+desperation and to war. They were barbarians, and their warfare was
+barbarous, but not more barbarous than the warfare of our Saxon, Celtic
+and Norman ancestors. They were ignorant and superstitious. Their
+condition closely resembled the condition of our British forefathers at
+the beginning of the Christian era. Macaulay says of Britain: "Her
+inhabitants, when first they became known to the Tyrian mariners, were
+little superior to the natives of the Sandwich Islands." And again:
+"While the German princes who reigned at Paris, Toledo, Aries and
+Ravenna listened with reverence to the instructions of bishops, adored
+the relics of martyrs, and took part eagerly in disputes touching the
+Nicene theology, the rulers of Wessex and Mercia were still performing
+savage rites in the temples of Thor and Woden."
+
+The days of the Dakotas are done. The degenerate remnants of that once
+powerful and warlike people still linger around the forts and agencies
+of the Northwest, or chase the caribou and the elk on the banks of the
+Saskatchewan, but the Dakotas of old are no more. The brilliant defeat
+of Custer, by Sitting Bull and his braves, was their last grand rally
+against the resistless march of the sons of the Saxons. The plow-shares
+of a superior race are fast leveling the sacred mounds of their dead.
+But yesterday, the shores of our lakes and our rivers were dotted with
+their _teepees,_ their light canoes glided over our waters, and their
+hunters chased the deer and the buffalo on the sites of our cities.
+To-day, they are not. Let us do justice to their memory, for there was
+much that was noble in their natures.
+
+In the Dakota Legends, I have endeavored to faithfully present many of
+the customs and superstitions, and some of the traditions, of that
+people. I have taken very little 'poetic license' with their traditions;
+none, whatever, with their customs and superstitions. In my studies for
+these Legends I was greatly aided by the Rev. S.R. Riggs, author of the
+_"Grammar and Dictionary of the Dakota Language" "Tah-Koo Wah-Kan,"_
+&c., and for many years a missionary among the Dakotas. He patiently
+answered my numerous inquiries and gave me valuable information. I am
+also indebted to the late Gen. H.H. Sibley, one of the earliest
+American traders among them, and to Rev. S.W. Pond, of Shakopee, one of
+the first Protestant missionaries to these people, and himself the
+author of poetical versions of some of their principal legends; to Mrs.
+Eastman's _"Dacotah,"_ and last, but not least, to the Rev. E.D. Neill,
+whose admirable _"History of Minnesota"_ so fully and faithfully
+presents almost all that is known of the history, traditions, customs,
+manners and superstitions of the Dakotas.
+
+In _Winona_ I have "tried my hand" on a new hexameter verse. With what
+success, I leave to those who are better able to judge than I. If I have
+failed, I have but added another failure to the numerous attempts to
+naturalize hexameter verse in the English language.
+
+It will be observed that I have slightly changed the length and the
+rhythm of the old hexameter line; but it is still hexameter, and, I
+think, improved.
+
+I have not written for profit nor published for fame. Fame is a coy
+goddess that rarely bestows her favors on him who seeks her--a phantom
+that many pursue and but few overtake.
+
+She delights to hover for a time, like a ghost, over the graves of dead
+men who know not and care not: to the living she is a veritable _Ignis
+Fatuus_. But every man owes something to his fellowmen, and I owe much.
+
+If my friends find half the pleasure in reading these poems that I have
+found in writing them, I shall have paid my debt and achieved success.
+
+H.L. GORDON.
+
+Minneapolis, November 1, 1891.
+
+
+
+
+
+PRELUDE
+
+
+THE MISSISSIPPI
+
+The numerals refer to _Notes_ in appendix.
+
+
+Onward rolls the Royal River, proudly sweeping to the sea,
+Dark and deep and grand, forever wrapt in myth and mystery.
+Lo he laughs along the highlands, leaping o'er the granite walls;
+Lo he sleeps among the islands, where the loon her lover calls.
+Still like some huge monster winding downward through the prairied plains,
+Seeking rest but never finding, till the tropic gulf he gains.
+In his mighty arms he claspeth now an empire broad and grand;
+In his left hand lo he graspeth leagues of fen and forest land;
+In his right the mighty mountains, hoary with eternal snow,
+Where a thousand foaming fountains singing seek the plains below.
+Fields of corn and feet of cities lo the mighty river laves,
+Where the Saxon sings his ditties o'er the swarthy warriors' graves.
+
+Aye, before the birth of Moses--ere the Pyramids were piled--
+All his banks were red with roses from the sea to nor'lands wild,
+And from forest, fen and meadows, in the deserts of the north,
+Elk and bison stalked like shadows, and the tawny tribes came forth;
+Deeds of death and deeds of daring on his leafy banks were done,
+Women loved and men went warring, ere the siege of Troy begun.
+Where his foaming waters thundered, roaring o'er the rocky walls,
+Dusky hunters sat and wondered, listening to the spirits' calls.
+"_Ha-ha!_"[76] cried the warrior greeting from afar the cataract's roar;
+"_Ha-ha!_" rolled the answer beating down the rock-ribbed leagues of shore.
+Now, alas, the bow and quiver and the dusky braves have fled,
+And the sullen, shackled river drives the droning mills instead.
+
+Where the war-whoop rose, and after women wailed their warriors slain,
+List the Saxon's silvery laughter, and his humming hives of gain.
+Swiftly sped the tawny runner o'er the pathless prairies then,
+Now the iron-reindeer sooner carries weal or woe to men.
+On thy bosom, Royal River, silent sped the birch canoe
+Bearing brave with bow and quiver on his way to war or woo;
+Now with flaunting flags and streamers--mighty monsters of the deep--
+Lo the puffing, panting steamers through thy foaming waters sweep;
+And behold the grain-fields golden, where the bison grazed of eld;
+See the fanes of forests olden by the ruthless Saxon felled.
+Plumed pines that spread their shadows ere Columbus spread his sails,
+Firs that fringed the mossy meadows ere the Mayflower braved the gales,
+Iron oaks that nourished bruin while the Vikings roamed the main,
+Crashing fall in broken ruin for the greedy marts of gain.
+
+Still forever and forever rolls the restless river on,
+Slumbering oft but ceasing never while the circling centuries run.
+In his palm the lakelet lingers, in his hair the brooklets hide,
+Grasped within his thousand fingers lies a continent fair and wide--
+Yea, a mighty empire swarming with its millions like the bees,
+Delving, drudging, striving, storming, all their lives, for golden ease.
+
+Still, methinks, the dusky shadows of the days that are no more,
+Stalk around the lakes and meadows, haunting oft the wonted shore:
+Hunters from the land of spirits seek the bison and the deer
+Where the Saxon now inherits golden field and silver mere;
+And beside the mound where buried lies the dark-eyed maid he loves,
+Some tall warrior, wan and wearied, in the misty moonlight moves.
+See--he stands erect and lingers--stoic still, but loth to go--
+Clutching in his tawny fingers feathered shaft and polished bow.
+Never wail or moan he utters and no tear is on his face,
+But a warrior's curse he mutters on the crafty Saxon race.
+
+O thou dark, mysterious River, speak and tell thy tales to me;
+Seal not up thy lips forever--veiled in mist and mystery.
+I will sit and lowly listen at the phantom-haunted falls
+Where thy waters foam and glisten o'er the rugged, rocky walls,
+Till some spirit of the olden, mystic, weird, romantic days
+Shall emerge and pour her golden tales and legends through my lays.
+
+Then again the elk and bison on thy grassy banks shall feed,
+And along the low horizon shall the plumed hunter speed;
+Then again on lake and river shall the silent birch canoe
+Bear the brave with bow and quiver on his way to war or woo:
+Then the beaver on the meadow shall rebuild his broken wall,
+And the wolf shall chase his shadow and his mate the panther call.
+From the prairies and the regions where the pine-plumed forest grows
+Shall arise the tawny legions with their lances and their bows;
+And again the cries of battle shall resound along the plain,
+Bows shall twang and quivers rattle, women wail their warriors slain;
+And by lodge-fire lowly burning shall the mother from afar
+List her warrior's steps returning from the daring deeds of war.
+
+
+[Illustration: THE GAME OF BALL]
+
+
+THE FEAST OF THE VIRGINS[1]
+
+A LEGEND OF THE DAKOTAS
+
+
+In pronouncing Dakota words give "a" the sound of "ah",--"e" the sound
+of "a",--"i" the sound of "e" and "u" the sound of "oo;" sound "ee" as
+in English. The numerals refer to _Notes_ in appendix.
+
+
+THE GAME OF BALL[2]
+
+Clear was the sky as a silver shield;
+The bright sun blazed on the frozen field.
+On ice-bound river and white-robed prairie
+The diamonds gleamed in the flame of noon;
+But cold and keen were the breezes airy
+_Wa-zi-ya_[3] blew from his icy throne.
+
+On the solid ice of the silent river
+The bounds are marked, and a splendid prize,
+A robe of black-fox lined with beaver,
+Is hung in view of the eager eyes;
+And fifty merry Dakota maidens,
+The fairest-molded of womankind
+Are gathered in groups on the level ice.
+They look on the robe and its beauty gladdens
+And maddens their hearts for the splendid prize.
+Lo the rounded ankles and raven hair
+That floats at will on the wanton wind,
+And the round, brown arms to the breezes bare,
+And breasts like the mounds where the waters meet,[4]
+And feet as fleet as the red deer's feet,
+And faces that glow like the full, round moon
+When she laughs in the luminous skies of June.
+
+The leaders are chosen and swiftly divide
+The opposing parties on either side.
+Wiwaste[5] is chief of a nimble band,
+The star-eyed daughter of Little Crow;[6]
+And the leader chosen to hold command
+Of the band adverse is a haughty foe--
+The dusky, impetuous Harpstina,[7]
+The queenly cousin of Wapasa.[8]
+
+_Kapoza's_ chief and his tawny hunters
+Are gathered to witness the queenly game.
+The ball is thrown and a net encounters,
+And away it flies with a loud acclaim.
+Swift are the maidens that follow after,
+And swiftly it flies for the farther bound;
+And long and loud are the peals of laughter,
+As some fair runner is flung to ground;
+While backward and forward, and to and fro,
+The maidens contend on the trampled snow.
+With loud "_Iho!--Ito!--Iho_!"[9]
+And waving the beautiful prize anon,
+The dusky warriors cheer them on.
+And often the limits are almost passed,
+As the swift ball flies and returns. At last
+It leaps the line at a single bound
+From the fair Wiwaste's sturdy arm
+Like a fawn that flies from the baying hound.
+The wild cheers broke like a thunder storm
+On the beetling bluffs and the hills profound,
+An echoing, jubilant sea of sound.
+Wakawa, the chief, and the loud acclaim
+Announced the end of the hard-won game,
+And the fair Wiwaste was victor crowned.
+
+Dark was the visage of Harpstina
+When the robe was laid at her rival's feet,
+And merry maidens and warriors saw
+Her flashing eyes and her look of hate,
+As she turned to Wakawa, the chief, and said:
+"The game was mine were it fairly played.
+I was stunned by a blow on my bended head,
+As I snatched the ball from slippery ground
+Not half a fling from Wiwaste's bound.
+The cheat--behold her! for there she stands
+With the prize that is mine in her treacherous hands.
+The fawn may fly, but the wolf is fleet;
+The fox creeps sly on _Maga's_[10] retreat,
+And a woman's revenge--it is swift and sweet."
+
+She turned to her lodge, but a roar of laughter
+And merry mockery followed after.
+Little they heeded the words she said,
+Little they cared for her haughty tread,
+For maidens and warriors and chieftain knew
+That her lips were false and her charge untrue.
+
+Wiwaste, the fairest Dakota maiden,
+The sweet-faced daughter of Little Crow,
+To her _teepee_[11] turned with her trophy laden,
+The black robe trailing the virgin snow.
+Beloved was she by her princely father,
+Beloved was she by the young and old,
+By merry maidens and many a mother,
+And many a warrior bronzed and bold.
+For her face was as fair as a beautiful dream,
+And her voice like the song of the mountain stream;
+And her eyes like the stars when they glow and gleam
+Through the somber pines of the nor'land wold,
+When the winds of winter are keen and cold.
+
+Mah-pi-ya Du-ta[12], the tall Red Cloud,
+A hunter swift and a warrior proud,
+With many a scar and many a feather,
+Was a suitor bold and a lover fond.
+Long had he courted Wiwaste's father,
+Long had he sued for the maiden's hand.
+Aye, brave and proud was the tall Red Cloud,
+A peerless son of a giant race,
+And the eyes of the panther were set in his face:
+He strode like a stag, and he stood like a pine;
+Ten feathers he wore of the great _Wanmdee_;[13]
+With crimsoned quills of the porcupine
+His leggins were worked to his brawny knee.
+The bow he bent was a giant's bow;
+The swift, red elk could he overtake,
+And the necklace that girdled his brawny neck
+Was the polished claws of the great _Mato_[14]
+He grappled and slew in the northern snow.
+Wiwaste looked on the warrior tall;
+She saw he was brawny and brave and great,
+But the eyes of the panther she could but hate,
+And a brave _Hohe_[15] loved she better than all.
+Loved was Mahpiya by Harpstina
+But the warrior she never could charm or draw;
+And bitter indeed was her secret hate
+For the maiden she reckoned so fortunate.
+
+
+HEYOKA WACIPEE[16]
+
+THE GIANT'S DANCE.
+
+The night-sun[17] sails in his gold canoe,
+The spirits[18] walk in the realms of air
+With their glowing faces and flaming hair,
+And the shrill, chill winds o'er the prairies blow.
+In the _Tee[19] of the Council_ the Virgins light
+The Virgin-fire[20] for the feast to-night;
+For the _Sons of Heyoka_ will celebrate
+The sacred dance to the giant great.
+The kettle boils on the blazing fire,
+And the flesh is done to the chief's desire.
+With his stoic face to the sacred East,[21]
+He takes his seat at the Giant's Feast.
+
+For the feast of _Heyoka_[22] the braves are dressed
+With crowns from the bark of the white-birch trees,
+And new skin leggins that reach the knees;
+With robes of the bison and swarthy bear,
+And eagle-plumes in their coal-black hair,
+And marvelous rings in their tawny ears
+That were pierced with the points of their shining spears.
+To honor _Heyoka_ Wakawa lifts
+His fuming pipe from the Red-stone Quarry.[23]
+The warriors follow. The white cloud drifts
+From the Council-lodge to the welkin starry,
+Like a fog at morn on the fir-clad hill,
+When the meadows are damp and the winds are still.
+
+They dance to the tune of their wild "_Ha-ha_"
+A warrior's shout and a raven's caw--
+Circling the pot and the blazing fire
+To the tom-tom's bray and the rude bassoon;
+Round and round to their heart's desire,
+And ever the same wild chant and tune--
+A warrior's shout and a raven's caw--
+"_Ha-ha,--ha-ha,--ha-ha,--ha!_"
+They crouch, they leap, and their burning eyes
+Flash fierce in the light of the flaming fire,
+As fiercer and fiercer and higher and higher
+The rude, wild notes of their chant arise.
+They cease, they sit, and the curling smoke
+Ascends again from their polished pipes,
+And upward curls from their swarthy lips
+To the god whose favor their hearts invoke.
+
+Then tall Wakawa arose and said:
+"Brave warriors, listen, and give due heed.
+Great is _Heyoka_, the magical god;
+He can walk on the air; he can float on the flood.
+He's a worker of magic and wonderful wise;
+He cries when he laughs and he laughs when he cries;
+He sweats when he's cold, and he shivers when hot,
+And the water is cold in his boiling pot.
+He hides in the earth and he walks in disguise,
+But he loves the brave and their sacrifice.
+We are sons of _Heyoka_. The Giant commands
+In the boiling water to thrust our hands;
+And the warrior that scorneth the foe and fire
+_Heyoka_ will crown with his heart's desire."
+
+They thrust their hands in the boiling pot;
+They swallow the bison-meat steaming hot;
+Not a wince on their stoical faces bold,
+For the meat and the water, they say, are cold:
+And great is _Heyoka_ and wonderful wise;
+He floats on the flood and he walks on the skies,
+And ever appears in a strange disguise;
+But he loves the brave and their sacrifice,
+And the warrior that scorneth the foe and fire
+Heyoka will crown with his heart's desire.
+
+Proud was the chief of his warriors proud,
+The sinewy sons of the Giant's race;
+But the bravest of all was the tall Red Cloud;
+The eyes of the panther were set in his face;
+He strode like a stag and he stood like a pine;
+Ten feathers he wore of the great _Wanmdee_,[13]
+With crimsoned quills of the porcupine
+His leggins were worked to his brawny knee.
+Blood-red were the stripes on his swarthy cheek,
+And the necklace that girdled his brawny neck
+Was the polished claws of the great Mato[14]
+He grappled and slew in the northern snow.
+Proud Red Cloud turned to the braves and said,
+As he shook the plumes on his haughty head:
+"Ho! the warrior that scorneth the foe and fire
+_Heyoka_ will crown with his heart's desire!"
+He snatched from the embers a red-hot brand,
+And held it aloft in his naked hand.
+He stood like a statue in bronze or stone--
+Not a muscle moved, and the braves looked on.
+He turned to the chieftain--"I scorn the fire--
+Ten feathers I wear of the great _Wanmdee_;
+Then grant me, Wakawa, my heart's desire;
+Let the sunlight shine in my lonely tee.[19]
+I laugh at red death and I laugh at red fire;
+Brave Red Cloud is only afraid of fear;
+But Wiwaste is fair to his heart and dear;
+Then grant him, Wakawa, his heart's desire."
+The warriors applauded with loud "_Ho! Ho!_"[24]
+And he flung the brand to the drifting snow.
+Three times Wakawa puffed forth the smoke
+From his silent lips; then he slowly spoke:
+"Mahpiya is strong as the stout-armed oak
+That stands on the bluff by the windy plain,
+And laughs at the roar of the hurricane.
+He has slain the foe and the great _Mato_
+With his hissing arrow and deadly stroke
+My heart is swift but my tongue is slow.
+Let the warrior come to my lodge and smoke;
+He may bring the gifts;[25] but the timid doe
+May fly from the hunter and say him no."
+
+Wiwaste sat late in the lodge alone,
+Her dark eyes bent on the glowing fire:
+She heard not the wild winds shrill and moan;
+She heard not the tall elms toss and groan;
+Her face was lit like the harvest moon;
+For her thoughts flew far to her heart's desire.
+Far away in the land of the _Hohe_[15] dwelt
+The warrior she held in her secret heart;
+But little he dreamed of the pain she felt,
+For she hid her love with a maiden's art.
+Not a tear she shed, not a word she said,
+When the brave young chief from the lodge departed;
+But she sat on the mound when the day was dead,
+And gazed at the full moon mellow-hearted.
+Fair was the chief as the morning-star;
+His eyes were mild and his words were low,
+But his heart was stouter than lance or bow;
+And her young heart flew to her love afar
+O'er his trail long covered with drifted snow.
+She heard a warrior's stealthy tread,
+And the tall Wakawa appeared, and said:
+"Is Wiwaste afraid of the spirit dread
+That fires the sky in the fatal north?[26]
+Behold the mysterious lights. Come forth:
+Some evil threatens, some danger nears,
+For the skies are pierced by the burning spears."
+
+The warriors rally beneath the moon;
+They shoot their shafts at the evil spirit.
+The spirit is slain and the flame is gone,
+But his blood lies red on the snow-fields near it;
+And again from the dead will the spirit rise,
+And flash his spears in the northern skies.
+
+Then the chief and the queenly Wiwaste stood
+Alone in the moon-lit solitude,
+And she was silent and he was grave.
+"And fears not my daughter the evil spirit?
+The strongest warriors and bravest fear it.
+The burning spears are an evil omen;
+They threaten the wrath of a wicked woman,
+Or a treacherous foe; but my warriors brave,
+When danger nears, or the foe appears,
+Are a cloud of arrows--a grove of spears."
+
+"My Father," she said, and her words were low,
+"Why should I fear? for I soon will go
+To the broad, blue lodge in the Spirit-land,
+Where my fond-eyed mother went long ago,
+And my dear twin-sisters walk hand in hand.
+My Father, listen--my words are true,"
+And sad was her voice as the whippowil
+When she mourns her mate by the moon-lit rill,
+"Wiwaste lingers alone with you;
+The rest are sleeping on yonder hill--
+Save one--and he an undutiful son--
+And you, my Father, will sit alone
+When _Sisoka_[27] sings and the snow is gone.
+I sat, when the maple leaves were red,
+By the foaming falls of the haunted river;
+The night-sun was walking above my head,
+And the arrows shone in his burnished quiver;
+And the winds were hushed and the hour was dread
+With the walking ghosts of the silent dead.
+I heard the voice of the Water-Fairy;[28]
+I saw her form in the moon-lit mist,
+As she sat on a stone with her burden weary,
+By the foaming eddies of amethyst.
+And robed in her mantle of mist the sprite
+Her low wail poured on the silent night.
+Then the spirit spake, and the floods were still--
+They hushed and listened to what she said,
+And hushed was the plaint of the whippowil
+In the silver-birches above her head:
+'Wiwaste, the prairies are green and fair
+When the robin sings and the whippowil;
+But the land of the Spirits is fairer still,
+For the winds of winter blow never there;
+And forever the songs of the whippowils
+And the robins are heard on the leafy hills.
+Thy mother looks from her lodge above--
+Her fair face shines in the sky afar,
+And the eyes of thy sisters are bright with love,
+As they peep from the _tee_ of the mother-star.
+To her happy lodge in the Spirit land
+She beckons Wiwaste with shining hand.'
+
+"My Father--my Father, her words were true;
+And the death of Wiwaste will rest on you.
+You have pledged me as wife to the tall Red Cloud;
+You will take the gifts of the warrior proud;
+But I, Wakawa,--I answer--never!
+I will stain your knife in my heart's red blood,
+I will plunge and sink in the sullen river
+Ere I will be wife to the dark Red Cloud!"
+
+"Wiwaste," he said, and his voice was low,
+"Let it be as you will, for Wakawa's tongue
+Has spoken no promise;--his lips are slow,
+And the love of a father is deep and strong.
+Be happy, Micunksee;[29] the flames are gone--
+They flash no more in the northern sky.
+See the smile on the face of the watching moon;
+No more will the fatal, red arrows fly;
+For the singing shafts of my warriors sped
+To the bad spirit's bosom and laid him dead,
+And his blood on the snow of the North lies red.
+Go--sleep in the robe that you won to-day,
+And dream of your hunter--the brave Chaske."
+
+Light was her heart as she turned away;
+It sang like the lark in the skies of May.
+The round moon laughed, but a lone, red star,[30]
+As she turned to the _teepee_ and entered in,
+Fell flashing and swift in the sky afar,
+Like the polished point of a javelin.
+Nor chief nor daughter the shadow saw
+Of the crouching listener, Harpstina.
+
+Wiwaste, wrapped in her robe and sleep,
+Heard not the storm-sprites wail and weep,
+As they rode on the winds in the frosty air;
+But she heard the voice of her hunter fair;
+For a fairy spirit with silent fingers
+The curtains drew from the land of dreams;
+And lo in her _teepee_ her lover lingers;
+In his tender eyes all the love-light beams,
+And his voice is the music of mountain streams.
+
+And then with her round, brown arms she pressed
+His phantom form to her throbbing breast,
+And whispered the name, in her happy sleep,
+Of her _Hohe_ hunter so fair and far:
+And then she saw in her dreams the deep
+Where the spirit wailed, and a falling star;
+Then stealthily crouching under the trees,
+By the light of the moon, the _Kan-e-ti-dan_, [31]
+The little, wizened, mysterious man,
+With his long locks tossed by the moaning breeze.
+Then a flap of wings, like a thunder-bird, [32]
+And a wailing spirit the sleeper heard;
+And lo, through the mists of the moon, she saw
+The hateful visage of Harpstina.
+
+But waking she murmured--"And what are these----
+The flap of wings and the falling star,
+The wailing spirit that's never at ease,
+The little man crouching under the trees,
+And the hateful visage of Harpstina?
+My dreams are like feathers that float on the breeze,
+And none can tell what the omens are----
+Save the beautiful dream of my love afar
+In the happy land of the tall _Hohe_----
+My handsome hunter--my brave Chaske."
+
+[Illustration: BUFFALO CHASE]
+
+_"Ta-tanka! Ta-tanka!"_[33] the hunters cried,
+With a joyous shout at the break of dawn
+And darkly lined on the white hill-side,
+A herd of bison went marching on
+Through the drifted snow like a caravan.
+Swift to their ponies the hunters sped,
+And dashed away on the hurried chase.
+The wild steeds scented the game ahead,
+And sprang like hounds to the eager race.
+But the brawny bulls in the swarthy van
+Turned their polished horns on the charging foes
+And reckless rider and fleet footman
+Were held at bay in the drifted snows,
+While the bellowing herd o'er the hilltops ran,
+Like the frightened beasts of a caravan
+On Sahara's sands when the simoon blows.
+Sharp were the twangs of the hunters' bows,
+And swift and humming the arrows sped,
+Till ten huge bulls on the bloody snows
+Lay pierced with arrows and dumb and dead.
+But the chief with the flankers had gained the rear,
+And flew on the trail of the flying herd.
+The shouts of the riders rang loud and clear,
+As their foaming steeds to the chase they spurred.
+And now like the roar of an avalanche
+Rolls the bellowing wrath of the maddened bulls
+They charge on the riders and runners stanch,
+And a dying steed in the snow drift rolls,
+While the rider, flung to the frozen ground,
+Escapes the horns by a panther's bound.
+But the raging monsters are held at bay,
+While the flankers dash on the swarthy rout:
+With lance and arrow they slay and slay;
+And the welkin rings to the gladsome shout----
+To the loud _Ina's_ and the wild _Iho's_, [34]
+And dark and dead, on the bloody snows,
+Lie the swarthy heaps of the buffaloes.
+All snug in the _teepee_ Wiwaste lay,
+All wrapped in her robe, at the dawn of day,
+All snug and warm from the wind and snow,
+While the hunters followed the buffalo.
+Her dreams and her slumber their wild shouts broke;
+The chase was afoot when the maid awoke;
+She heard the twangs of the hunters' bows,
+And the bellowing bulls and the loud _Iho_'s,
+And she murmured--"My hunter is far away
+In the happy land of the tall _Hohe_----
+My handsome hunter, my brave Chaske;
+But the robins will come and my warrior too,
+And Wiwaste will find her a way to woo."
+
+And long she lay in a reverie,
+And dreamed, wide-awake, of the brave Chaske,
+Till a trampling of feet on the crispy snow
+She heard, and the murmur of voices low:----
+Then the warriors' greeting--_Iho! Iho!_
+And behold, in the blaze of the risen day,
+With the hunters that followed the buffalo----
+Came her tall, young hunter--her brave Chaske.
+Far south has he followed the bison-trail
+With his band of warriors so brave and true.
+Right glad is Wakawa his friend to hail,
+And Wiwaste will find her a way to woo.
+
+Tall and straight as the larch-tree stood
+The manly form of the brave young chief,
+And fair as the larch in its vernal leaf,
+When the red fawn bleats in the feathering wood.
+Mild was his face as the morning skies,
+And friendship shone in his laughing eyes;
+But swift were his feet o'er the drifted snow
+On the trail of the elk or the buffalo,
+And his heart was stouter than lance or bow,
+When he heard the whoop of his enemies.
+Five feathers he wore of the great Wanmdee
+And each for the scalp of a warrior slain,
+When down on his camp from the northern plain,
+With their murder-cries rode the bloody _Cree_.[35]
+But never the stain of an infant slain,
+Or the blood of a mother that plead in vain,
+Soiled the honored plumes of the brave _Hohe_.
+A mountain bear to his enemies,
+To his friends like the red fawn's dappled form;
+In peace, like the breeze from the summer seas----
+In war, like the roar of the mountain storm.
+His fame in the voice of the winds went forth
+From his hunting grounds in the happy North,
+And far as the shores of the _Great Mede_ [36]
+The nations spoke of the brave Chaske.
+
+Dark was the visage of grim Red Cloud,
+Fierce were the eyes of the warrior proud,
+When the chief to his lodge led the brave _Hohe_,
+And Wiwaste smiled on the tall Chaske.
+Away he strode with a sullen frown,
+And alone in his _teepee_ he sat him down.
+From the gladsome greeting of braves he stole,
+And wrapped himself in his gloomy soul.
+But the eagle eyes of the Harpstina
+The clouded face of the warrior saw.
+Softly she spoke to the sullen brave:
+"Mah-pi-ya Duta--his face is sad;
+And why is the warrior so glum and grave?
+For the fair Wiwaste is gay and glad;
+She will sit in the _teepee_ the live-long day,
+And laugh with her lover--the brave _Hohe_
+Does the tall Red Cloud for the false one sigh?
+There are fairer maidens than she, and proud
+Were their hearts to be loved by the brave Red Cloud.
+And trust not the chief with the smiling eyes;
+His tongue is swift, but his words are lies;
+And the proud Mah-pi-ya will surely find
+That Wakawa's promise is hollow wind.
+Last night I stood by his lodge, and lo
+I heard the voice of the Little Crow;
+But the fox is sly and his words were low.
+But I heard her answer her father--'Never!
+I will stain your knife in my heart's red blood,
+I will plunge and sink in the sullen river,
+Ere I will be wife to the dark Red Cloud!'
+Then he spake again, and his voice was low,
+But I heard the answer of Little Crow:
+'Let it be as you will, for Wakawa's tongue
+Has spoken no promise--his lips are slow,
+And the love of a father is deep and strong.'
+
+"Mah-pi-ya Duta, they scorn your love,
+But the false chief covets the warrior's gifts.
+False to his promise the fox will prove,
+And fickle as snow in _Wo-ka-da-wee_, [37]
+That slips into brooks when the gray cloud lifts,
+Or the red sun looks through the ragged rifts.
+Mah-pi-ya Duta will listen to me.
+There are fairer birds in the bush than she,
+And the fairest would gladly be Red Cloud's wife.
+Will the warrior sit like a girl bereft,
+When fairer and truer than she are left,
+That love Red Cloud as they love their life?
+Mah-pi-ya Duta will listen to me.
+I love him well--I have loved him long:
+A woman is weak, but a warrior is strong,
+And a love-lorn brave is a scorn to see.
+
+"Mah-pi-ya Duta, O listen to me!
+Revenge is swift and revenge is strong,
+And sweet as the hive in the hollow tree;
+The proud Red Cloud will avenge his wrong.
+Let the brave be patient, it is not long
+Till the leaves be green on the maple tree,
+And the Feast of the Virgins is then to be--
+The Feast of the Virgins is then to be!"
+
+Proudly she turned from the silent brave,
+And went her way; but the warrior's eyes--
+They flashed with the flame of a sudden fire,
+Like the lights that gleam in the Sacred Cave[38],
+When the black night covers the autumn skies,
+And the stars from their welkin watch retire.
+
+Three nights he tarried--the brave Chaske;
+Winged were the hours and they flitted away;
+On the wings of _Wakandee_[39] they silently flew,
+For Wiwaste had found her a way to woo.
+Ah little he cared for the bison-chase,
+For the red lilies bloomed on the fair maid's face;
+Ah little he cared for the winds that blew,
+For Wiwaste had found her a way to woo.
+Brown-bosomed she sat on her fox-robe dark,
+Her ear to the tales of the brave inclined,
+Or tripped from the _tee_ like the song of a lark,
+And gathered her hair from the wanton wind.
+Ah little he thought of the leagues of snow
+He trod on the trail of the buffalo;
+And little he recked of the hurricanes
+That swept the snow from the frozen plains
+And piled the banks of the Bloody River.[40]
+His bow unstrung and forgotten hung
+With his beaver hood and his otter quiver;
+He sat spell-bound by the artless grace
+Of her star-lit eyes and her moon-lit face.
+Ah little he cared for the storms that blew,
+For Wiwaste had found her a way to woo.
+When he spoke with Wakawa her sidelong eyes
+Sought the handsome chief in his hunter-guise.
+Wakawa marked, and the lilies fair
+On her round cheeks spread to her raven hair.
+They feasted on rib of the bison fat,
+On the tongue of the _Ta_[41] that the hunters prize,
+On the savory flesh of the red _Hogan_,[42]
+On sweet _tipsanna_[43] and pemmican
+And the dun-brown cakes of the golden maize;
+And hour after hour the young chief sat,
+And feasted his soul on her love-lit eyes.
+
+The sweeter the moments the swifter they fly;
+Love takes no account of the fleeting hours;
+He walks in a dream 'mid the blooming of flowers,
+And never awakes till the blossoms die.
+Ah lovers are lovers the wide world over--
+In the hunter's lodge and the royal palace.
+Sweet are the lips of his love to the lover--
+Sweet as new wine in a golden chalice
+From the Tajo's[44] slope or the hills beyond;
+And blindly he sips from his loved one's lips,
+In lodge or palace the wide world over,
+The maddening honey of Trebizond.[45]
+
+O what are leagues to the loving hunter,
+Or the blinding drift of the hurricane,
+When it raves and roars o'er the frozen plain!
+He would face the storm--he would death encounter
+The darling prize of his heart to gain.
+But his hunters chafed at the long delay,
+For the swarthy bison were far away,
+And the brave young chief from the lodge departed.
+He promised to come with the robins in May
+With the bridal gifts for the bridal day;
+And the fair Wiwaste was happy-hearted,
+For Wakawa promised the brave Chaske.
+Birds of a feather will flock together.
+The robin sings to his ruddy mate,
+And the chattering jays, in the winter weather,
+To prate and gossip will congregate;
+And the cawing crows on the autumn heather,
+Like evil omens, will flock together,
+In common council for high debate;
+And the lass will slip from a doting mother
+To hang with her lad on the garden gate.
+Birds of a feather will flock together--
+'Tis an adage old--it is nature's law,
+And sure as the pole will the needle draw,
+The fierce Red Cloud with the flaunting feather,
+Will follow the finger of Harpstina.
+
+The winter wanes and the south-wind blows
+From the Summer Islands legendary;
+The _skeskas_[46] fly and the melted snows
+In lakelets lie on the dimpled prairie.
+The frost-flowers[47] peep from their winter sleep
+Under the snow-drifts cold and deep.
+To the April sun and the April showers,
+In field and forest, the baby flowers
+Lift their blushing faces and dewy eyes;
+And wet with the tears of the winter-fairies,
+Soon bloom and blossom the emerald prairies,
+Like the fabled Garden of Paradise.
+
+The plum-trees, white with their bloom in May,
+Their sweet perfume on the vernal breeze
+Wide strew like the isles of the tropic seas
+Where the paroquet chatters the livelong day.
+But the May-days pass and the brave Chaske [17]
+O why does the lover so long delay?
+Wiwaste waits in the lonely _tee_.
+Has her fair face fled from his memory?
+For the robin cherups his mate to please,
+The blue-bird pipes in the poplar-trees,
+The meadow lark warbles his jubilees,
+Shrilling his song in the azure seas
+Till the welkin throbs to his melodies,
+And low is the hum of the humble-bees,
+And the Feast of the Virgins is now to be.
+
+
+THE FEAST OF THE VIRGINS
+
+The sun sails high in his azure realms;
+Beneath the arch of the breezy elms
+The feast is spread by the murmuring river.
+With his battle-spear and his bow and quiver,
+And eagle-plumes in his ebon hair,
+The chief Wakawa himself is there;
+And round the feast, in the Sacred Ring,[48]
+Sit his weaponed warriors witnessing.
+Not a morsel of food have the Virgins tasted
+For three long days ere the holy feast;
+They sat in their _teepee_ alone and fasted,
+Their faces turned to the Sacred East.[21]
+In the polished bowls lies the golden maize,
+And the flesh of fawn on the polished trays.
+For the Virgins the bloom of the prairies wide--
+The blushing pink and the meek blue-bell,
+The purple plumes of the prairie's pride,[49]
+The wild, uncultured asphodel,
+And the beautiful, blue-eyed violet
+That the Virgins call "Let-me-not forget,"
+In gay festoons and garlands twine
+With the cedar sprigs[50] and the wildwood vine.
+So gaily the Virgins are decked and dressed,
+And none but a virgin may enter there;
+And clad is each in a scarlet vest,
+And a fawn-skin frock to the brown calves bare.
+Wild rose-buds peep from their flowing hair,
+And a rose half blown on the budding breast;
+And bright with the quills of the porcupine
+The moccasined feet of the maidens shine.
+
+Hand in hand round the feast they dance,
+And sing to the notes of a rude bassoon,
+And never a pause or a dissonance
+In the merry dance or the merry tune.
+Brown-bosomed and fair as the rising moon,
+When she peeps o'er the hills of the dewy east,
+Wiwaste sings at the Virgins' Feast;
+And bright is the light in her luminous eyes;
+They glow like the stars in the winter skies;
+And the lilies that bloom in her virgin heart
+Their golden blush to her cheeks impart--
+Her cheeks half-hid in her midnight hair.
+Fair is her form--as the red fawn's fair--
+And long is the flow of her raven hair;
+It falls to her knees and it streams on the breeze
+Like the path of a storm on the swelling seas.
+
+Proud of their rites are the Virgins fair,
+For none but a virgin may enter there.
+'Tis a custom of old and a sacred thing;
+Nor rank nor beauty the warriors spare,
+If a tarnished maiden should enter there.
+And her that enters the Sacred Ring
+With a blot that is known or a secret stain
+The warrior who knows is bound to expose,
+And lead her forth from the ring again.
+And the word of a brave is the fiat of law;
+For the Virgins' Feast is a sacred thing.
+Aside with the mothers sat Harpstina;
+She durst not enter the Virgins' ring.
+
+Round and round to the merry song
+The maidens dance in their gay attire,
+While the loud _Ho-Ho's_ of the tawny throng
+Their flying feet and their song inspire.
+They have finished the song and the sacred dance,
+And hand in hand to the feast advance--
+To the polished bowls of the golden maize,
+And the sweet fawn-meat in the polished trays.
+
+Then up from his seat in the silent crowd
+Rose the frowning, fierce-eyed, tall Red Cloud;
+Swift was his stride as the panther's spring,
+When he leaps on the fawn from his cavern lair;
+Wiwaste he caught by her flowing hair,
+And dragged her forth from the Sacred Ring.
+She turned on the warrior, her eyes flashed fire;
+Her proud lips quivered with queenly ire;
+And her sun-browned cheeks were aflame with red.
+Her hand to the spirits she raised and said:
+"I am pure!--I am pure as the falling snow!
+Great _Taku-skan-skan_[51] will testify!
+And dares the tall coward to say me no?"
+But the sullen warrior made no reply.
+She turned to the chief with her frantic cries:
+"Wakawa,--my Father! he lies,--he lies!
+Wiwaste is pure as the fawn unborn;
+Lead me back to the feast or Wiwaste dies!"
+But the warriors uttered a cry of scorn,
+And he turned his face from her pleading eyes.
+
+Then the sullen warrior, the tall Red Cloud,
+Looked up and spoke and his voice was loud;
+But he held his wrath and he spoke with care:
+"Wiwaste is young; she is proud and fair,
+But she may not boast of the virgin snows.
+The Virgins' Feast is a sacred thing;
+How durst she enter the Virgins' ring?
+The warrior would fain, but he dares not spare;
+She is tarnished and only the Red Cloud knows."
+
+She clutched her hair in her clinched hand;
+She stood like a statue bronzed and grand;
+_Wakan-dee_[39] flashed in her fiery eyes;
+Then swift as the meteor cleaves the skies--
+Nay, swift as the fiery _Wakinyan's_[32] dart,
+She snatched the knife from the warrior's belt,
+And plunged it clean to the polished hilt--
+With a deadly cry--in the villain's heart.
+Staggering he clutched the air and fell;
+His life-blood smoked on the trampled sand,
+And dripped from the knife in the virgin's hand.
+
+Then rose his kinsmen's savage yell.
+Swift as the doe's Wiwaste's feet
+Fled away to the forest. The hunters fleet
+In vain pursue, and in vain they prowl
+And lurk in the forest till dawn of day.
+They hear the hoot of the mottled owl;
+They hear the were-wolf's[52] winding howl;
+But the swift Wiwaste is far away.
+They found no trace in the forest land;
+They found no trail in the dew-damp grass;
+They found no track in the river sand,
+Where they thought Wiwaste would surely pass.
+
+The braves returned to the troubled chief;
+In his lodge he sat in his silent grief.
+"Surely," they said, "she has turned a spirit.
+No trail she left with her flying feet;
+No pathway leads to her far retreat.
+She flew in the air, and her wail--we could hear it,
+As she upward rose to the shining stars;
+And we heard on the river, as we stood near it,
+The falling drops of Wiwaste's tears."
+
+Wakawa thought of his daughter's words
+Ere the south-wind came and the piping birds--
+"My Father, listen--my words are true,"
+And sad was her voice as the whippowil
+When she mourns her mate by the moon-lit rill,
+"Wiwaste lingers alone with you;
+The rest are sleeping on yonder hill--
+Save one--and he an undutiful son--
+And you, my Father, will sit alone
+When _Sisoka_[53] sings and the snow is gone."
+His broad breast heaved on his troubled soul,
+The shadow of grief o'er his visage stole
+Like a cloud on the face of the setting sun.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+"She has followed the years that are gone," he said;
+"The spirits the words of the witch fulfill;
+For I saw the ghost of my father dead,
+By the moon's dim light on the misty hill.
+He shook the plumes on his withered head,
+And the wind through his pale form whistled shrill.
+And a low, sad voice on the hill I heard,
+Like the mournful wail of a widowed bird."
+Then lo, as he looked from his lodge afar,
+He saw the glow of the Evening-star;
+"And yonder," he said, "is Wiwaste's face;
+She looks from her lodge on our fading race,
+Devoured by famine, and fraud, and war,
+And chased and hounded by fate and woe,
+As the white wolves follow the buffalo;"
+And he named the planet the _Virgin Star_.[54]
+
+"Wakawa," he muttered, "the guilt is thine!
+She was pure--she was pure as the fawn unborn.
+O why did I hark to the cry of scorn,
+Or the words of the lying libertine?
+Wakawa, Wakawa, the guilt is thine!
+The springs will return with the voice of birds,
+But the voice of my daughter will come no more.
+She wakened the woods with her musical words,
+And the sky-lark, ashamed of his voice, forbore.
+She called back the years that had passed, and long
+I heard their voice in her happy song.
+O why did the chief of the tall _Hohe_
+His feet from _Kapoza_[6] so long delay?
+For his father sat at my father's feast,
+And he at Wakawa's--an honored guest.
+He is dead!--he is slain on the Bloody Plain,
+By the hand of the treacherous Chippeway;
+And the face shall I never behold again
+Of my brave young brother--the chief Chaske.
+Death walks like a shadow among my kin;
+And swift are the feet of the flying years
+That cover Wakawa with frost and tears,
+And leave their tracks on his wrinkled skin.
+Wakawa, the voice of the years that are gone
+Will follow thy feet like the shadow of death,
+Till the paths of the forest and desert lone
+Shall forget thy footsteps. O living breath,
+Whence are thou, and whither so soon to fly?
+And whence are the years? Shall I overtake
+Their flying feet in the star-lit sky?
+From his last long sleep will the warrior wake?
+Will the morning break in Wakawa's tomb,
+As it breaks and glows in the eastern skies?
+Is it true?--will the spirits of kinsmen come
+And bid the bones of the brave arise?
+Wakawa, Wakawa, for thee the years
+Are red with blood and bitter with tears.
+Gone--brothers, and daughters, and wife--all gone
+That are kin to Wakawa--but one--but one--
+Wakinyan Tanka--undutiful son!
+And he estranged from his father's _tee_,
+Will never return till the chief shall die.
+And what cares he for his father's grief?
+He will smile at my death--it will make him chief.
+Woe burns in my bosom. Ho, warriors--Ho!
+Raise the song of red war; for your chief must go
+To drown his grief in the blood of the foe!
+I shall fall. Raise my mound on the sacred hill.
+Let my warriors the wish of their chief fulfill;
+For my fathers sleep in the sacred ground.
+The Autumn blasts o'er Wakawa's mound
+Will chase the hair of the thistles' head,
+And the bare-armed oak o'er the silent dead,
+When the whirling snows from the north descend,
+Will wail and moan in the midnight wind.
+In the famine of winter the wolf will prowl,
+And scratch the snow from the heap of stones,
+And sit in the gathering storm and howl,
+On the frozen mound, for Wakawa's bones.
+But the years that are gone shall return again,
+As the robin returns and the whippowil,
+When my warriors stand on the sacred hill
+And remember the deeds of their brave chief slain."
+
+Beneath the glow of the Virgin Star
+They raised the song of the red war-dance.
+At the break of dawn with the bow and lance
+They followed the chief on the path of war.
+To the north--to the forests of fir and pine--
+Led their stealthy steps on the winding trail,
+Till they saw the Lake of the Spirit[55] shine
+Through somber pines of the dusky dale.
+Then they heard the hoot of the mottled owl;[56]
+They heard the gray wolf's dismal howl;
+Then shrill and sudden the war-whoop rose
+From an hundred throats of their swarthy foes,
+In ambush crouched in the tangled wood.
+Death shrieked in the twang of their deadly bows,
+And their hissing arrows drank brave men's blood.
+From rock, and thicket, and brush, and brakes,
+Gleamed the burning eyes of the "forest-snakes."[57]
+From brake, and thicket, and brush, and stone,
+The bow-string hummed and the arrow hissed,
+And the lance of a crouching Ojibway shone,
+Or the scalp-knife gleamed in a swarthy fist.
+Undaunted the braves of Wakawa's band
+Leaped into the thicket with lance and knife,
+And grappled the Chippeways hand to hand;
+And foe with foe, in the deadly strife,
+Lay clutching the scalp of his foe and dead,
+With a tomahawk sunk in his ghastly head,
+Or his still heart sheathing a bloody blade.
+Like a bear in the battle Wakawa raves,
+And cheers the hearts of his falling braves.
+But a panther crouches along his track--
+He springs with a yell on Wakawa's back!
+The tall chief, stabbed to the heart, lies low;
+But his left hand clutches his deadly foe,
+And his red right clinches the bloody hilt
+Of his knife in the heart of the slayer dyed.
+And thus was the life of Wakawa spilt,
+And slain and slayer lay side by side.
+The unscalped corpse of their honored chief
+His warriors snatched from the yelling pack,
+And homeward fled on their forest track
+With their bloody burden and load of grief.
+
+The spirits the words of the brave fulfill--
+Wakawa sleeps on the sacred hill,
+And Wakinyan Tanka, his son, is chief.
+Ah soon shall the lips of men forget
+Wakawa's name, and the mound of stone
+Will speak of the dead to the winds alone,
+And the winds will whistle their mock regret.
+
+The speckled cones of the scarlet berries[58]
+Lie red and ripe in the prairie grass.
+The _Si-yo_[59] clucks on the emerald prairies
+To her infant brood. From the wild morass,
+On the sapphire lakelet set within it,
+_Maga_ sails forth with her wee ones daily.
+They ride on the dimpling waters gaily,
+Like a fleet of yachts and a man-of-war.
+The piping plover, the light-winged linnet,
+And the swallow sail in the sunset skies.
+The whippowil from her cover hies,
+And trills her song on the amber air.
+Anon to her loitering mate she cries:
+"Flip, O Will!--trip, O Will!--skip, O Will!"
+And her merry mate from afar replies:
+"Flip I will--skip I will--trip I will;"
+And away on the wings of the wind he flies.
+And bright from her lodge in the skies afar
+Peeps the glowing face of the Virgin Star.
+The fox-pups[60] creep from their mother's lair,
+And leap in the light of the rising moon;
+And loud on the luminous, moonlit lake
+Shrill the bugle-notes of the lover loon;
+And woods and waters and welkin break
+Into jubilant song--it is joyful June.
+
+But where is Wiwaste? O where is she--
+The virgin avenged--the queenly queen--
+The womanly woman--the heroine?
+Has she gone to the spirits? and can it be
+That her beautiful face is the Virgin Star
+Peeping out from the door of her lodge afar,
+Or upward sailing the silver sea,
+Star-beaconed and lit like an avenue,
+In the shining stern of her gold canoe?
+No tidings came--nor the brave Chaske:
+O why did the lover so long delay?
+He promised to come with the robins in May
+With the bridal gifts for the bridal day;
+But the fair May-mornings have slipped away,
+And where is the lover--the brave Chaske?
+
+But what of the venomous Harpstina--
+The serpent that tempted the proud Red Cloud,
+And kindled revenge in his savage soul?
+He paid for his crime with his own heart's blood,
+But his angry spirit has brought her dole;[61]
+It has entered her breast and her burning head,
+And she raves and burns on her fevered bed.
+"He is dead! He is dead!" is her wailing cry,
+"And the blame is mine--it was I--it was I!
+I hated Wiwaste, for she was fair,
+And my brave was caught in her net of hair.
+I turned his love to a bitter hate;
+I nourished revenge, and I pricked his pride;
+Till the Feast of the Virgins I bade him wait.
+He had his revenge, but he died--he died!
+And the blame is mine--it was I--it was I!
+And his spirit burns me; I die--I die!"
+Thus, alone in her lodge and her agonies,
+She wails to the winds of the night, and dies.
+
+But where is Wiwaste? Her swift feet flew
+To the somber shades of the tangled thicket.
+She hid in the copse like a wary cricket,
+And the fleetest hunters in vain pursue.
+Seeing unseen from her hiding place,
+She sees them fly on the hurried chase;
+She sees their dark eyes glance and dart,
+As they pass and peer for a track or trace,
+And she trembles with fear in the copse apart,
+Lest her nest be betrayed by her throbbing heart.
+
+Weary the hours; but the sun at last
+Went down to his lodge in the west, and fast
+The wings of the spirits of night were spread
+O'er the darkling woods and Wiwaste's head.
+Then slyly she slipped from her snug retreat,
+And guiding her course by Waziya's star,[62]
+That shone through the shadowy forms afar,
+She northward hurried with silent feet;
+And long ere the sky was aflame in the east,
+She was leagues from the spot of the fatal feast.
+'Twas the hoot of the owl that the hunters heard,
+And the scattering drops of the threat'ning shower,
+And the far wolf's cry to the moon preferred.
+Their ears were their fancies--the scene was weird,
+And the witches[63] dance at the midnight hour.
+She leaped the brook and she swam the river;
+Her course through the forest Wiwaste wist
+By the star that gleamed through the glimmering mist
+That fell from the dim moon's downy quiver.
+In her heart she spoke to her spirit-mother:
+"Look down from your _teepee_, O starry spirit.
+The cry of Wiwaste. O mother, hear it;
+And touch the heart of my cruel father.
+He hearkened not to a virgin's words;
+He listened not to a daughter's wail.
+O give me the wings of the thunder-birds,
+For his were wolves[52] follow Wiwaste's trail;
+And guide my flight to the far _Hohe_--
+To the sheltering lodge of my brave Chaske."
+
+The shadows paled in the hazy east,
+And the light of the kindling morn increased.
+The pale-faced stars fled one by one,
+And hid in the vast from the rising sun.
+From woods and waters and welkin soon
+Fled the hovering mists of the vanished moon.
+The young robins chirped in their feathery beds,
+The loon's song shrilled like a winding horn,
+And the green hills lifted their dewy heads
+To greet the god of the rising morn.
+She reached the rim of the rolling prairie--
+The boundless ocean of solitude;
+She hid in the feathery hazel-wood,
+For her heart was sick and her feet were weary;
+She fain would rest, and she needed food.
+Alone by the billowy, boundless prairies,
+She plucked the cones of the scarlet berries;
+In feathering copse and the grassy field
+She found the bulbs of the young _Tipsanna_,[43]
+And the sweet _medo_ [64] that the meadows yield.
+With the precious gift of his priceless manna
+God fed his fainting and famished child.
+
+At night again to the northward far
+She followed the torch of Waziya's star;
+For leagues away o'er the prairies green,
+On the billowy vast, may a man be seen,
+When the sun is high and the stars are low;
+And the sable breast of the strutting crow
+Looms up like the form of the buffalo.
+The Bloody River [40] she reached at last,
+And boldly walked in the light of day,
+On the level plain of the valley vast;
+Nor thought of the terrible Chippeway.
+She was safe from the wolves of her father's band,
+But she trod on the treacherous "Bloody Land."
+
+[Illustration]
+
+And lo--from afar o'er the level plain--
+As far as the sails of a ship at sea
+May be seen as they lift from the rolling main--
+A band of warriors rode rapidly.
+She shadowed her eyes with her sun-browned hand;
+All backward streamed on the wind her hair,
+And terror spread o'er her visage fair,
+As she bent her brow to the far-off band.
+For she thought of the terrible Chippeway--
+The fiends that the babe and the mother slay;
+And yonder they came in their war-array!
+
+She hid like a grouse in the meadow-grass,
+And moaned--"I am lost!--I am lost! alas,
+And why did I fly from my native land
+To die by the cruel Ojibway's hand?"
+And on rode the braves. She could hear the steeds
+Come galloping on o'er the level meads;
+And lowly she crouched in the waving grass,
+And hoped against hope that the braves would pass.
+
+They have passed; she is safe--she is safe!
+Ah no! They have struck her trail and the hunters halt.
+Like wolves on the track of the bleeding doe,
+That grappled breaks from the dread assault,
+Dash the warriors wild on Wiwaste's trail.
+She flies--but what can her flight avail?
+Her feet are fleet, but the flying feet
+Of the steeds of the prairies are fleeter still;
+And where can she fly for a safe retreat?
+
+But hark to the shouting--"_Iho!--Iho!_"[22]
+Rings over the wide plain sharp and shrill.
+She halts, and the hunters come riding on;
+But the horrible fear from her heart is gone,
+For it is not the shout of the dreaded foe;
+'Tis the welcome shout of her native land!
+
+Up galloped the chief of the band, and lo--
+The clutched knife dropped from her trembling hand;
+She uttered a cry and she swooned away;
+For there, on his steed in the blaze of day,
+On the boundless prairie so far away,
+With his polished bow and his feathers gay,
+Sat the manly form of her own Chaske!
+
+There's a mote in my eye or a blot on the page,
+And I cannot tell of the joyful greeting;
+You may take it for granted, and I will engage,
+There were kisses and tears at the strange, glad meeting;
+For aye since the birth of the swift-winged years,
+In the desert drear, in the field of clover,
+In the cot, in the palace, and all the world over--
+Yea, away on the stars to the ultimate spheres,
+The greeting of love to the long-sought lover--
+Is tears and kisses and kisses and tears.
+
+But why did the lover so long delay?
+And whitherward rideth the chief to-day?
+As he followed the trail of the buffalo,
+From the _tees_ of _Kapoza_ a maiden, lo,
+Came running in haste o'er the drifted snow.
+She spoke to the chief of the tall _Hohe_:
+"Wiwaste requests that the brave Chaske
+Will abide with his band and his coming delay
+Till the moon when the strawberries are ripe and red,
+And then will the chief and Wiwaste wed--
+When the Feast of the Virgins is past," she said.
+Wiwaste's wish was her lover's law;
+And so his coming the chief delayed
+Till the mid May blossoms should bloom and fade--
+But the lying runner was Harpstina.
+
+And now with the gifts for the bridal day
+And his chosen warriors he took his way,
+And followed his heart to his moon-faced maid.
+And thus was the lover so long delayed;
+And so as he rode with his warriors gay,
+On that bright and beautiful summer day,
+His bride he met on the trail mid-way.
+
+God arms the innocent. He is there--
+In the desert vast, in the wilderness,
+On the bellowing sea, in the lion's lair,
+In the mist of battle, and everywhere.
+In his hand he holds with a father's care
+The tender hearts of the motherless;
+The maid and the mother in sore distress
+He shields with his love and his tenderness;
+He comforts the widowed--the comfortless--
+And sweetens her chalice of bitterness;
+He clothes the naked--the numberless--
+His charity covers their nakedness--
+And he feeds the famished and fatherless
+With the hand that feedeth the birds of air.
+Let the myriad tongues of the earth confess
+His infinite love and his holiness;
+For his pity pities the pitiless,
+His mercy flows to the merciless;
+And the countless worlds in the realms above,
+Revolve in the light of his boundless love.
+
+And what of the lovers? you ask, I trow.
+She told him all ere the sun was low--
+Why she fled from the Feast to a safe retreat.
+She laid her heart at her lover's feet,
+And her words were tears and her lips were slow.
+As she sadly related the bitter tale
+His face was aflame and anon grew pale,
+And his dark eyes flashed with a brave desire,
+Like the midnight gleam of the sacred fire. [65]
+"_Mitawin,_"[66] he said, and his voice was low,
+"Thy father no more is the false Little Crow;
+But the fairest plume shall Wiwaste wear
+Of the great _Wanmdee_ in her midnight hair.
+In my lodge, in the land of the tall _Hohe_,
+The robins will sing all the long summer day
+To the happy bride of the brave Chaske.'"
+
+Aye, love is tested by stress and trial
+Since the finger of time on the endless dial
+Began its rounds, and the orbs to move
+In the boundless vast, and the sunbeams clove
+The chaos; but only by fate's denial
+Are fathomed the fathomless depths of love.
+Man is the rugged and wrinkled oak,
+And woman the trusting and tender vine
+That clasps and climbs till its arms entwine
+The brawny arms of the sturdy stock.
+The dimpled babes are the flowers divine
+That the blessing of God on the vine and oak
+With their cooing and blossoming lips invoke.
+
+To the pleasant land of the brave _Hohe_
+Wiwaste rode with her proud Chaske.
+She ruled like a queen in his bountiful _tee_,
+And the life of the twain was a jubilee
+Their wee ones climbed on the father's knee,
+And played with his plumes of the great _Wanmdee_.
+The silken threads of the happy years
+They wove into beautiful robes of love
+That the spirits wear in the lodge above;
+And time from the reel of the rolling spheres
+His silver threads with the raven wove;
+But never the stain of a mother's tears
+Soiled the shining web of their happy years.
+When the wrinkled mask of the years they wore,
+And the raven hair of their youth was gray,
+Their love grew deeper, and more and more;
+For he was a lover for aye and aye,
+And ever her beautiful, brave Chaske.
+Through the wrinkled mask of the hoary years
+To the loving eyes of the lover aye
+The blossom of beautiful youth appears.
+
+At last, when their locks were as white as snow,
+Beloved and honored by all the band,
+They silently slipped from their lodge below,
+And walked together, and hand in hand,
+O'er the Shining Path[68] to the Spirit-land,
+Where the hills and the meadows for aye and aye
+Are clad with the verdure and flowers of May,
+And the unsown prairies of Paradise
+Yield the golden maize and the sweet wild rice.
+There, ever ripe in the groves and prairies,
+Hang the purple plums and the luscious berries,
+And the swarthy herds of the bison feed
+On the sun-lit slope and the waving mead;
+The dappled fawns from their coverts peep,
+And countless flocks on the waters sleep;
+And the silent years with their fingers trace
+No furrows for aye on the hunter's face.
+
+
+
+
+To the memory of my devoted wife dead and gone yet always with me I
+dedicate
+
+PAULINE
+
+The Flower of my heart nursed into bloom by her loving care and ofttimes
+watered with her tears
+
+H.L.G.
+
+
+
+
+PAULINE
+
+_PART I_
+
+
+INTRODUCTION
+
+Fair morning sat upon the mountain-top,
+Night skulking crept into the mountain-chasm.
+The silent ships slept in the silent bay;
+One broad blue bent of ether domed the heavens,
+One broad blue distance lay the shadowy land,
+One broad blue vast of silence slept the sea.
+Now from the dewy groves the joyful birds
+In carol-concert sang their matin songs
+Softly and sweetly--full of prayer and praise.
+Then silver-chiming, solemn-voiced bells
+Rung out their music on the morning air,
+And Lisbon gathered to the festival
+In chapel and cathedral. Choral hymns
+And psalms of sea-toned organs mingling rose
+With sweetest incense floating up to heaven,
+Bearing the praises of the multitudes;
+And all was holy peace and holy happiness.
+A rumbling of deep thunders in the deep;
+The vast sea shuddered and the mountains groaned;
+Up-heaved the solid earth--the nether rocks
+Burst--and the sea--the earth--the echoing heavens
+Thundered infernal ruin. On their knees
+The trembling multitudes received the shock,
+And dumb with sudden terror bowed their heads
+To toppling spire and plunging wall and dome.
+
+So shook the mighty North the sudden roar
+Of Treason thundering on the April air--
+An earthquake shock that jarred the granite hills
+And westward rolled against th' eternal walls
+Rock-built Titanic--for a moment shook:
+Uprose a giant and with iron hands
+Grasped his huge hammer, claspt his belt of steel,
+And o'er the Midgard-monster mighty Thor
+Loomed for the combat.
+
+                  Peace--O blessed Peace!
+The war-worn veterans hailed thee with a shout
+Of Alleluias;--homeward wound the trains,
+And homeward marched the bayonet-bristling columns
+To "_Hail Columbia_" from a thousand horns--
+Marched to the jubilee of chiming bells,
+Marched to the joyful peals of cannon, marched
+With blazing banners and victorious songs
+Into the outstretched arms of love and home.
+
+But there be columns--columns of the dead
+That slumber on an hundred battle-fields--
+No bugle-blast shall waken till the trump
+Of the Archangel. O the loved and lost!
+For them no jubilee of chiming bells;
+For them no cannon-peal of victory;
+For them no outstretched arms of love and home.
+God's peace be with them. Heroes who went down,
+Wearing their stars, live in the nation's songs
+And stories--there be greater heroes still,
+That molder in unnumbered nameless graves
+Erst bleached unburied on the fields of fame
+Won by their valor. Who will sing of these--
+Sing of the patriot-deeds on field and flood--
+Of these--the truer heroes--all unsung?
+Where sleeps the modest bard in Quaker gray
+Who blew the pibroch ere the battle lowered,
+Then pitched his tent upon the balmy beach?
+"Snow-bound," I ween, among his native hills.
+And where the master hand that swept the lyre
+Till wrinkled critics cried "Excelsior"?
+Gathering the "Aftermath" in frosted fields.
+Then, timid Muse, no longer shake thy wings
+For airy realms and fold again in fear;
+A broken flight is better than no flight;
+Be thine the task, as best you may, to sing
+The deeds of one who sleeps at Gettysburg
+Among the thousands in a common grave.
+The story of his life I bid you tell
+As it was told one windy winter night
+To veterans gathered around the festal board,
+Fighting old battles over where the field
+Ran red with wine, and all the battle-blare
+Was merry laughter and the merry songs--
+Told when the songs were sung by him who heard
+The pith of it from the dying soldier's lips--
+His Captain--tell it as the Captain told.
+
+
+THE CAPTAIN'S STORY
+
+"Well, comrades, let us fight one battle more;
+Let the cock crow--we'll guard the camp till morn.
+And--since the singers and the merry ones
+Are _hors de combat_--fill the cups again;
+Nod if you must, but listen to a tale
+Romantic--but the warp thereof is truth.
+When the old Flag on Sumter's sea-girt walls
+From its proud perch a fluttering ruin fell,
+I swore an oath as big as Bunker Hill;
+For I was younger then, nor battle-scarred,
+And full of patriot-faith and patriot-fire.
+
+"I raised a company of riflemen,
+Marched to the front, and proud of my command,
+Nor seeking higher, led them till the day
+Of triumph and the nation's jubilee.
+Among the first that answered to my call
+The hero came whose story you shall hear.
+'Tis better I describe him: He was young--
+Near two and twenty--neither short nor tall--
+A slender student, and his tapering hands
+Had better graced a maiden than a man:
+Sad, thoughtful face--a wealth of raven hair
+Brushed back in waves from forehead prominent;
+A classic nose--half Roman and half Greek;
+Dark, lustrous eyes beneath dark, jutting brows,
+Wearing a shade of sorrow, yet so keen,
+And in the storm of battle flashing fire.
+
+"'Well, boy,' I said, 'I doubt if you will do;
+I need stout men for picket-line and march--
+Men that have bone and muscle--men inured
+To toil and hardships--men, in short, my boy,
+To march and fight and march and fight again.'
+A queer expression lit his earnest face--
+Half frown--half smile.
+
+                   "'Well _try_ me.' That was all
+He answered, and I put him on the roll--
+_Paul Douglas, private_--and he donned the blue.
+Paul proved himself the best in my command;
+I found him first at _reveille_, and first
+In all the varied duties of the day.
+His rough-hewn comrades, bred to boisterous ways,
+Jeered at the slender youth with maiden hands,
+Nicknamed him 'Nel,' and for a month or more
+Kept up a fusillade of jokes and jeers.
+Their jokes and jeers he heard but heeded not,
+Or heeding did a kindly act for him
+That jeered him loudest; so the hardy men
+Came to look up to Paul as one above
+The level of their rough and roistering ways.
+He never joined the jolly soldier-sports,
+But ever was the first at bugle-call,
+Mastered the drill and often drilled the men.
+Fatigued with duty, weary with the march
+Under the blaze of the midsummer sun,
+He murmured not--alike in sun or rain
+His utmost duty eager to perform,
+And ever ready--always just the same
+Patient and earnest, sad and silent Paul.
+
+"The day of battle came--that Sabbath day,
+Midsummer.[A] Hot and blistering as the flames
+Of prairie-fires wind-driven, the burning sun
+Blazed down upon us and the blinding dust
+Wheeled in dense clouds and covered all our ranks,
+As we marched on to battle. Then the roar
+Of batteries broke upon us. Glad indeed
+That music to my soldiers, and they cheered
+And cheered again and boasted--all but Paul--
+And shouted _'On to Richmond!'_--He alone
+Was silent--but his eyes were full of fire.
+
+[A] The first battle of Bull Run, July 21, 1861.
+
+"Then came the order--_'Forward, double quick!'_
+And we rushed into battle--formed our line
+Facing the foe--the ambushed, deadly foe,
+Hid in the thicket, with the Union flag--
+A cheat--hung out before it--luring us
+Into a blazing hell. The battle broke
+With wildest fury on us--crashed and roared
+The rolling thunder of continuous fire.
+We broke and rallied--charged and broke again,
+And rallied still--broke counter-charge and charged
+Loud-yelling, furious, on the hidden foe;--
+Met thrice our numbers and came flying back
+Disordered and disheartened. Yet again
+I strove to rally my discouraged men,
+But hell was fairly howling;--only Paul--
+Eager, but bleeding from a bullet-wound
+In the left arm--came bounding to my side.
+But at that moment I was struck and fell--
+Fell prostrate; and a swooning sense of death
+Came on me, and I saw and heard no more
+Of battle on that Sabbath.
+
+                         "I awoke,
+Confined and jolted in an ambulance
+Piled with the wounded--driven recklessly
+By one who chiefly cared to save himself.
+Dizzy and faint I raised my head: my wound
+Was not as dangerous as it might have been--
+A scalp-wound on the temple; there, you see--"
+He put his finger on the ugly scar--
+"Half an inch deeper and some soldier friend,
+Among the veterans gathered here to-night,
+Perchance had told a briefer tale than mine.
+
+"In front and rear I saw the reckless rout--
+A broken army flying panic-struck--
+Our proud brigades of undulating steel
+That marched at sunrise under blazoned flags,
+Singing the victory ere the cannon roared,
+And eager for the honors of the day--
+Like bison Indian-chased on windy plains,
+Now broken and commingled fled the field.
+Words of command were only wasted breath;
+Colonels and brigadiers, on foot and soiled,
+Were pushed and jostled by the hurrying hordes.
+Anon the cry of _'Cavalry!'_ arose,
+And army-teams came dashing down the road
+And plunged into the panic. All the way
+Was strewn with broken wagons, battery-guns,
+Tents, muskets, knapsacks and exhausted men.
+My men were mingled with the lawless crowd,
+And in the swarm behind us, there was Paul--
+Silent and soldier-like, with knapsack on
+And rifle on his shoulder, guarding me
+And marching on behind the ambulance.
+So all that dark and dreadful night we marched,
+Each man a captain--captain of himself--
+Nor cared for orders on that wild retreat
+To safety from disaster. All that night,
+Silent and soldier-like my wounded Paul
+Marched close behind and kept his faithful watch.
+For ever and anon the jaded men,
+Clamorous and threat'ning, sought to clamber in;
+Whom Paul drove off at point of bayonet,
+Wielding his musket with his good right arm.
+But when the night was waning to the morn
+I saw that he was weary and I made
+A place for Paul and begged him to get in.
+'No, Captain; no,' he answered,--'I will walk--
+I'm making bone and muscle--learning how
+To march and fight and march and fight again.'
+That silenced me, and we went rumbling on.
+Till morning found us safe at Arlington.
+
+"A month off duty and a faithful nurse
+Worked wonders and my head was whole again--
+Nay--to be candid--cracked a little yet.
+My nurse was Paul. Albeit his left arm,
+Flesh-wounded, pained him sorely for a time,
+With filial care he dressed my battered head,
+And wrote for me to anxious friends at home--
+But never wrote a letter for himself.
+Thinking of this one day, I spoke of it:--
+A cloud came o'er his face.
+
+                  "'My friends,' he said,
+'Are here among my comrades in the camp.'
+That made a mystery and I questioned him:
+He gave no answer--or evasive ones--
+Seeming to shrink from question, and to wrap
+Himself within himself and live within.
+
+"Again we joined our regiment and marched;
+Over the hills and dales of Maryland
+Along the famous river wound our way.
+On picket-duty at the frequent fords
+For weary, laggard months were we employed
+Guarding the broad Potomac, while our foes,
+Stealthily watching for their human game,
+Lurked like Apaches on the wooded shores.
+Bands of enemy's cavalry by night
+Along the line of river prowled, and sought
+To dash across and raid in Maryland.
+Three regiments guarded miles of river-bank,
+And drilled alternately, and one was ours.
+Off picket duty, alike in fair or foul,
+With knapsacks on and bearing forty rounds,
+From morn till night we drilled--battalion-drill--
+Often at double-quick for weary hours--
+Bearing our burdens in the blazing sun,
+Till strong men staggered from the ranks and fell.
+Aye, many a hardy man in those hard days
+Was drilled and disciplined into his grave. Arose
+Murmurs of discontent, and loud complaints
+Fell on dull ears till patience was worn out
+And mutiny was hinted. As for Paul
+I never heard a murmur from his lips;
+Nor did he ask a reason for the things
+Unreasonable and hard required of him,
+But straightway did his duty just as if
+The nation's fate hung on it. I pitied Paul;
+Slender of form and delicate, he bore
+The toils and duties of the hardiest.
+Ill from exposure, or fatigued and worn,
+On picket hungered, shivering in the rain,
+Or sweltering in full dress, with knapsack on,
+Beneath the blaze of the mid-summer sun,
+He held his spirit--always still the same
+Patient and earnest, sad and silent Paul.
+
+"We posted pickets two by two. At night,
+By turns each comrade slept and took the watch.
+Once in September, in a drenching storm,
+Three days and nights with neither tent nor fire
+Paul and a comrade held a picket-post.
+The equinox raged madly. Chilling winds
+In angry gusts roared from the northern hills,
+Dashing the dismal rain-clouds into showers
+That fell in torrents over all the land.
+In camp the soldiers crouched in dripping tents,
+Or shivered by the camp-fires. I was ill
+And gladly sought the shelter of a hut.
+Orders were strict and often hard to bear--
+Nor tents nor fire upon the picket-posts--
+Cold rations and a canopy of storms.
+I pitied Paul and would have called him in,
+But that I had no man to take his place;
+Nor did I know he took upon himself
+A double task. His comrade on the post
+Was ill, and so he made a shelter for him
+With his own blankets and a bed within;
+And took the watch of both upon himself.
+And on the third night near the dawn of day,
+In rubber cloak stole in upon the post
+A pompous major, on the nightly round,
+Unchallenged. All fatigued and drenched with rain,
+Still on his post with rifle in his hand--
+Against a sheltering elm Paul stood and slept.
+Muttering of death the brutal major stormed,
+Then pitiless pricked the comrade with his sword,
+And from his shelter drove him to the watch,
+Burning with fever. There Paul interposed
+And said:
+
+           "'I ask no mercy at your hands;
+I shall not whimper, but my comrade here
+Is ill of fever; I have stood his watch:
+Sir, if a human heart beats in your breast,
+Send him to camp, or he will surely die.'
+
+"The pompous brute--vaingloriously great
+In straps and buttons--haughtily silenced Paul,
+Hand-bound and sent him guarded to the camp,
+And the poor comrade shivering stood the watch
+Till dawn of day and I was made aware.
+Among the true were some vainglorious fools
+Called by the fife and drum from native mire
+To lord and strut in shoulder-straps and buttons.
+Scrubs, born to brush the boots of gentlemen,
+By sudden freak of fortune found themselves
+Masters of better men, and lorded it
+As only base and brutish natures can--
+Braves on parade and cowards under fire.
+
+"I interceded in my Paul's behalf,
+Else he had suffered graver punishment,
+But as himself for mercy would not beg--
+'A stubborn boy,' our bluff old colonel said--
+To extra duty for a month he went
+Unmurmuring, storm or shine. When the cold rain
+Poured down most pitiless Paul, drenched and wan,
+Guarded the baggage and the braying mules.
+When the hot sun at mid-day blazed and burned,
+Like the red flame on Mauna Loa's top,
+Withering the grass and parching earth and air,
+I often saw him knapsacked and full-dressed,
+Drilling the raw recruits at double-quick;
+And yet he wore a patient countenance,
+And went about his duty earnestly
+As if it were a pleasure to obey.
+
+"The month wore off and mad disaster came--
+Gorging the blood of heroes at Ball's Bluff.
+'Twas there the brave, unfaltering Baker fell
+Fighting despair between the jaws of death.
+Quenched was the flame that fired a thousand hearts;
+Hushed was the voice that shook the senate-walls,
+And rang defiance like a bugle-blast.
+Broad o'er the rugged mountains to the north
+Fell the incessant rain till, like a sea,
+Him and the deadly ambush of the foe
+The swollen river rolled and roared between.
+Brave Baker saw the peril, but not his
+The soul to shrink or falter, though he saw
+His death-warrant in his orders. Forth he led
+His proud brigade across the roaring chasm,
+Firm and unfaltering into the chasm of death.
+From morn till mid-day in a single boat
+Unfit, by companies, the fearless band
+Passed over the raging river; then advanced
+Upon the ambushed foe. We heard the roll
+Of volleys in the forest, and uprose,
+From out the wood, a cloud of battle-smoke.
+Then came the yell of foemen charging down
+Rank upon rank and furious. Hand to hand,
+The little band of heroes, flanked and pressed,
+Fought thrice their numbers; fearless Baker led
+In prodigies of valor; front and flank
+Volleyed the deadly rifles; in the rear
+The rapid, raging river rolled and roared.
+Along the Maryland shore a mile below,
+Eager to cross and reinforce our friends,
+Ten thousand soldiers lay upon their arms;
+And we had boats to spare. In all our ranks
+There was not one who did not comprehend
+The peril and the instant need of aid.
+Chafing we waited orders. We could see
+That Baker's men were fighting in retreat;
+For ever nearer o'er the forest rolled
+The smoke of battle. Orders came at last,
+And up along the shore our regiment ran,
+Eager to aid our comrades, but too late!
+Baker had fallen in the battle-front;
+He fought like Spartan and like Spartan fell
+Defiant, clutching at the throat of fate.
+Their leader lost, confusion followed fast;
+Wild panic and red slaughter swept the field.
+Powerless to saves we saw the farther shore
+Covered with wounded and wild fugitives--
+Our own defeated and defenseless friends.
+Shattered and piled with wounded men the boat
+Pushed off to brave the river, while the foe
+Pressed on the charge with fury, and refused
+Mercy to the vanquished. Officers and men,
+Cheating the savage foemen of their spoils,
+Their flags and arms into the gurgling depths
+Despairing hurled, and following plunged amain.
+As numerous as the wild aquatic flocks
+That float in autumn on Lake Nepigon,
+The heads of swimmers moved upon the flood.
+And still upon the shore a Spartan few--
+Shoulder to shoulder--back to back, as one--
+Amid the din and clang of clashing steel,
+Surrounded held the swarming foes at bay.
+As in the pre-historic centuries--
+Unnumbered ages ere the Pyramids--
+Whereof we read on pre-diluvian bones
+And fretted flints in excavated caves,
+When savage men abode in rocky dens,
+And wrought their weapons from the fiery flint,
+And clothed their tawny thighs in lion-skins--
+Before the mouth of some well-guarded cave,
+Where smoked the savory flesh of mammoth, came
+The great cave-bear unbidden to the feast.
+Around the monster swarm the brawny men,
+Wielding with sinewy arms and savage cries
+Their flinty spears and tomahawks of stone.
+Erect old bruin growls upon his foes,
+And swings with mighty power his ponderous paws--
+Woe unto him who feels the crushing blow--
+Till, bleeding from an hundred wounds and blind,
+With sudden plunge he falls at last, and dies
+Amid the shouts of his wild enemies.
+So fought the Spartan few, till one by one,
+They fell surrounded by a wall of foes.
+The river boiled beneath the storm of lead;
+Weighed down with wounded comrades many sunk,
+But more went down with bullets in their heads.
+O! it was pitiful. The outstretched hands
+Of men that erst had faced the battle-storm
+Unshaken, grasping now in wild despair,
+Wrung cries of pity from us. Vain our fire--
+The range too long--it fell upon our friends;
+At which the foemen yelled their mad delight.
+A storm of bullets poured upon the boat,
+Mangling the mangled on her, till at last,
+Shattered and over-laden, suddenly
+She made a lurch to leeward and went down.
+
+"A shallow boat lay moored upon the shore;
+Our gallant Colonel called for volunteers
+In mercy's name to man it and push out.
+But all could see the peril. Stout the heart
+Would dare to face the raging flood and fire,
+And to his call responded not a man--
+Save Paul and one who perished at the helm.
+They went as if at bugle-call to drill;
+Their comrades said, 'They never will return.'
+Stoutly and steadily Paul rowed the boat
+Athwart the turbid river's sullen tide,
+And reached the wounded struggling in the flood.
+Bravely they worked away and lifted in
+The helpless till the boat would hold no more;
+Others they helped to holds upon the rails,
+Then pulled away the over-laden craft.
+We cheered them from the shore. The maddened foe
+With furious volleys answered--hitting oft
+The little craft of mercy--hands anon
+Let go their holds and sunk into the deep.
+And in that storm Paul's gallant comrade fell.
+Trimming his craft with caution Paul could make
+But little headway with a single oar--
+Clutched in despair and madly wrenched away
+By drowning souls the other. Firm and cool
+Paul stood unscathed; then fell a sudden shower
+That broke his bended oar-stem at the blade.
+Down to the brink we crept and stretched our hands,
+And shouted, 'Overboard, Paul! and save yourself.'
+
+"He stood a moment as if all were lost,
+Then caught the rope, and stretching forth his hand,
+Waved to the foe and plunged into the flood.
+Slowly he towed the clumsy craft and swam,
+Down-drifting with the rapid, rolling stream.
+Cheering him on adown the shore we ran;
+The current lent its aid and bore him in
+Toward us, and beyond the range at last
+Of foemen's fire he safely came to land,
+Mooring his boat amid a storm of cheers.
+
+"Confined in hospital three days he lay
+Fatigued and feverous, but tender hands
+Nursed and restored him. Our old Colonel came
+And thanked him--patting Paul paternally--
+And praised his daring. 'My brave boy,' he said,
+'Had I a regiment of such men, by Jove!
+I'd hew a path to Richmond and to fame.'
+Paul made reply, and in his smile and tone
+Mingled a touch of sarcasm:
+
+                         "'Thank you, sir;
+But let me add--I fear the wary foe
+Would nab your regiment napping on the field.
+You have forgotten, Colonel--not so fast--
+I am the man that slept upon his post.'
+Our bluff old Colonel laughed and turned away;
+Ten minutes later came his kind reply--
+A basketful of luxuries from his mess.
+
+"Paul marched and fought and marched and fought again,
+Patient and earnest through the bootless toils
+And fiery trials of that dread campaign
+Upon the Peninsula. 'Twas fitly called
+'Campaign of Battles.' Aye, it sorely pierced
+The scarred and bleeding nation, and drew blood
+Deep from her vitals till she shook and reeled,
+Like some huge giant staggering to his fall--
+Blinded with blood, yet struggling with his soul,
+And stretching forth his ponderous, brawny arms,
+Like Samson in the Temple, to o'erwhelm
+And crush his mocking enemies in his fall.
+
+"Ah, Malvern! you remember Malvern Hill--
+That night of dreadful butchery! Round the top
+Of the entrenched summit, parked and aimed,
+Blazed like Vesuvius when he bellows fire
+And molten lava into the midnight heavens,
+An hundred crashing cannon, and the hill
+Shook to the thunder of the mighty guns,
+As ocean trembles to the bursting throes
+Of submarine volcanoes; and the shells
+From the embattled gun-boats--fiery fiends--
+Shrieked on the night and through the ether hissed
+Like hell's infernals. Line supporting line,
+From base to summit round the blazing hill,
+Our infantry was posted. Crowned with fire,
+And zoned by many a burning, blazing belt
+From head to foot, and belching sulphurous flames,
+The embattled hill appeared a raging fiend--
+The Lucifer of hell let loose to reign
+Over a world wrapt in the final fires.
+
+"In solid columns massed our frenzied foes
+Beat out their life against the blazing hill--
+Broke and re-formed and madly charged again,
+And thundered like the storm-lashed, furious sea
+Beating in vain against the solid cliffs.
+Foremost in from our veteran regiment
+Breasted the brunt of battle, but we bent
+Beneath the onsets as the red-hot bar
+Bends to the sledge, until our furious foes--
+Mown as the withered prairie-grass is mown
+By wild October fires--fell back and left
+A field of bloody agony and death
+About the base, and victory on the hill.
+
+"I lost a score of riflemen that night;
+My first lieutenant--his last battle over--
+Lay cut in twain upon the battle-line.
+With lantern dim wide o'er the slaughter-field
+I searched at midnight for my wounded men,
+But chiefly searched for Paul. An hour or more
+I sought among the groaning and the dead,
+Stooping and to the dim light turning up
+The ghastly faces, till at last I found
+Him whom I sought, and on the outer line--
+Feet to the foe and silent face to heaven--
+Death pale and bleeding from a ragged wound
+Pleading with feeble voice to let him be
+And die upon the field, we bore him thence;
+And tenderly his comrades carried him,
+Sheltered with blankets, on the weary march
+At dead of night in dismal storm begun.
+We made a stand at Harrison's, and there
+With careful hands we laid him on a cot.
+Now I had learned to prize the noble boy;
+My heart was touched with pity. Patiently
+I watched o'er Paul and bathed his fevered brow,
+And pressed the cooling sponge upon his lips,
+And washed his wound and gave him nourishment.
+'Twas all in vain, the surgeon said. I felt
+That I could save him and I kept my watch.
+A rib was crushed--beneath it one could see
+The throbbing vitals--torn as we supposed,
+But found unwounded. In his feverish sleep
+He often moaned and muttered mysteries,
+And, dreaming, spoke in low and tender tones
+As if some loved one sat beside his cot.
+I questioned him and sought the secret key
+To solve his mystery, but all in vain.
+A month of careful nursing turned the scale,
+And he began to gain upon his wound.
+Propt in his cot one evening as he sat
+And I sat by him, thus I questioned him:
+'There is a mystery about your life
+That I would gladly fathom. Paul, I think
+You well may trust me, and I fain would hear
+The story of your life; right well I know
+There is a secret sorrow in your heart.'
+
+[Illustration: STOOPING AND TO THE DIM LIGHT TURNING UP THE GHASTLY
+FACES, TILL I AT LAST I FOUND HIM WHOM I SOUGHT.]
+
+"He turned his face and fixed his lustrous eyes
+Upon mine own inquiringly, and held
+His gaze upon me till his vacant stare
+Told me full well his thoughts had wandered back
+Into the depth of his own silent soul;
+Then he looked down and sadly smiled and said:
+
+"'Captain, I have no history--not one page;
+My book of life is but a blotted blank.
+Let it be sealed; I would not open it,
+Even to one who saved a worthless life,
+Only to add a few more leaves in blank
+To the blank volume. All that I now am
+I offer to my country. If I live
+And from this cot walk forth, 'twill only be
+To march and fight and march and fight again,'
+Until a surer aim shall bring me down
+Where care and kindness can no more avail.
+Under our country's flag a soldier's death
+I hope to die and leave no name behind.
+My only wish is this--for what I am,
+Or have been, or have hoped to be, is now
+A blank misfortune. I will say no more.'
+
+"I questioned Paul and pressed him further still
+To tell his story, but he only shook
+His head in silence sadly and lay back
+And closed his eyes and whispered--'All is blank.'
+That night he muttered often in his sleep;
+I could not catch the sense of what he said;
+I caught a name that he repeated oft--
+_Pauline_--so softly whispered that I knew
+She was the blissful burden of his dreams.
+
+"Two moons had waxed and waned, and Paul arose,
+Came to the camp and shared my tent and bed.
+While in the hospital he helpless lay--
+To him unknown, and as the choice of all--
+Came his promotion to the vacant rank
+Of him who fell at Malvern. But, alas,
+Say what we would he would not take the place.
+To us who importuned him, he replied:
+'Comrades and friends, I did not join your ranks
+For honor or for profit. All I am--
+A wreck perhaps of what I might have been--
+I freely offer in our country's cause;
+And in her cause it is my wish to serve
+A private soldier; I aspire to naught
+But victory--and there be better men--
+Braver and hardier--such should have the place.'
+
+"His comrades cheered, but Paul, methought, was sad.
+One evening as he sat upon his couch,
+Communing with himself as he was wont,
+I stood before him; looking in his face,
+I said, '_Pauline_--her name is then, _Pauline_.'
+All of a sudden up he rose amazed,
+And looked upon me with such startled eyes
+That I was pained and feared that I had done
+A wrong to him whom I had learned to love.
+Then he sat down upon his couch and groaned,
+Pressing his hand upon his wound, and said:
+'Captain, I pray you, tell me truthfully,
+Wherefore you speak that name.'
+
+"I told him all
+That I had heard him mutter in his dreams.
+He listened calmly to the close and said:
+'My friend, if you have any kind regard
+For me who suffer more than you may know,
+I pray you utter not that name again.'
+And thereupon he turned and hid his face.
+
+"There was a mystery I might not fathom,
+There was a history I might not hear:
+Nor could I further press that saddened heart
+To pour its secret sorrow in my ears.
+Thereafter Paul was tenant of my tent--
+Sat at my mess and slept upon my couch,
+Save when his duty called him from my side,
+And not a word escaped his lips or mine
+About his secret--yet how oft I found
+My eyes upon him and my bridled tongue
+Prone to a question; but that solemn face
+Forbade me and he wore his mystery.
+
+"At that stern battle on Antietam's banks,
+Where gallant Hooker led the fierce attack,
+Paul bore a glorious part. Our starry flag,
+Before a whirlwind of terrific fire,
+Advancing proudly on the foe, went down.
+Grim death and pale-faced panic seized the ranks.
+Paul caught the flag and waving it aloft
+Rallied our regiment. He came out unscathed.
+
+"At Fredericksburg and Chancellorsville he fought:
+Grim in disaster--bravest in defeat,
+He leaped not into danger without cause,
+Nor shrunk he from it though a gulf of fire,
+When duty bade him face it. All his aim--
+To win the victory; applause and praise
+He almost hated; grimly he endured
+The fulsome flattery of his comrades nerved
+By his calm courage up to manlier deeds.
+
+"I saw him angered once--if one might call
+His sullen silence anger--as by night
+Across the Rappahannock, from the field
+Where brave and gallant 'Stonewall' Jackson fell,
+With hopeless hearts and heavy steps we marched.
+Such sullen wrath on other human face
+I never saw in all those bloody years.
+One evening after, as he read to me
+The fulsome General Order of our Chief--
+Congratulating officers and men
+On their achievements in the late defeat--
+His handsome face grew rigid as he read,
+And as he closed, down like a thunder-clap
+Upon the mess-chest fell his clinched fist:
+'Fit pap for fools!' he said--'an Iron Duke
+Had ground the Southern legions into dust,
+Or, by the gods!--the field of Chancellorsville
+Had furnished graves for ninety thousand men!'[B]
+
+"That dark disaster sickened many a soul;
+Stout hearts were sad and cowards cried for peace.
+The vulture, perched hard by the eagle's crag,
+Loud cawed his fellows from afar to feast.
+Ill-omened bird--his carrion-cries were vain!
+Again our veteran eagles plumed their wings,
+And forth he fled from Montezuma's shores--
+A dastard flight--betraying unto death
+Him whom he dazzled with a bauble crown.
+Just retribution followed swift and sure--
+Germania's eagles plucked him at Sedan.
+A gloomy month wore off, and then the news
+That Lee, emboldened by his late success,
+Had poured his legions upon Northern soil,
+Rung through the camps, and thrilled the mighty heart
+Of the Grand Army. Louder than the roar
+Of brazen cannon on the battle-field.
+Then rose and rolled our thunder-rounds of cheers.
+
+[B] Hooker had 90,000 men at Chancellorsville.
+
+We saw the dawn of victory--we should meet
+Our wary foe upon familiar soil.
+We cheered the news, we cheered the marching-orders,
+We cheered our brave commander till the tears
+Ran down his cheeks. Up from its sullen gloom
+Leaped the Grand Army, as if God had writ
+With fiery finger 'thwart the vault of heaven
+A solemn promise of swift victory.
+
+"We marched. As rolls the deep, resistless flood
+Of Mississippi, when the rains of June
+Have swelled his thousand northern fountain-lakes
+Above their barriers--rolls with restless roar,
+Anon through rock-built gorges, and anon
+Down through the prairied valley to the sea,
+Gleaming and glittering in the summer sun,
+By field and forest on his winding way,
+So stretched and rolled the mighty column forth,
+Winding among the hills and pouring out
+Along the vernal valleys; so the sheen
+Of moving bayonets glittered in the sun.
+And as we marched there rolled upon the air,
+Up from the vanguard-corps, a choral chant,
+Feeble at first and far and far away,
+But gathering volume as it rolled along
+And regiment after regiment joined the choir,
+Until an hundred thousand voices swelled
+The surging chorus, and the solid hills
+Shook to the thunder of the mighty song.
+And ere it died away along the line,
+The hill-tops caught the chorus--rolled away
+From peak to peak the pealing thunder-chant,
+Clear as the chime of bells on Sabbath morn:
+
+"'John Brown's body lies moldering in the grave;
+John Brown's body lies moldering in the grave;
+John Brown's body lies moldering in the grave;
+      But his soul is marching on.
+        Glory, Glory, Halleluia!
+        Glory, Glory, Halleluia!
+        Glory, Glory, Halleluia!
+      His soul is marching on!'
+
+"And far away
+The mountains echoed and re-echoed still--
+        "'_Glory, Glory, Halleluia!
+        Glory, Glory, Halleluia!
+        Glory, Glory, Halleluia!
+      His soul is marching on!'_
+
+                         "Until the winds
+Bore the retreating echoes southward far,
+And the dull distance murmured in our ears.
+
+"Fast by the field where gallant Baker fell,
+We crossed the famous river and advanced
+To Frederick. There a transitory cloud
+Gloomed the Grand Army--Hooker was relieved:
+Fell from command at victory's open gate
+The dashing, daring, soul-inspiring chief,
+The idol of his soldiers, and they mourned.
+He had his faults--they were not faults of heart--
+His gravest--fiery valor. Since that day,
+The self-same fault--or virtue--crowned a chief
+With laurel plucked on rugged Kenesaw.
+Envy it was that wrought the hero's fall,
+Envy, with hydra-heads and serpent-tongues,
+Hissed on the wolfish clamors of the Press.
+O fickle Fortune, how thy favors fall--
+Like rain upon the just and the unjust!
+Throughout the army, as the soldiers read
+The farewell-order, gloomy murmurs ran;
+But our new chieftain cheered our drooping hearts.
+
+"That Meade would choose his battle-ground we knew,
+And if not his the gallant dash and dare
+That on Antietam's bloody battle-field
+Snatched victory from defeat, our faith was firm
+That he would fight to win, and hold the reins
+Firmly in hand, nor sacrifice our lives
+In wild assaults and fruitless daring deeds.
+
+"From Taneytown, at mid-day, on the hills
+Of Gettysburg we heard the cannon boom.
+Our gallant Hancock rode full speed away;
+We under Gibbon swiftly following him
+At midnight camped on Cemetery Hill.
+Sharp the initial combat of the grand
+On-coming battle, and the sulphurous smoke
+Hung in blue wreaths above the silent vale
+Between two hostile armies, mightier far
+Than met upon the field of Marathon.
+Or where the proud Carthago bowed to Rome.
+Hope of the North and Liberty--the one;
+Pride of the South--the other. On the hills--
+A rolling range of rugged, broken hills,
+Stretching from Round-Top northward, bending off
+And butting down upon a silver stream--
+In open field our veteran regiments lay.
+Facing our battle-line and parallel--
+Beyond the golden valley to the west--
+Lay Seminary Ridge--a crest of hills
+Covered with emerald groves and fields of gold
+Ripe for the harvest: on this rolling range,
+As numerous as the swarming ocean-fowl
+That perch in squadrons on some barren isle
+Far in the Arctic sea when summer's sun
+With slanting spears invades the icy realm,
+The Southern legions lay upon their arms.
+As countless as the winter-evening stars
+That glint and glow above the frosted fields
+Twinkled and blazed upon that crest of hills
+The camp-fires of the foe. Two mighty hosts,
+Ready and panoplied for deadliest war,
+And eager for the combat where the prize
+Of victory was empire--for the foe
+An empire borne upon the bended backs
+Of toiling slaves in millions--but for us,
+An empire grounded on the rights of man--
+Lay on their arms awaiting innocent morn
+To light the field for slaughter to begin.
+
+"Silent above us spread the dusky heavens,
+Silent below us lay the smoky vale,
+Silent beyond, the dreadful crest of hills.
+Anon the neigh of horse, a sentry's call,
+Or rapid hoof-beats of a flying steed
+Bearing an aid and orders, broke the dread,
+Portentous silence. I was worn and slept.
+
+"The call of bugles wakened me. The dawn
+Was stealing softly o'er the shadowy land,
+And morning grew apace. Broad in the east
+Uprose above the crest of hazy hills
+Like some broad shield by fabled giant borne,
+The golden sun, and flashed upon the field.
+Ripe for the harvest stood the golden grain,
+Nodding on gentle slopes and dewy hills.
+Ready for the harvest death's grim reapers stood
+Waiting the signal with impatient steel;
+And morning passed, and mid-day. Here and there
+The crack of rifles on the picket-line,
+Or boom of solitary cannon broke
+The myriad-voiced and dreadful monotone.
+So fled the anxious hours until the hills
+Sent forth their silent shadows to the east--
+And then their batteries opened on our left
+Advanced into the valley. All along
+The rolling crest of Seminary Ridge
+Rolled up the smoke of cannon. Answered then
+The grim artillery on our chain of hills'
+And heaven was hideous with the bellowing boom,
+The whiz of shot, the infernal shrieks of shells.
+Down from the hills their charging columns came
+A glittering mass of steel. As when the snow
+Piled by an hundred winters on the peak
+Of cloud-robed Bernard thunders down the cliffs,
+Nor rocks nor forests stay the mighty mass,
+And men and flocks in terror fly the death,
+So thundering fell the columns of the foe,
+Crushing through Sickles' corps in front and flank;
+And, roaring onward like a mighty wind,
+They rushed for Little Round-Top--rugged hill,
+Key to our left and center--all exposed--
+Manned by a broken battery half unmanned.
+But Hancock saw the peril. On stalwart steed
+Foam-flecked, wide-nostriled, panting like a hound,
+That stalwart soldier--Spartan to the soles--
+Came dashing down where, prone along the ridge
+Upon the right, our sheltered regiment lay.
+'_By the left flank, forward--double-quick!_'--We sprang
+And dashed for Little Round-Top; formed our line
+Flanking the broken battery. Up the slope,
+Like frightened sheep when howling wolves pursue,
+Fled Sickles' men in panic: hard behind
+On came the Rebel columns. Hat in hand
+Waving and shouting to his eager corps--
+Rode gallant Longstreet leading on the foe.
+
+"Where yonder field-wall bounds the trampled wheat
+By grove and meadow, see--among the trees--
+Their bayonets gleam advancing. Line on line,
+Column on column, in the field beyond,
+Their hurrying ranks crowd glittering on and on.
+High at the head their flaunting colors fly;
+High o'er the roar their wild, triumphant yell
+Shrills like the scream of panthers.
+
+
+"Hancock's voice
+Rang down our lines above the cannons' roar:
+_'Advance, and take those colors'_[C]--Adown the slope
+Like Bengal tigers springing at the hounds,
+We sprang and met them at the border wall:
+Muzzle to muzzle--steel to steel--we met,
+And fought like Romans and like Romans fell.
+Even as a cyclone, growling thunder, roars
+Down through a dusky forest, and its path
+Is strown with broken and uprooted pines
+Promiscuous piled in broad and broken swaths,
+So crashed our volleys through their serried ranks,
+Mowing great swaths of death; yet on and on,
+Closing the gaps and yelling like the fiends
+That Dante heard along the gulf of hell,
+Still came our furious foes. A cloud of smoke--
+Dense, sulphurous, stifling--covered all our ranks.
+Our steady, deadly rifles crackled still,
+And still their crashing volleys rolled and roared.
+Our rifles blazed upon the blaze below;
+The blaze below upon the blaze above,
+And in the blaze the buzz of myriad bees
+Whose stings were deadlier than the Libyan asp.
+Five times our colors fell--five times arose
+Defiant, flapping on the broken wall.
+
+[C] These are the very words used by General Hancock on this occasion.
+
+"We hold the perilous breach; on either hand
+Our foes out-flank us, leap the sheltering wall
+And pour their deadly, enfilading fire.
+God shield our shattered ranks!--God help us!
+
+                                           "Ho!
+'Stars and Stripes' on the right!--Hurra!--Hurra!
+The Green Mountain Boys to our aid!--Hurra!--Hurra.
+Cannon-roar down on the left!--Our batteries are there--
+Hurling hot hell-fire'--See!--like sickled corn
+The close-ranked foemen fall in toppling swaths:
+But still with hurried steps and steady steel
+They close the gaps--like madmen they press on!
+With one wild yell they rush upon the wall!
+Lo from our lines a sheet of crackling fire
+Scorches their grimy faces--back they reel
+And tumble--down and down--a writhing mass
+Of slaughter and defeat!
+
+                        "Leaped on the wall
+A thousand Blues and swung their caps in air,
+Thundering their wild _Hurra!_ above the roar
+And crash of cannon;--victory was ours.
+Back to his crest of hills the baffled foe
+Reluctant turned and fled the storm of death.
+
+"The smoke of battle floated from the field,
+And lo the woodside piled with slaughter-heaps!
+And lo the meadow dotted with the slain!
+And lo the ranks of dead and dying men
+That fighting fell behind the broken wall!
+
+"Only a handful of my men remained;
+The rest lay dead or wounded on the field;
+Nor skulked their captain, but by grace was spared.
+Behold the miracle!--This Bible holds,
+Embedded in its leaves, the Rebel lead
+Aimed at my heart. But here a scratch and there--
+Not worth the mention where so many fell.
+Paul, foremost ever in the deadly hail,
+As if protected by a shield unseen,
+Escaped unscathed.
+
+                 "We camped upon the hill.
+Night hovered o'er us on her dusky wings;
+Then all along our lines upon the hills
+Blazed up the evening camp-fires. Facing us
+Beyond the smoke-robed valley sparkled up
+A chain of fires on Seminary Ridge.
+A hum of mingled voices filled the air.
+As when upon the vast, hoarse-moaning sea
+And all along the rock-built somber shore
+Murmurs the menace of the coming storm--
+The muttering of the tempest from afar,
+The plash and seethe of surf upon the sand,
+The roll of distant thunder in the heavens,
+Unite and blend in one prevailing voice--
+So rose the mingled murmurs of our camps,
+So rose the groans and moans of wounded men
+Along the slope and valley, and so rolled
+From yonder frowning parallel of hills
+The muttered menace of our baffled foes;
+And so from camp to camp and hill to hill
+Rolled the deep mutter and the dreadful moan
+Of an hundred thousand voices blent in one.
+
+"That night a multitude of friends and foes
+Slept soundly--but they slept to wake no more.
+But few indeed among the living slept;
+We lay upon our arms and courted sleep
+With open eyes and ears: the fears and hopes
+That centered in the half-fought battle held
+The balm of slumber from our weary limbs.
+Anon the rattle of the random fire
+Broke on our drowsy ears and startled us,
+As one is startled by some horrid dream;
+Whereat old veterans muttered in their sleep.
+
+"Midnight had passed, and I lay wakeful still,
+When Paul arose and sat upon the sward.
+He said: 'I cannot sleep; unbidden thoughts
+That will not down crowd on my restless brain.
+Captain, I know not how, but still I know
+That I shall see but one more sunrise. Morn
+Will bring the clash of arms--to-morrow's sun
+Will look upon unnumbered ghastly heaps
+And gory ranks of dead and dying men,
+And ere it sink beyond the western hills
+Up from this field will roll a mighty shout
+Victorious, echoed over all the land,
+Proclaiming joy to freemen everywhere.
+And I shall fall. I cannot tell you how
+I know it--but I feel it in my soul.
+I pray that death may spare me till I hear
+Our shout of _"Victory!"_ rolling o'er these hills:
+Then will I lay me down and die in peace.'
+
+"I lightly said--'Sheer superstition, Paul;
+I'll wager a month's pay you'll live to fight
+A dozen battles yet. They ill become
+A gallant soldier on the battle field--
+Such grandam superstitions. You have fought
+Ever like a hero--do you falter now?'
+
+"'Captain,' he said, 'I shall not falter now,
+But gladlier will I hail the rising sun.
+Death has no terror for a heart like mine:
+Say what you may and call it what you will--
+I know that I shall fall to rise no more
+Before the sunset of the coming day.
+If this be superstition--still I know;
+If this be fear it will not hold me back.'
+I answered:
+
+           "'Friend, I hope this prophecy
+Will prove you a false prophet; but, my Paul,
+Have you no farewells for your friends at home?
+No message for a nearer, dearer one?'
+
+"'None; there is none I knew in other days
+Knows where or what I am. So let it be.
+If there be those--not many--who may care
+For one who cares so little for himself,
+Surely my soldier-name in the gazette
+Among the killed will bring no pang to them.
+And then he laid himself upon the sward;
+Perhaps he slept--I know not, for fatigue
+O'ercame me and I slept.
+
+                        "The picket guns
+At random firing wakened me. The morn
+Came stealing softly o'er the somber hills;
+Dark clouds of smoke hung hovering o'er the field.
+Blood-red as risen from a sea of blood,
+The tardy sun as if in dread arose,
+And hid his face in the uprising smoke.
+As when the pale moon, envious of the glow
+And gleam and glory of the god of day,
+Creeps in by stealth between the earth and him,
+Eclipsing all his glory, and the green
+Of hills and dales is changed to yellowish dun,
+So fell the strange and lurid light of morn.
+And as I gazed I heard the hunger-cries
+Of vultures circling on their dusky wings
+Above the smoke-hid valley; then they plunged
+To gorge themselves upon the slaughter-heaps,
+As at the Buddhist temples in Siam
+Whereto the hideous vultures flock to feast
+With famished dogs upon the pauper dead.
+
+"The day wore on. Two mighty armies stood
+Defiant--watching--dreading to assault;
+Each hoping that the other would assault
+And madly dash against its glittering steel.
+As in the jungles of the Chambeze--
+Glaring defiance with their fiery eyes--
+Two tawny lions--rival monarchs--meet
+And fright the forest with their horrid roar;
+But ere they close in bloody combat crouch
+And wait and watch for vantage in attack;
+So on their bannered hills the opposing hosts,
+Eager to grapple in the tug of death,
+Waited and watched for vantage in the fight.
+Noon came. The fire of pickets died away.
+All eyes were turned to Seminary Ridge,
+For lo our sullen foemen--park on park--
+Had massed their grim artillery on our corps.
+Hoarse voices sunk to whispers or were hushed;
+The rugged hills stood listening in awe;
+So dread the ominous silence that I heard
+The hearts of soldiers throbbing along the line.
+
+"Up from yon battery curled a cloud of smoke,
+Shrieked o'er our heads a solitary shell,--
+Then instantly in horrid concert roared
+Two hundred cannon on the Rebel hills--
+Hurling their hissing thunderbolts--and then
+An hundred bellowing cannon from our lines
+Thundered their iron answer. Horrible
+Rolled in the heavens the infernal thunders--rolled
+From hill to hill the reverberating roar,
+As if the earth were bursting with the throes
+Of some vast pent volcano; rocked and reeled,
+As in an earthquake-shock, the solid hills;
+Anon huge fragments of the hillside rocks,
+And limbs and splinters of shot-shattered trees
+Danced in the smoke like demons; hissed and howled
+The crashing shell-storm bursting over us.
+Prone on the earth awaiting the grand charge,
+To which we knew the heavy cannonade
+Was but a prelude, for two hours we lay--
+Two hours that tried the very souls of men--
+And many a brave man never rose again.
+Then ceased our guns to swell the infernal roar;
+The roll and crash of cannon in our front
+Lulled, and we heard the foeman's bugle-calls.
+Then from the slopes of Seminary Ridge
+Poured down the storming columns of the foe.
+As when the rain-clouds from the rim of heaven
+Are gathered by the four contending winds,
+And madly whirled until they meet and clash
+Above the hills and burst--down pours a sea
+And plunges roaring down through gorge and glen,
+So poured the surging columns of our foes
+Adown the slopes and spread along the vale
+In glittering ranks of battle--line on line--
+Mile-long. Above the roar of cannon rose
+In one wild yell the Rebel battle-cry.
+Flash in the sun their serried ranks of steel;
+Before them swarm a cloud of skirmishers.
+That eager host the gallant Pickett leads;
+He right and left his fiery charger wheels;
+Steadies the lines with clarion voice; anon
+His outstretched saber gleaming points the way.
+As mid the myriad twinkling stars of heaven
+Flashes the blazing comet, and a column
+Of fiery fury follows it, so flashed
+The dauntless chief, so followed his wild host.
+
+"We waited grim and silent till they crossed
+The center and began the dread ascent.
+Then brazen bugles rang the clarion call;
+Arose as one twice twenty thousand men,
+And all our hillsides blazed with crackling fire.
+With sudden crash and simultaneous roar
+An hundred cannon opened instantly,
+And all the vast hills shuddered under us.
+Yelling their mad defiance to our fire
+Still on and upward came our daring foes.
+As when upon the wooded mountain-side
+The unchained Loki[D] riots and the winds
+Of an autumnal tempest lash the flames,
+Whirling the burning fragments through the air--
+Huge blazing limbs and tops of blasted pines--
+Mowing wide swaths with circling scythes of fire,
+So fell our fire upon the advancing host,
+And lashed their ranks and mowed them into heaps,
+Cleaving broad avenues of death. Still on
+And up they come undaunted, closing up
+The ghastly gaps and firing as they come.
+As if protected by the hand of heaven,
+Rides at their head their gallant leader still;
+The tempest drowns his voice--his naming sword
+Gleams in the flash of rifles. One wild yell--Like
+the mad hunger-howl of famished wolves
+Midwinter on the flying cabris'[E] trail,
+Swelled by ten thousand hideous voices, shrills,
+And through the battle-smoke the bravest burst.
+Flutters their tattered banner on our wall!
+Thunders their shout of victory! Appalled
+Our serried ranks are broken--but in vain!
+On either hand our cannon enfilade,
+Crushing great gaps along the stalwart lines;
+In front our deadly rifles volley still,
+Mowing the toppling swaths of daring men.
+Behold--they falter!--Ho!--they break!--they fly!
+With one wild cheer that shakes the solid hills
+Spring to the charge our eager infantry.
+Headlong we press them down the bloody slope,
+Headlong they fall before our leveled steel
+And break in wild disorder, cast away
+Their arms and fly in panic. All the vale
+Is spread with slaughter and wild fugitives.
+Wide o'er the field the scattered foemen fly;
+Dread havoc and mad terror swift pursue
+Till battle is but slaughter. Thousands fall--
+Thousands surrender, and the Southern flag
+Is trailed upon the field.
+
+[D] Norse fire-fiend
+
+[E] Cabri--the small, fleet antelope of the northern plains, so called
+by the Crees and half-breeds.
+
+                          "The day was ours,
+And well we knew the worth of victory.
+Loud rolled the rounds of cheers from corps to corps;
+Comrades embraced each other; iron men
+Shed tears of joy like women; men profane
+Fell on their knees and thanked Almighty God.
+Then _'Hail Columbia'_ rang the brazen horns,
+And all the hill-tops shouted unto heaven;
+The welkin shouted to the shouting hills--And
+heavens and hill-tops shouted _'Victory!'_
+
+"Night with her pall had wrapped the bloody field.
+The little remnants of our regiment
+Were gathered and encamped upon the hill.
+Paul was not with them, and they could not tell
+Aught of him. I had seen him in the fight
+Bravest of all the brave. I saw him last
+When first the foremost foemen reached our wall,
+Thrusting them off with bloody bayonet,
+And shouting to his comrades, _'Steady, men!'_
+Sadly I wandered back where we had met
+The onset of the foe. The rounds of cheers
+Repeated oft still swept from corps to corps,
+And as I passed along the line I saw
+Our dying comrades raise their weary heads,
+And cheer with feeble voices. Even in death
+The cry of victory warmed their hearts again.
+Paul lay upon the ground where he had fought,
+Fast by the flag that floated on the line.
+He slept--or seemed to sleep, but on his brow
+Sat such a deadly pallor that I feared
+My Paul would never march and fight again.
+I raised his head--he woke as from a dream;
+I said, 'Be quiet--you are badly hurt;
+I'll call a surgeon; we will dress your wound.'
+He gravely said:
+
+               "'Tis vain; for I have done
+With camp and march and battle. Ere the dawn
+Shall I be mustered out of your command,
+And mustered into the Grand Host of heaven.'
+
+"I sought a surgeon on the field and found;
+With me he came and opened the bloody blouse,
+Felt the dull pulse and sagely shook his head.
+A musket ball had done its deadly work;
+There was no hope, he said, the man might live
+A day perchance--but had no need of him.
+I called his comrades and we carried him,
+Stretched on his blankets, gently to our camp,
+And laid him by the camp-fire. As the light
+Fell on Paul's face he took my hand and said:
+
+
+
+
+PART II
+
+PAUL' S HISTORY
+
+
+"Captain, I hear the cheers. My soul is glad.
+My days are numbered, but this glorious day--
+Like some far beacon on a shadowy cape
+That cheers at night the storm-belabored ships--
+Will light the misty ages from afar.
+This field shall be the Mecca. Here shall rise
+A holier than the Caaba where men kiss
+The sacred stone that flaming fell from heaven.
+But O how many sad and aching hearts
+Will mourn the loved ones never to return!
+Thank God--no heart will hope for my return!
+Thank God--no heart will mourn because I die!
+Captain, at life's mid-summer flush and glow,
+For him to die who leaves his golden hopes,
+His mourning friends and idol-love behind,
+It must be hard and seem a cruel thing.
+After the victory--upon this field--For
+me to die hath more of peace than pain;
+For I shall leave no golden hopes behind,
+No idol-love to pine because I die,
+No friends to wait my coming or to mourn.
+They wait my coming in the world beyond;
+And wait not long, for I am almost there.
+'Tis but a gasp, and I shall pass the bound
+'Twixt life and death--through death to life again--
+Where sorrow cometh never. Pangs and pains
+Of flesh or spirit will not pierce me there;
+And two will greet me from the jasper walls--
+God's angels--with a song of holy peace,
+And haste to meet me at the pearly gate,
+And kiss the death-damp from my silent lips,
+And lead me through the golden avenues--
+Singing Hosanna--to the Great White Throne."
+
+So there he paused and calmly closed his eyes,
+And silently I sat and held his hand.
+After a time, when we were left alone,
+He spoke again with calmer voice and said:
+"Captain, you oft have asked my history,
+And I as oft refused. There is no cause
+Why I should longer hold it from my friend
+Who reads the closing chapter. It may teach
+One soul to lean upon the arm of Christ--
+That hope and happiness find anchorage
+Only in heaven. While my lonesome life
+Saw death but dimly in the dull distance
+My lips were sealed to the unhappy tale;
+Under my pride I hid a heavy heart.
+
+"I was ambitious in my boyhood days,
+And dreamed of fame and honors--misty fogs
+That climb at morn the ragged cliffs of life,
+Veiling the ragged rocks and gloomy chasms,
+And shaping airy castles on the top
+With bristling battlements and looming towers;
+But melt away into ethereal air
+Beneath the blaze of the mid-summer sun,
+Till cliffs and chasms and all the ragged rocks
+Are bare, and all the castles crumbled away.
+
+"There winds a river 'twixt two chains of hills--
+Fir-capped and rugged monuments of time;
+A level vale of rich alluvial land,
+Washed from the slopes through circling centuries,
+And sweet with clover and the hum of bees,
+Lies broad between the rugged, somber hills.
+Beneath a shade of willows and of elms
+The river slumbers in this meadowy lap.
+Down from the right there winds a babbling branch,
+Cleaving a narrower valley through the hills.
+A grand bald-headed hill-cone on the right
+Looms like a patriarch, and above the branch
+There towers another. I have seen the day
+When those bald heads were plumed with lofty pines.
+Below the branch and near the river bank,
+Hidden among the elms and butternuts,
+The dear old cottage stands where I was born.
+An English ivy clambers to the eaves;
+An English willow planted by my hand
+Now spreads its golden branches o'er the roof
+Not far below the cottage thrives a town,
+A busy town of mills and merchandise--
+Belle Meadows, fairest village of the vale.
+Behind it looms the hill-cone, and in front
+The peaceful river winds its silent way.
+Beyond the river spreads a level plain--
+Once hid with somber firs--a tangled marsh--
+Now beautiful with fields and cottages,
+And sweet in spring-time with the blooming plum,
+And white with apple-blossoms blown like snow.
+Beyond the plain a lower chain of hills,
+In summer gemmed with fields of golden grain
+Set in the emerald of the beechen woods.
+In other days the village school-house stood
+Below our cottage on a grassy mound
+That sloped away unto the river's marge;
+And on the slope a cluster of tall pines
+Crowning a copse of beech and evergreen.
+There in my boyhood days I went to school;
+A maiden mistress ruled the little realm;
+She taught the rudiments to rompish rogues,
+And walked a queen with magic wand of birch.
+My years were hardly ten when father died.
+Sole tenants of our humble cottage home
+My sorrowing mother and myself remained;
+But she was all economy, and kept
+With my poor aid a comfortable house.
+I was her idol and she wrought at night
+To keep me at my books, and used to boast
+That I should rise above our humble lot.
+How oft I listened to her hopeful words--
+Poured from the fountain of a mother's heart
+Until I longed to wing the sluggard years
+That bore me on to what I hoped to be.
+
+"We had a garden-plat behind the house--
+Beyond, an orchard and a pasture-lot;
+In front a narrow meadow--here and there
+Shaded with elms and branching butternuts.
+In spring and summer in the garden-plat
+I wrought my morning and my evening hours
+And kept myself at school--no idle boy.
+
+"One bright May morning when the robins sang
+There came to school a stranger queenly fair,
+With eyes that shamed the ethereal blue of heaven,
+And golden hair in ringlets--cheeks as soft,
+As fresh and rosy as the velvet blush
+Of summer sunrise on the dew-damp hills.
+Hers was the name I muttered in my dreams.
+For days my bashful heart held me aloof
+Although her senior by a single year;
+But we were brought together oft in class,
+And when she learned my name she spoke to me,
+And then my tongue was loosed and we were friends.
+Before the advent of the steeds of steel
+Her sire--a shrewd and calculating man--
+Had lately come and purchased timbered-lands
+And idle mills, and made the town his home.
+And he was well-to-do and growing rich,
+And she her father's pet and only child.
+In mind and stature for two happy years
+We grew together at the village school.
+We grew together!--aye, our tender hearts
+There grew together till they beat as one.
+Her tasks were mine, and mine alike were hers;
+We often stole away among the pines--
+That stately cluster on the sloping hill--
+And conned our lessons from the selfsame book,
+And learned to love each other o'er our tasks,
+While in the pine-tops piped the oriole,
+And from his branch the chattering squirrel chid
+Our guileless love and artless innocence.
+'Twas childish love perhaps, but day by day
+It grew into our souls as we grew up.
+Then there was opened in the prospering town
+A grammar school, and thither went Pauline.
+I missed her and was sad for many a day,
+Till mother gave me leave to follow her.
+In autumn--in vacation--she would come
+With girlish pretext to our cottage home.
+She often brought my mother little gifts,
+And cheered her with sweet songs and happy words;
+And I would pluck the fairest meadow-flowers
+To grace a garland for her golden hair,
+And fill her basket from the butternuts
+That flourished in our little meadow field.
+I found in her all I had dreamed of heaven.
+So garlanded with latest-blooming flowers,
+Chanting the mellow music of our hopes,
+The silver-sandaled Autumn-hours tripped by.
+And mother learned to love her; but she feared,
+Knowing her heart and mine, that one rude hand
+Might break our hopes asunder. Like a thief
+I often crept about her father's house,
+Under the evening shadows, eager-eyed,
+Peering for one dear face, and lingered late
+To catch the silver music of one voice
+That from her chamber nightly rose to heaven.
+Her father's face I feared--a silent man,
+Cold-faced, imperative, by nature prone
+To set his will against the beating world;
+Warm-hearted but heart-crusted.
+
+[Illustration: WE OFTEN STOLE AWAY AMONG THE PINES, AND CONNED OUR
+LESSONS FROM THE SELF-SAME BOOK]
+
+                             "Two years more
+Thus wore away. Pauline grew up a queen.
+A shadow fell across my sunny path;--
+A hectic flush burned on my mother's cheeks;
+She daily failed and nearer drew to death.
+Pauline would often come with sun-lit face,
+Cheating the day of half its languid hours
+With cheering chapters from the holy book,
+And border tales and wizard minstrelsy:
+And mother loved her all the better for it.
+With feeble hands upon our sad-bowed heads,
+And in a voice all tremulous with tears,
+She said to us: 'Dear children, love each other--
+Bear and forbear, and come to me in heaven;'
+And praying for us daily--drooped and died.
+
+[Illustration: "'DEAR CHILDREN? LOVE EACH OTHER,--BEAR AND FORBEAR, AND
+COME TO ME IN HEAVEN'"]
+
+"After the sad and solemn funeral,
+Alone and weeping and disconsolate,
+I sat at evening by the cottage door.
+I felt as if a dark and bitter fate
+Had fallen on me in my tender years.
+I seemed an aimless wanderer doomed to grope
+In vain among the darkling years and die.
+One only star shone through the shadowy mists.
+The moon that wandered in the gloomy heavens
+Was robed in shrouds; the rugged, looming hills
+Looked desolate;--the silent river seemed
+A somber chasm, while my own pet lamb,
+Mourning disconsolate among the trees,
+As if he followed some dim phantom-form,
+Bleated in vain and would not heed my call.
+On weary hands I bent my weary head;
+In gloomy sadness fell my silent tears.
+
+"An angel's hand was laid upon my head--
+There in the moonlight stood my own Pauline--
+Angel of love and hope and holy faith--
+She flashed upon me bowed in bitter grief,
+As falls the meteor down the night-clad heavens--
+In silence. Then about my neck she clasped
+Her loving arms and on my shoulder drooped
+Her golden tresses, while her silent tears
+Fell warm upon my cheek like summer rain.
+Heart clasped to heart and cheek to cheek we sat;
+The moon no longer gloomed--her face was cheer;
+The rugged hills were old-time friends again;
+The peaceful river slept beneath the moon,
+And my pet lamb came bounding to our side
+And kissed her hand and mine as he was wont.
+Then I awoke as from a dream and said:
+'Tell me, beloved, why you come to me
+In this dark hour--so late--so desolate?'
+And she replied:
+
+               "'My darling, can I rest
+While you are full of sorrow? In my ear
+A spirit seemed to whisper--"Arise and go
+To comfort him disconsolate." Tell me, Paul,
+Why should you mourn your tender life away?
+I will be mother to you; nay, dear boy,
+I will be more. Come, brush away these tears.'
+
+"My heart was full; I kissed her pleading eyes:
+'You are an angel sent by one in heaven,'
+I said,'to heal my heart, but I have lost
+More than you know. The cruel hand of death
+Hath left me orphan, friendless--poor indeed,
+Saving the precious jewel of your love.
+And what to do? I know not what to do,
+I feel so broken by a heavy hand.
+My mother hoped that I would work my way
+To competence and honor at the bar.
+But shall I toil in poverty for years
+To learn a science that so seldom yields
+Or wealth or honor save to silvered heads?
+I know that path to fame and fortune leads
+Through thorns and brambles over ragged rocks;
+But can I follow in the common path
+Trod by the millions, never to lift my head
+Above the busy hordes that delve and drudge
+For bare existence in this bitter world--
+And be a mite, a midge, a worthless worm,
+No more distinguished from the common mass
+Than one poor polyp in the coral isle
+Is marked amid the myriads teeming there?
+Yet 'tis not for myself. For you, Pauline,
+Far up the slippery heights of wealth and fame
+Would I climb bravely; but if I would climb
+By any art or science, I must train
+Unto the task my feet for many years,
+Else I should slip and fall from rugged ways,
+Too badly bruised to ever mount again.'
+Then she:
+
+        "'O Paul, if wealth were mine to give!
+O if my father could but know my heart!
+But fear not, Paul, our _Father_ reigns in heaven.
+Follow your bent--'twill lead you out aright;
+The highest mountain lessens as we climb;
+Persistent courage wins the smile of fate.
+Apply yourself to law and master it,
+And I will wait. This sad and solemn hour
+Is dark with doubt and gloom, but by and by
+The clouds will lift and you will see God's face.
+For there is one in heaven whose pleading tongue
+Will pray for blessings on her only son
+Of Him who heeds the little sparrow's fall;--
+And O if He will listen to my prayers,
+The gates of heaven shall echo to my voice
+Morning and evening,--only keep your heart.'
+I said:
+
+       "'Pauline, your prayers had rolled away
+The ponderous stone that closed the tomb of Christ;
+And while they rise to heaven for my success
+I cannot doubt, or I should doubt my God.
+I think I see a pathway through this gloom;
+I have a kinsman'--and I told her where--
+'A lawyer; I have heard my mother say--
+A self-made man with charitable heart;
+And I might go and study under him;
+I think he would assist me.'
+
+                         "Then she sighed:
+'Paul, can you leave me? You may study here
+And here you are among your boyhood friends,
+And here I should be near to cheer you on.'
+
+"I promised her that I would think of it--
+Would see what prospect offered in the town;
+And then we walked together half-embraced,
+But when we neared her vine-arched garden gate,
+She bade me stay and kissed me a good-night
+And bounded through the moonlight like a fawn.
+I watched her till she flitted from my sight,
+Then slowly homeward turned my lingering steps.
+I wrote my kinsman on the morrow morn,
+And broached my project to a worthy man
+Who kept an office and a case of books--
+An honest lawyer. People called him learn'd,
+But wanting tact and ready speech he failed.
+The rest were pettifoggers--scurrilous rogues
+Who plied the village justice with their lies,
+And garbled law to suit the case in hand--
+Mean, querulous, small-brained delvers in the mire
+Of men's misfortunes--crafty, cunning knaves,
+Versed in chicane and trickery that schemed
+To keep the evil passions of weak men
+In petty wars, and plied their tongues profane
+With cunning words to argue honest fools
+Into their spider-meshes to be fleeced.
+I laid my case before him; took advice--
+Well-meant advice--to leave my native town,
+And study with my kinsman whom he knew.
+A week rolled round and brought me a reply--
+A frank and kindly letter--giving me
+That which I needed most--encouragement.
+But hard it was to fix my mind to go;
+For in my heart an angel whispered 'Stay.'
+It might be better for my after years,
+And yet perhaps,'twere better to remain.
+I balanced betwixt my reason and my heart,
+And hesitated. Her I had not seen
+Since that sad night, and so I made resolve
+That we should meet, and at her father's house.
+So whispering courage to my timid heart
+I went. With happy greeting at the door
+She met me, but her face was wan and pale--
+So pale and wan I feared that she was ill.
+I read the letter to her, and she sighed,
+And sat in silence for a little time,
+Then said:
+
+"'God bless you, Paul, may be 'tis best--
+I sometimes feel it is not for the best,
+But I am selfish--thinking of myself.
+Go like a man, but keep your boyish heart--
+Your boyish heart is all the world to me.
+Remember, Paul, how I shall watch and wait;
+So write me often: like the dew of heaven
+To withering grass will come your cheering words.
+To know that you are well and happy, Paul,
+And good and true, will wing the weary months.
+And let me beg you as a sister would--
+Not that I doubt you but because I love--
+Beware of wine--touch not the treacherous cup,
+And guard your honor as you guard your life.
+The years will glide away like scudding clouds
+That fleetly chase each other o'er the hills,
+And you will be a man before you know,
+And I will be a woman. God will crown
+Our dearest hopes if we but trust in Him.'
+
+"We sat in silence for a little time,
+And she was weeping, so I raised her face
+And kissed away her tears. She softly said:
+'Paul, there is something I must say to you--
+Something I have no time to tell you now;
+But we must meet again before you go--
+Under the pines where we so oft have met.
+Be this the sign,'--She waved her graceful hand,
+'Come when the shadows gather on the pines,
+And silent stars stand sentinel in heaven;
+Now Paul, forgive me--I must say--good-bye.'
+
+"I read her fear upon her anxious brow.
+Lingering and clasped within her loving arms
+I, through her dewy, deep, blue eyes, beheld
+Her inmost soul, and knew that love was there.
+Ah, then and there her father blustered in,
+And caught us blushing in each other's arms!
+He stood a moment silent and amazed:
+Then kindling wrath distorted all his face,
+He showered his anger with a tongue of fire.
+O cruel words that stung my boyish pride!
+O dagger words that stabbed my very soul!
+I strove, but fury mastered--up I sprang,
+And felt a giant as I stood before him.
+My breath was hot with anger;--impious boy--
+Frenzied--forgetful of his silvered hairs--
+Forgetful of her presence, too, I raved,
+And poured a madman's curses on his head.
+A moan of anguish brought me to myself;
+I turned and saw her sad, imploring face,
+And tears that quenched the wild fire in my heart.
+I pressed her hand and passed into the hall,
+While she stood sobbing in a flood of tears,
+And he stood choked with anger and amazed.
+But as I passed the ivied porch he came
+With bated breath and muttered in my ear--
+'_Beggar!_'--It stung me like a serpent's fang.
+Pride-pricked and muttering like a maniac,
+I almost flew the street and hurried home
+To vent my anger to the silent elms.
+_'Beggar!_'--an hundred times that long, mad night
+I muttered with hot lips and burning breath;
+I paced the walk with hurried tread, and raved;
+I threw myself beneath the willow-tree,
+And muttered like the muttering of a storm.
+My little lamb came bleating mournfully;
+Angered I struck him;--out among the trees
+I wandered mumbling 'beggar' as I went,
+And beating in through all my burning soul
+The bitter thoughts it conjured, till my brain
+Reeled and I sunk upon the dew-damp grass,
+And--utterly exhausted--slept till morn.
+
+"I dreamed a dream--all mist and mystery.
+I saw a sunlit valley beautiful
+With purple vineyards and with garden-plats;
+And in the vineyards and the garden-plats
+Were happy-hearted youths and merry girls
+Toiling and singing. Grandsires too were there,
+Sitting contented under their own vines
+And fig-trees, while about them merrily played
+Their children's children like the sportive lambs
+That frolicked on the foot-hills. Low of kine,
+Full-uddered, homeward-wending from the meads,
+Fell on the ear as soft as Hulder's loor
+Tuned on the Norse-land mountains. Like a nest
+Hid in a hawthorn-hedge a cottage stood
+Embowered with vines beneath broad-branching elms
+Sweet-voiced with busy bees.
+
+[Illustration: PAUL'S DREAM]
+
+                             "On either hand
+Rose steep and barren mountains--mighty cliffs
+Cragged and chasm'd and over-grown with thorns;
+And on the topmost peak a golden throne
+Blazoned with burning characters that read--
+'Climb'--it is yours.' Not far above the vale
+I saw a youth, fair-browed and raven-haired,
+Clambering among the thorns and ragged rocks;
+And from his brow with torn and bleeding hand
+He wiped great drops of sweat. Down through the vale
+I saw a rapid river, broad and deep,
+Winding in solemn silence to the sea--
+The sea all mist and fog. Lo as I stood
+Viewing the river and the moaning sea,
+A sail--and then another--flitted down
+And plunged into the mist. A moment more,
+Like shapeless shadows of the by-gone years,
+I saw them in the mist and they were gone--
+Gone!--and the sea moaned on and seemed to say--
+_'Gone--and forever!_'--So I gladly turned
+To look upon the throne--the blazoned throne
+That sat upon the everlasting cliff.
+The throne had vanished!--Lo where it had stood,
+A bed of ashes and a gray-haired man
+Sitting upon it bowed and broken down.
+And so the vision passed.
+
+                        "The rising sun
+Beamed full upon my face and wakened me,
+And there beside me lay my pet--the lamb--
+Gazing upon me with his wondering eyes,
+And all the fields were bright and beautiful,
+And brighter seemed the world. I rose resolved.
+I let the cottage and disposed of all;
+The lamb went bleating to a neighbor's field;
+And oft my heart ached, but I mastered it.
+This was the constant burden of my brain--
+_'Beggar!_'--I'll teach him that I am a man;
+I'll speak and he shall listen; I will rise,
+And he shall see my course as I go up
+Round after round the ladder of success.
+Even as the pine upon the mountain-top
+Towers o'er the maple on the mountain-side,
+I'll tower above him. Then will I look down
+And call him _Father_:--He shall call me _Son_.'
+
+"Thus hushing my sad heart the day drew nigh
+Of parting, and the promised sign was given.
+The night was dismal darkness--not one star
+Twinkled in heaven; the sad, low-moaning wind
+Played like a mournful harp among the pines.
+I groped and listened through the darkling grove,
+Peering with eager eyes among the trees,
+And calling as I peered with anxious voice
+One darling name. No answer but the moan
+Of the wind-shaken pines. I sat me down
+Under the dusky shadows waiting for her,
+And lost myself in gloomy reverie.
+Dim in the darksome shadows of the night,
+While thus I dreamed, my darling came and crept
+Beneath the boughs as softly as a hare,
+And whispered 'Paul'--and I was at her side.
+We sat upon a mound moss-carpeted--
+No eyes but God's upon us, and no voice
+Spake to us save the moaning of the pines.
+Few were the words we spoke; her silent tears,
+Our clasping, trembling, lingering embrace,
+Were more than words. Into one solemn hour,
+Were pressed the fears and hopes of coming years.
+Two tender hearts that only dared to hope
+There swelled and throbbed to the electric touch
+Of love as holy as the love of Christ.
+She gave her picture and I gave a ring--
+My mother's--almost with her latest breath
+She gave it me and breathed my darling's name.
+I girt her finger, and she kissed the ring
+In solemn pledge, and said:
+
+                         "'I bring a gift--
+The priceless gift of God unto his own:
+O may it prove a precious gift to you,
+As it has proved a precious gift to me;
+And promise me to read it day by day--
+Beginning on the morrow--every day
+A chapter--and I too will read the same.'
+
+"I took the gift--a precious gift indeed--
+And you may see how I have treasured it.
+Here, Captain, put your hand upon my breast--
+An inner pocket--you will find it there."
+
+I opened the bloody blouse and thence drew forth
+The Book of Christ all stained with Christian blood.
+He laid his hand upon the holy book,
+And closed his eyes as if in silent prayer.
+I held his weary head and bade him rest.
+He lay a moment silent and resumed:
+"Let me go on if you would hear the tale;
+I soon shall sleep the sleep that wakes no more.
+O there were promises and vows as solemn
+As Christ's own promises; but as we sat
+The pattering rain-drops fell among the pines,
+And in the branches the foreboding owl
+With dismal hooting hailed the coming storm.
+So in that dreary hour and desolate
+We parted in the silence of our tears.
+
+"And on the morrow morn I bade adieu
+To the old cottage home I loved so well--
+The dear old cottage home where I was born.
+Then from my mother's grave I plucked a rose
+Bursting in bloom--Pauline had planted it--
+And left my little hill-girt boyhood world.
+I journeyed eastward to my journey's end;
+At first by rail for many a flying mile,
+By mail-coach thence from where the hurrying train
+Leaps a swift river that goes tumbling on
+Between a village and a mountain-ledge,
+Chafing its rocky banks. There seethes and foams
+The restless river round the roaring rocks,
+And then flows on a little way and pours
+Its laughing waters into a bridal lap.
+Its flood is fountain-fed among the hills;
+Far up the mossy brooks the timid trout
+Lie in the shadow of vine-tangled elms.
+Out from the village-green the roadway leads
+Along the river up between the hills,
+Then climbs a wooded mountain to its top,
+And gently winds adown the farther side
+Unto a valley where the bridal stream
+Flows rippling, meadow-flower-and-willow-fringed,
+And dancing onward with a merry song,
+Hastes to the nuptials. From the mountain-top--
+A thousand feet above the meadowy vale--
+She seems a chain of fretted silver wound
+With artless art among the emerald hills.
+Thence up a winding valley of grand views--
+Hill-guarded--firs and rocks upon the hills,
+And here and there a solitary pine
+Majestic--silent--mourns its slaughtered kin,
+Like the last warrior of some tawny tribe
+Returned from sunset mountains to behold
+Once more the spot where his brave fathers sleep.
+The farms along the valley stretch away
+On either hand upon the rugged hills--
+Walled into fields. Tall elms and willow-trees
+Huge-trunked and ivy-hung stand sentinel
+Along the roadway walls--storm-wrinkled trees
+Planted by men who slumber on the hills.
+Amid such scenes all day we rolled along,
+And as the shadows of the western hills
+Across the valley crept and climbed the slopes,
+The sunset blazed their hazy tops and fell
+Upon the emerald like a mist of gold.
+And at that hour I reached my journey's end.
+The village is a gem among the hills--
+Tall, towering hills that reach into the blue.
+One grand old mountain-cone looms on the left
+Far up toward heaven, and all around are hills.
+The river winds among the leafy hills
+Adown the meadowy dale; a shade of elms
+And willows fringe it. In this lap of hills
+Cluster the happy homes of men content
+To let the great world worry as it will.
+The court-house park, the broad, bloom-bordered streets,
+Are avenues of maples and of elms--
+Grander than Tadmor's pillared avenue--
+Fair as the fabled garden of the gods.
+Beautiful villas, tidy cottages,
+Flower gardens, fountains, offices and shops,
+All nestle in a dreamy wealth of woods.
+
+"Kind hearts received me. All that wealth could bring--
+Refinement, luxury and ease--was theirs;
+But I was proud and felt my poverty,
+And gladly mured myself among the books
+To master 'the lawless science of the law.'
+I plodded through the ponderous commentaries--
+Some musty with the mildew of old age;
+And these I found the better for their years,
+Like olden wine in cobweb-covered flasks.
+The blush of sunrise found me at my books;
+The midnight cock-crow caught me reading still;
+And oft my worthy master censured me:
+'A time for work,' he said, 'a time for play;
+Unbend the bow or else the bow will break.'
+But when I wearied--needing sleep and rest--
+A single word seemed whispered in my ear--
+'_Beggar_,' it stung me to redoubled toil.
+I trod the ofttimes mazy labyrinths
+Of legal logic--mined the mountain-mass
+Of precedents conflicting--found the rule,
+Then branched into the exceptions; split the hair
+Betwixt this case and that--ran parallels--
+Traced from a 'leading case' through many tomes
+Back to the first decision on the 'point,'
+And often found a pyramid of law
+Built with bad logic on a broken base
+Of careless '_dicta;_'--saw how narrow minds
+Spun out the web of technicalities
+Till common sense and common equity
+Were strangled in its meshes. Here and there
+I came upon a broad, unfettered mind
+Like Murray's--cleaving through the spider-webs
+Of shallower brains, and bravely pushing out
+Upon the open sea of common sense.
+But such were rare. The olden precedents--
+Oft stepping-stones of tyranny and wrong--
+Marked easy paths to follow, and they ruled
+The course of reason as the iron rails
+Rule the swift wheels of the down-thundering train.
+
+"I rose at dawn. First in this holy book
+I read my chapter. How the happy thought
+That my Pauline would read--the self-same morn
+The self-same chapter--gave the sacred text,
+Though I had heard my mother read it oft,
+New light and import never seen before.
+For I would ponder over every verse,
+Because I felt that she was reading it,
+And when I came upon dear promises
+Of Christ to man, I read them o'er and o'er,
+Till in a holy and mysterious way
+They seemed the whisperings of Pauline to me.
+Later I learned to lay up for myself
+'Treasures in heaven where neither moth nor rust
+Corrupteth, and where thieves do not break through,
+Nor steal'--and where my treasures all are laid
+My heart is, and my spirit longs to go.
+O friend, if Jesus was but man of man--
+And if indeed his wondrous miracles
+Were mythic tales of priestly followers
+To chain the brute till Reason came from heaven--
+Yet was his mission unto man divine.
+Man's pity wounds, but Jesus' pity heals:
+He gave us balm beyond all earthly balm;
+He gave us strength beyond all human strength;
+He taught us love above the low desires;
+He taught us hope beyond all earthly hope;
+He taught us charity wherewith to build
+From out the broken walls of barbarism,
+The holy temple of the perfect man.
+
+"On every Sabbath-eve I wrote Pauline.
+Page after page was burdened with my love,
+My glowing hopes of golden days to come,
+And frequent boast of rapid progress made.
+With hungry heart and eager I devoured
+Her letters; I re-read them twenty times.
+At morning when I laid the Gospel down
+I read her latest answer, and again
+At midnight by my lamp I read it over,
+And murmuring 'God bless her,' fell asleep
+To dream that I was with her under the pines.
+
+"Thus fled four years--four years of patient toil
+Sweetened with love and hope, and I had made
+Swift progress in my studies. Master said
+Another year would bring me to the bar--
+No fledgeling but full-feathered for the field.
+And then her letters ceased. I wrote and wrote
+Again, but still no answer. Day after day
+The tardy mail-coach lagged a mortal hour,
+While I sat listening for its welcome horn;
+And when it came I hastened from my books
+With hope and fear contending in my soul.
+Day after day--no answer--back again
+I turned my footsteps with a weary sigh.
+It wore upon me and I could not rest;
+It gnawed me to the marrow of my bones.
+The heavy tomes grew dull and wearisome,
+And sometimes hateful;--then I broke away
+As from a prison and rushed wildly out
+Among the elms along the river-bank--
+Baring my burning temples to the breeze--
+And drank the air of heaven like sparkling wine--
+Conjuring excuses for her;--was she ill?
+Perhaps forbidden. Had another heart
+Come in between us?--No, that could not be;
+She was all constancy and promise-bound.
+A month, which seemed to me a laggard year,
+Thus wore away. At last a letter came.
+O with what springing step I hurried back--
+Back to my private chamber and my desk!
+With what delight--what eager, trembling hand--
+The well-known seal that held my hopes I broke!
+Thus ran the letter:
+
+                   "'Paul, the time has come
+When we must both forgive while we forget.
+Mine was a girlish fancy. We outgrow
+Such childish follies in our later years.
+Now I have pondered well and made an end.
+I cannot wed myself to want, and curse
+My life life-long, because a girlish freak
+Of folly made a promise. So--farewell.'
+
+"My eyes were blind with passion as I read.
+I tore the letter into bits and stamped
+Upon them, ground my teeth and cursed the day
+I met her, to be jilted. All that night
+My thoughts ran riot. Round the room I strode
+A raving madman--savage as a Sioux;
+Then flung myself upon my couch in tears,
+And wept in silence, and then stormed again.
+'_Beggar!_'--it raised the serpent in my breast--
+Mad pride--bat-blind. I seized her pictured face
+And ground it under my heel. With impious hand
+I caught the book--the precious gift she gave,
+And would have burned it, but that still small voice
+Spake in my heart and bade me spare the book.
+
+"Then with this Gospel clutched in both my hands,
+I swore a solemn oath that I would rise,
+If God would spare me;--she should see me rise,
+And learn what she had lost.--Yes, I would mount
+Merely to be revenged. I would not cringe
+Down like a spaniel underneath the lash,
+But like a man would teach my proud Pauline
+And her hard father to repent the day
+They called me '_beggar_.' Thus I raved and stormed
+That mad night out;--forgot at dawn of morn
+This holy book, but fell to a huge tome
+And read two hundred pages in a day.
+I could not keep the thread of argument;
+I could not hold my mind upon the book;
+I could not break the silent under-tow
+That swept all else from out my throbbing brain
+But false Pauline. I read from morn till night,
+But having closed the book I could not tell
+Aught of its contents. Then I cursed myself,
+And muttered--'Fool--can you not shake it off--
+This nightmare of your boyhood?--Brave, indeed--
+Crushed like a spaniel by this false Pauline!
+Crushed am I?--By the gods, I'll make an end,
+And she shall never know it nettled me!'
+So passed the weary days. My cheeks grew thin;
+I needed rest, I said, and quit my books
+To range the fields and hills with fowling-piece
+And '_mal prepense_' toward the feathery flocks.
+The pigeons flew from tree-tops o'er my head;
+I heard the flap of wings--and they were gone;
+The pheasant whizzed from bushes at my feet
+Unseen until its sudden whir of wings
+Startled and broke my wandering reverie;
+And then I whistled and relapsed to dreams,
+Wandering I cared not whither--wheresoe'er
+My silent gun still bore its primal charge.
+So gameless, but with cheeks and forehead tinged
+By breeze and sunshine, I returned to books.
+But still a phantom haunted all my dreams--
+Awake or sleeping, for awake I dreamed--
+A spectre that I could not chase away--
+The phantom-form of my own false Pauline.
+
+"Six months wore off--six long and weary months;
+Then came a letter from a school-boy friend--
+In answer to the queries I had made--
+Filled with the gossip of my native town.
+Unto her father's friend--a bachelor,
+Her senior by full twenty years at least--
+Dame Rumor said Pauline had pledged her hand.
+I knew him well--a sly and cunning man--
+A honey-tongued, false-hearted flatterer.
+And he my rival--carrying off my prize?
+But what cared I? 'twas all the same to me--
+Yea, better for the sweet revenge to come.
+So whispered pride, but in my secret heart
+I cared, and hoped whatever came to pass
+She might be happy all her days on earth,
+And find a happy haven at the end.
+
+"My thoughtful master bade me quit my books
+A month at least, for I was wearing out.
+'Unbend the bow,' he said. His watchful eye
+Saw toil and care at work upon my cheeks;
+He could not see the canker at my heart,
+But he had seen pale students wear away
+With overwork the vigor of their lives;
+And so he gave me means and bade me go
+To romp a month among my native hills.
+I went, but not as I had left my home--
+A bashful boy, uncouth and coarsely clad,
+But clothed and mannered like a gentleman.
+
+"My school-boy friend gave me a cordial greeting;
+That honest lawyer bade me welcome, too,
+And doted on my progress and the advice
+He gave me ere I left my native town.
+Since first the iron-horse had coursed the vale
+Five years had fled--five prosperous, magic years,
+And well nigh five since I had left my home.
+These prosperous years had wrought upon the place
+Their wonders till I hardly knew the town.
+The broad and stately blocks of brick that shamed
+The weather-beaten wooden shops I knew
+Seemed the creation of some magic hand.
+Adown the river bank the town had stretched,
+Sweeping away the quiet grove of pines
+Where I had loved to ramble when a boy
+And see the squirrels leap from tree to tree
+With reckless venture, hazarding a fall
+To dodge the ill-aimed arrows from my bow.
+The dear old school-house on the hill was gone:
+A costly church, tall-spired and built of stone
+Stood in its stead--a monument to man.
+Unholy greed had felled the stately pines,
+And all the slope was bare and desolate.
+Old faces had grown older; some were gone,
+And many unfamiliar ones had come.
+Boys in their teens had grown to bearded men,
+And girls to womanhood, and all was changed,
+Save the old cottage-home where I was born.
+The elms and butternuts in the meadow-field
+Still wore the features of familiar friends;
+The English ivy clambered to the roof,
+The English willow spread its branches still,
+And as I stood before the cottage-door
+My heart-pulse quickened, for methought I heard
+My mother's footsteps on the ashen floor.
+
+"The rumor I had heard was verified;
+The wedding-day was named and near at hand.
+I met my rival: gracious were his smiles:
+Glad as a boy that robs the robin's nest
+He grasped the hands of half the men he met.
+Pauline, I heard, but seldom ventured forth,
+Save when her doting father took her out
+On Sabbath morns to breathe the balmy air,
+And grace with her sweet face his cushioned pew.
+The smooth-faced suitor, old dame Gossip said,
+Made daily visits to her father's house,
+And played the boy at forty years or more,
+While she had held him off to draw him on.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+"I would not fawn upon the hand that smote;
+I would not cringe beneath its cruel blow,
+Nor even let her know I cared for it.
+I kept aloof--as proud as Lucifer.
+But when the church-bells chimed on Sabbath morn
+To that proud monument of stone I went--
+Her father's pride, since he had led the list
+Of wealthy patrons who had builded it--
+To hear the sermon--for methought Pauline
+Would hear it too. Might I not see her face,
+And she not know I cared to look upon it?
+She came not, and the psalms and sermon fell
+Upon me like an autumn-mist of rain.
+I met her once by chance upon the street--
+The day before the appointed wedding-day--
+Her and her father--she upon his arm.
+'Paul--O Paul!' she said and gave her hand.
+I took it with a cold and careless air--
+Begged pardon--had forgotten;--'Ah--Pauline?--
+Yes, I remembered;--five long years ago--
+And I had made so many later friends,
+And she had lost so much of maiden bloom!'
+Then turning met her father face to face,
+Bowed with cold grace and haughtily passed on.
+'This is revenge,' I muttered. Even then
+My heart ached as I thought of her pale face,
+Her pleading eyes, her trembling, clasping hand!
+And then and there I would have turned about
+To beg her pardon and an interview,
+But pride--that serpent ever in my heart--
+Hissed '_beggar_,' and I cursed her with the lips
+That oft had poured my love into her ears.
+'She marries gold to-morrow--let her wed!
+She will not wed a beggar, but I think
+She'll wed a life-long sorrow--let her wed!
+Aye--aye--I hope she'll live to curse the day
+Whereon she broke her sacred promises.
+And I forgive her?--yea, but not forget.
+I'll take good care that she shall not forget;
+I'll prick her memory with a bitter thorn
+Through all her future. Let her marry gold!'
+Thus ran my muttered words, but in my heart
+There ran a counter-current; ere I slept
+Its silent under-tow had mastered all--
+'Forgive and be forgiven.' I resolved
+That on the morning of her wedding-day
+Would I go kindly and forgive Pauline,
+And send her to the altar with my blessing.
+That night I read a chapter in this book--
+The first for many months, and fell asleep
+Beseeching God to bless her.
+                            Then I dreamed
+That we were kneeling at my mother's bed--
+Her death-bed, and the feeble, trembling hands
+Of her who loved us rested on our heads,
+And in a voice all tremulous with tears
+My mother said: 'Dear children, love each other;
+Bear and forbear, and come to me in heaven.'
+
+"I wakened once--at midnight--a wild cry--
+'_Paul, O Paul!_' rang through my dreams and broke
+My slumber. I arose, but all was still,
+And then I, slept again and dreamed till morn.
+In all my dreams her dear, sweet face appeared--
+Now radiant as a star, and now all pale--
+Now glad with smiles and now all wet with tears.
+Then came a dream that agonized my soul,
+While every limb was bound as if in chains.
+Methought I saw her in the silent night
+Leaning o'er misty waters dark and deep:
+A moan--a plash of waters--and, O Christ!--
+Her agonized face upturned--imploring hands
+Stretched out toward me, and a wailing cry--
+'_Paul, O Paul!_' Then face and hands went down,
+And o'er her closed the deep and dismal flood
+Forever--but it could not drown the cry:
+'_Paul, O Paul!_' was ringing in my ears;
+'_Paul, O Paul!_' was throbbing in my heart;
+And moaning, sobbing in my shuddering soul
+Trembled the wail of anguish--'_Paul, O Paul!_'
+
+"Then o'er the waters stole the silver dawn,
+And lo a fairy boat with silken sail!
+And in the boat an angel at the helm,
+And at her feet the form of her I loved.
+The white mists parted as the boat sped on
+In silence, lessening far and far away.
+And then the sunrise glimmered on the sail
+A moment, and the angel turned her face:
+My mother!--and I gave a joyful cry,
+And stretched my hands, but lo the hovering mists
+Closed in around them and the vision passed.
+
+"The morning sun stole through the window-blinds
+And fell upon my face and wakened me,
+And I lay musing--thinking of Pauline.
+Yes, she should know the depths of all my heart--
+The love I bore her all those lonely years;
+The hope that held me steadfast to my toil,
+And feel the higher and the holier love
+Her precious gift had wakened in my soul.
+Yea, I would bless her for that precious gift--
+I had not known its treasures but for her,
+And O for that would I forgive her all,
+And bless the hand that smote me to the soul.
+That would be comfort to me all my days,
+And if there came a bitter time to her,
+'Twould pain her less to know that I forgave.
+
+"A hasty rapping at my chamber-door;
+In came my school-boy friend whose guest I was,
+And said:
+        'Come, Paul, the town is all ablaze!
+A sad--a strange--a marvelous suicide!
+Pauline, who was to be a bride to-day,
+Was missed at dawn and after sunrise found--
+Traced by her robe and bonnet on the bridge,
+Whence she had thrown herself and made an end--'
+
+"And he went on, but I could hear no more;
+It fell upon me like a flash from heaven.
+As one with sudden terror dumb, I turned
+And in my pillow buried up my face.
+Tears came at last, and then my friend passed out
+In silence. O the agony of that hour!
+O doubts and fears and half-read mysteries
+That tore my heart and tortured all my soul!
+
+"I arose. About the town the wildest tales
+And rumors ran; dame Gossip was agog.
+Some said she had been ill and lost her mind,
+Some whispered hints, and others shook their heads
+But none could fathom the marvelous mystery.
+Bearing a bitter anguish in my heart,
+Half-crazed with dread and doubt and boding fears,
+Hour after hour alone, disconsolate,
+Among the scenes where we had wandered oft
+I wandered, sat where once the stately pines
+Domed the fair temple where we learned to love.
+O spot of sacred memories--how changed!
+Yet chiefly wanting one dear, blushing face
+That, in those happy days, made every place
+Wherever we might wander--hill or dale--
+Garden of love and peace and happiness.
+So heavy-hearted I returned. My friend
+Had brought for me a letter with his mail.
+I knew the hand upon the envelope--
+With throbbing heart I hastened to my room;
+With trembling hands I broke the seal and read.
+One sheet inclosed another--one was writ
+At midnight by my loved and lost Pauline.
+Inclosed within, a letter false and forged,
+Signed with my name--such perfect counterfeit,
+At sight I would have sworn it was my own.
+And thus her letter ran:
+
+                       "'Beloved Paul,
+May God forgive you as my heart forgives.
+Even as a vine that winds about an oak,
+Rot-struck and hollow-hearted, for support,
+Clasping the sapless branches as it climbs
+With tender tendrils and undoubting faith,
+I leaned upon your troth; nay, all my hopes--
+My love, my life, my very hope of heaven--
+I staked upon your solemn promises.
+I learned to love you better than my God;
+My God hath sent me bitter punishment.
+O broken pledges! what have I to live
+And suffer for? Half mad in my distress,
+Yielding at last to father's oft request,
+I pledged my hand to one whose very love
+Would be a curse upon me all my days.
+To-morrow is the promised wedding day;
+To morrow!--but to-morrow shall not come!
+Come gladlier, death, and make an end of all!
+How many weary days and patiently
+I waited for a letter, and at last
+It came--a message crueler than death.
+O take it back!--and if you have a heart
+Yet warm to pity her you swore to love,
+Read it--and think of those dear promises--
+O sacred as the Savior's promises--
+You whispered in my ear that solemn night
+Beneath the pines, and kissed away my tears.
+And know that I forgive, beloved Paul:
+Meet me in heaven. God will not frown upon
+The sin that saves me from a greater sin,
+And sends my soul to Him. Farewell--Farewell.'"
+
+Here he broke down. Unto his pallid lips
+I held a flask of wine. He sipped the wine
+And closed his eyes in silence for a time,
+Resuming thus:
+
+               "You see the wicked plot.
+We both were victims of a crafty scheme
+To break our hearts asunder. Forgery
+Had done its work and pride had aided it.
+The spurious letter was a cruel one--
+Casting her off with utter heartlessness,
+And boasting of a later, dearer love,
+And begging her to burn the _billets-doux_
+A moon-struck boy had sent her ere he found
+That pretty girls were plenty in the world.
+
+"Think you my soul was roiled with anger?--No;--
+God's hand was on my head. A keen remorse
+Gnawed at my heart. O false and fatal pride
+That blinded me, else I had seen the plot
+Ere all was lost--else I had saved a life
+To me most precious of all lives on earth--
+Yea, dearer then than any soul in heaven!
+False pride--the ruin of unnumbered souls--
+Thou art the serpent ever tempting me;
+God, chastening me, has bruised thy serpent head.
+O faithful heart in silence suffering--
+True unto death to one she could but count
+A perjured villain, cheated as she was!
+Captain, I prayed--'twas all that I could do.
+God heard my prayer, and with a solemn heart,
+Bearing the letters in my hand, I went
+To ask a favor of the man who crushed
+And cursed my life--to look upon her face--
+Only to look on her dear face once more.
+
+"I rung the bell--a servant bade me in.
+I waited long. At last the father came--
+All pale and suffering. I could see remorse
+Was gnawing at his heart; as I arose
+He trembled like a culprit on the drop.
+'O, sir,' he said, 'whatever be your quest,
+I pray you leave me with my dead to-day;
+I cannot look on any living face
+Till her dead face is gone forevermore.'
+
+"'And who hath done this cruel thing?' I said.
+'Explain,' he faltered. 'Pray _you_, sir, explain!'
+I said, and thrust the letters in his hand.
+And as he sat in silence reading hers,
+I saw the pangs of conscience on his face;
+I saw him tremble like a stricken soul;
+And then a tear-drop fell upon his hand;
+And there we sat in silence. Then he groaned
+And fell upon his knees and hid his face,
+And stretched his hand toward me wailing out--
+'I cannot bear this burden on my soul;
+O Paul!--O God!--forgive me or I die.'
+
+"His anguish touched my heart. I took his hand,
+And kneeling by him prayed a solemn prayer--
+'Father, forgive him, for he knew not what
+He did who broke the bond that bound us twain.
+O may her spirit whisper in his ear
+Forever--God is love and all is well.
+
+"The iron man--all bowed and broken down--
+Sobbed like a child. He laid his trembling hand
+With many a fervent blessing on my head,
+And, with the crust all crumbled from his heart,
+Arose and led me to her silent couch;
+And I looked in upon my darling dead.
+Mine--O mine in heaven forevermore!
+God's angel sweetly smiling in her sleep;
+How beautiful--how radiant of heaven!
+The ring I gave begirt her finger still;
+Her golden hair was wreathed with immortelles;
+The lips half-parted seemed to move in psalm
+Or holy blessing. As I kissed her brow,
+It seemed as if her dead cheeks flushed again
+As in those happy days beneath the pines;
+And as my warm tears fell upon her face,
+Methought I heard that dear familiar voice
+So full of love and faith and calmest peace,
+So near and yet so far and far away,
+So mortal, yet so spiritual--like an air
+Of softest music on the slumbering bay
+Wafted on midnight wings to silent shores,
+When myriad stars are twinkling in the sea:
+
+[Illustration: 'AND I LOOKED IN UPON MY DARLING DEAD.']
+
+"'_Paul, O Paul, forgive and be forgiven;
+Earth is all trial;--there is peace in heaven_.'
+
+"Aye, Captain, in that sad and solemn hour
+I laid my hand upon the arm of Christ,
+And he hath led me all the weary way
+To this last battle. I shall win through Him;
+And ere you hear the _reveille_ again
+Paul and Pauline, amid the psalms of heaven,
+Embraced will kneel and at the feet of God
+Receive His benediction. Let me sleep.
+You know the rest;--I'm weary and must sleep.
+An angel's bugle-blast will waken me,
+But not to pain, for there is peace in heaven."
+
+He slept, but not the silent sleep of death.
+I felt his fitful pulse and caught anon
+The softly-whispered words "_Pauline_," and "_Peace_."
+Anon he clutched with eager, nervous hand,
+And in hoarse whisper shouted--"_Steady, men_!"
+Then sunk again. Thus passed an hour or more
+And he woke, half-raised himself and said
+With feeble voice and eyes strange luster-lit:
+
+"Captain, my boat is swiftly sailing out
+Into the misty and eternal sea
+From out whose waste no mortal craft returns.
+The fog is closing round me and the mist
+Is damp and cold upon my hands and face.
+Why should I fear?--the loved have gone before:
+I seem to hear the plash of coming oars;
+The mists are lifting and the boat is near.
+'Tis well. To die as I am dying now--
+A soldier's death amid the gladsome shouts
+Of victory for which my puny hands
+Did their full share, albeit it was small,
+Was all my late ambition. Bring the Flag,
+And hold it over my head. Let me die thus
+Under the stars I've followed. Dear old Flag--"
+
+But here his words became inaudible,
+As in the mazes of the Mammoth Cave,
+Fainter and fainter on the listening ear,
+The low, retreating voices die away.
+His eyes were closed; a gentle smile of peace
+Sat on his face. I held his nerveless hand,
+And bent my ear to catch his latest breath;
+And as the spirit fled the pulseless clay,
+I heard--or thought I heard--his wonder-words--
+"_Pauline,--how beautiful!_"
+
+                            As I arose
+The gray dawn paled the shadows in the east.
+
+
+
+
+THE SEA-GULL.[1]
+
+THE LEGEND OF THE PICTURED ROCKS OF LAKE SUPERIOR. OJIBWAY
+
+
+_In the measure of Hiawatha._
+
+[The numerals refer to Notes to The Sea-Gull, in Appendix.]
+
+
+On the shore of Gitchee Gumee[2]--
+Deep, mysterious, mighty waters--
+Where the manitoes--the spirits--
+Ride the storms and speak in thunder,
+In the days of Neme-Shomis,[3]
+In the days that are forgotten,
+Dwelt a tall and tawny hunter--
+Gitchee Pez-ze-u the Panther,
+Son of Waub-Ojeeg,[4] the warrior,
+Famous Waub-Ojeeg, the warrior.
+Strong was he and fleet as roebuck,
+Brave was he and very stealthy;
+On the deer crept like a panther;
+Grappled with Makwa,[5] the monster,
+Grappled with the bear and conquered;
+Took his black claws for a necklet,
+Took his black hide for a blanket.
+
+When the Panther wed the Sea-Gull,
+Young was he and very gladsome;
+Fair was she and full of laughter;
+Like the robin in the spring-time,
+Sang from sunrise till the sunset;
+For she loved the handsome hunter.
+Deep as Gitchee Gumee's waters
+Was her love--as broad and boundless;
+And the wedded twain were happy--
+Happy as the mated robins.
+When their first-born saw the sunlight
+Joyful was the heart of Panther,
+Proud and joyful was the mother.
+All the days were full of sunshine,
+All the nights were full of starlight.
+Nightly from the land of spirits
+On them smiled the starry faces--
+Faces of their friends departed.
+Little moccasins she made him,
+Feathered cap and belt of wampum;
+From the hide of fawn a blanket,
+Fringed with feathers, soft as sable;
+Singing at her pleasant labor,
+By her side the tekenagun, [6]
+And the little hunter in it,
+Oft the Panther smiled and fondled,
+Smiled upon the babe and mother,
+Frolicked with the boy and fondled,
+Tall he grew and like his father,
+And they called the boy the Raven--
+Called him Kak-kah-ge--the Raven.
+Happy hunter was the Panther.
+From the woods he brought the pheasant,
+Brought the red deer and the rabbit,
+Brought the trout from Gitchee Gumee--
+Brought the mallard from the marshes--
+Royal feast for boy and mother:
+Brought the hides of fox and beaver,
+Brought the skins of mink and otter,
+Lured the loon and took his blanket,
+Took his blanket for the Raven.
+Winter swiftly followed winter,
+And again the tekenagun
+Held a babe--a tawny daughter,
+Held a dark-eyed, dimpled daughter;
+And they called her Waub-omee-mee
+Thus they named her--the White-Pigeon.
+But as winter followed winter
+Cold and sullen grew the Panther;
+Sat and smoked his pipe in silence;
+When he spoke he spoke in anger;
+In the forest often tarried
+Many days, and homeward turning,
+Brought no game unto his wigwam;
+Only brought his empty quiver,
+Brought his dark and sullen visage.
+
+Sad at heart and very lonely
+Sat the Sea-Gull in the wigwam;
+Sat and swung the tekenagun
+Sat and sang to Waub-omee-mee:
+Thus she sang to Waub-omee-mee,
+Thus the lullaby she chanted:
+
+    Wa-wa, wa-wa, wa-we-yea;
+    Kah-ween, nee-zheka ke-diaus-ai,
+    Ke-gah nau-wai, ne-me-go s'ween,
+    Ne-baun, ne-baun, ne-daun-is ais,
+    Wa-wa, wa-wa, wa-we-yea;
+    Ne-baun, ne-baun, ne-daun-is-ais,
+    E-we wa-wa, wa-we-yea,
+    E-we wa-wa, wa-we-yea.
+
+    TRANSLATION
+
+    Swing, swing, little one, lullaby;
+    Thou'rt not left alone to weep;
+    Mother cares for you--she is nigh;
+    Sleep, my little one, sweetly sleep;
+    Swing, swing, little one, lullaby;
+    Mother watches you--she is nigh;
+    Gently, gently, wee one, swing;
+    Gently, gently, while I sing
+    E-we wa-wa--lullaby,
+    E-we wa-wa--lullaby.
+
+Homeward to his lodge returning
+Kindly greeting found the hunter,
+Fire to warm and food to nourish,
+Golden trout from Gitchee Gumee,
+Caught by Kah-kah-ge--the Raven.
+With a snare he caught the rabbit--
+Caught Wabose,[7] the furry-footed,
+Caught Penay,[7] the forest-drummer;
+Sometimes with his bow and arrows,
+Shot the red deer in the forest,
+Shot the squirrel in the pine-top,
+Shot Ne-ka, the wild-goose, flying.
+Proud as Waub-Ojeeg, the warrior,
+To the lodge he bore his trophies.
+So when homeward turned the Panther,
+Ever found he food provided,
+Found the lodge-fire brightly burning,
+Found the faithful Sea-Gull waiting.
+"You are cold," she said, "and famished;
+Here are fire and food, my husband."
+Not by word or look he answered;
+Only ate the food provided,
+Filled his pipe and pensive puffed it,
+Sat and smoked in sullen silence.
+Once--her dark eyes full of hunger--
+Thus she spoke and thus besought him:
+"Tell me, O my silent Panther,
+Tell me, O beloved husband,
+What has made you sad and sullen?
+Have you met some evil spirit--
+Met some goblin in the forest?
+Has he put a spell upon you--
+Filled your heart with bitter waters,
+That you sit so sad and sullen,
+Sit and smoke, but never answer,
+Only when the storm is on you?"
+
+Gruffly then the Panther answered:
+"Brave among the brave is Panther
+Son of Waub-Ojeeg, the warrior,
+And the brave are ever silent;
+But a whining dog is woman,
+Whining ever like a coward."
+Forth into the tangled forest,
+Threading through the thorny thickets,
+Treading trails on marsh and meadow,
+Sullen strode the moody hunter.
+Saw he not the bear or beaver,
+Saw he not the elk or roebuck;
+From his path the red fawn scampered,
+But no arrow followed after;
+From his den the sly wolf listened,
+But no twang of bow-string heard he.
+Like one walking in his slumber,
+Listless, dreaming, walked the Panther;
+Surely had some witch bewitched him,
+Some bad spirit of the forest.
+
+When the Sea-Gull wed the Panther,
+Fair was she and full of laughter;
+Like the robin in the spring-time,
+Sang from sunrise till the sunset;
+But the storms of many winters
+Sifted frost upon her tresses,
+Seamed her tawny face with wrinkles.
+Not alone the storms of winters
+Seamed her tawny face with wrinkles.
+Twenty winters for the Panther
+Had she ruled the humble wigwam;
+For her haughty lord and master
+Borne the burdens on the journey,
+Gathered fagots for the lodge-fire,
+Tanned the skins of bear and beaver,
+Tanned the hides of moose and red-deer;
+Made him moccasins and leggins,
+Decked his hood with quills and feathers--
+Colored quills of Kaug,[8] the thorny,
+Feathers from Kenew,[8] the eagle.
+For a warrior brave was Panther;
+Often had he met the foemen,
+Met the bold and fierce Dakotas,
+Westward on the war-path met them;
+And the scalps he won were numbered,
+Numbered seven by Kenew-feathers.
+Sad at heart was Sea-Gull waiting,
+Watching, waiting in the wigwam;
+Not alone the storms of winters
+Sifted frost upon her tresses.
+
+Ka-be-bon-ik-ka, the mighty,[9]
+He that sends the cruel winter,
+He that turned to stone the Giant,
+From the distant Thunder-mountain,
+Far across broad Gitchee Gumee,
+Sent his warning of the winter,
+Sent the white frost and Kewaydin,[10]
+Sent the swift and hungry North-wind.
+Homeward to the South the Summer
+Turned and fled the naked forests.
+With the Summer flew the robin,
+Flew the bobolink and blue-bird.
+Flock-wise following chosen leaders,
+Like the shaftless heads of arrows
+Southward cleaving through the ether,
+Soon the wild-geese followed after.
+One long moon the Sea-Gull waited,
+Watched and waited for her husband,
+Till at last she heard his footsteps,
+Heard him coming through the thicket.
+Forth she went to met her husband,
+Joyful went to greet her husband.
+Lo behind the haughty hunter,
+Closely following in his footsteps,
+Walked a young and handsome woman,
+Walked the Red Fox from the island--
+Gitchee Menis the Grand Island--
+Followed him into the wigwam,
+Proudly took her seat beside him.
+On the Red Fox smiled the hunter,
+On the hunter smiled the woman.
+
+Old and wrinkled was the Sea-Gull,
+Good and true, but old and wrinkled.
+Twenty winters for the Panther
+Had she ruled the humble wigwam,
+Borne the burdens on the journey,
+Gathered fagots for the lodge-fire,
+Tanned the skins of bear and beaver,
+Tanned the hides of moose and red-deer,
+Made him moccasins and leggins,
+Decked his hood with quills and feathers,
+Colored quills of Kaug, the thorny,
+Feathers from the great war-eagle;
+Ever diligent and faithful,
+Ever patient, ne'er complaining.
+But like all brave men the Panther
+Loved a young and handsome woman;
+So he dallied with the danger,
+Dallied with the fair Algonkin,[11]
+Till a magic mead she gave him,
+Brewed of buds of birch and cedar.[12]
+Madly then he loved the woman;
+Then she ruled him, then she held him
+Tangled in her raven tresses,
+Tied and tangled in her tresses.
+
+Ah, the tall and tawny Panther!
+Ah, the brave and brawny Panther!
+Son of Waub-Ojeeg, the warrior!
+With a slender hair she led him,
+With a slender hair she drew him,
+Drew him often to her wigwam;
+There she bound him, there she held him
+Tangled in her raven tresses,
+Tied and tangled in her tresses.
+Ah, the best of men are tangled--
+Sometimes tangled in the tresses
+Of a fair and crafty woman.
+
+So the Panther wed the Red Fox,
+And she followed to his wigwam.
+Young again he seemed and gladsome,
+Glad as Raven when the father
+Made his first bow from the elm-tree,
+From the ash-tree made his arrows,
+Taught him how to aim his arrows,
+How to shoot Wabose--the rabbit.
+Then again the brawny hunter
+Brought the black bear and the beaver,
+Brought the haunch of elk and red-deer,
+Brought the rabbit and the pheasant--
+Choicest bits of all for Red Fox.
+For her robes he brought the sable,
+Brought the otter and the ermine,
+Brought the black-fox tipped with silver.
+
+But the Sea-Gull murmured never,
+Not a word she spoke in anger,
+Went about her work as ever,
+Tanned the skins of bear and beaver,
+Tanned the hides of moose and red-deer,
+Gathered fagots for the lodge-fire,
+Gathered rushes from the marshes;
+Deftly into mats she wove them;
+Kept the lodge as bright as ever.
+Only to herself she murmured,
+All alone with Waub-omee-mee,
+On the tall and toppling highland,
+O'er the wilderness of waters;
+Murmured to the murmuring waters,
+Murmured to the Nebe-naw-baigs--
+To the spirits of the waters;
+On the wild waves poured her sorrow.
+Save the infant on her bosom
+With her dark eyes wide with wonder,
+None to hear her but the spirits,
+And the murmuring pines above her.
+Thus she cast away her burdens,
+Cast her burdens on the waters;
+Thus unto the good Great Spirit,
+Made her lowly lamentation:
+"Wahonowin!--showiness![13]
+Gitchee Manito, bena-nin!
+Nah, Ba-ba, showain nemeshin!
+Wahonowin!--Wahonowin!"
+
+Ka-be-bon-ik-ka,[9] the mighty,
+He that sends the cruel winter,
+From the distant Thunder-mountain
+On the shore of Gitchee Gumee,
+On the rugged northern border,
+Sent his solemn, final warning,
+Sent the white wolves of the Nor'land.[14]
+Like the dust of stars in ether--
+In the Pathway of the Spirits,[15]
+Like the sparkling dust of diamonds,
+Fell the frost upon the forest,
+On the mountains and the meadows,
+On the wilderness of woodland,
+On the wilderness of waters.
+All the lingering fowls departed--
+All that seek the South in winter,
+All but Shingebis, the diver;[16]
+He defies the Winter-maker,
+Sits and laughs at Winter-maker.
+
+Ka-be-bon-ik-ka, the mighty,
+From his wigwam called Kewaydin--
+From his home among the icebergs,
+From the sea of frozen waters,
+Called the swift and hungry North-wind.
+Then he spread his mighty pinions
+Over all the land and shook them.
+Like the white down of Waubese[17]
+Fell the feathery snow and covered
+All the marshes and the meadows,
+All the hill-tops and the highlands.
+Then old Peboean[18]--the winter--
+Laughed along the stormy waters,
+Danced upon the windy headlands,
+On the storm his white hair streaming,
+And his steaming breath, ascending,
+On the pine-tops and the cedars
+Fell in frosty mists of silver,
+Sprinkling spruce and fir with silver,
+Sprinkling all the woods with silver.
+
+By the lodge-fire all the winter
+Sat the Sea-Gull and the Red Fox,
+Sat and kindly spoke and chatted,
+Till the twain seemed friends together.
+Friends they seemed in word and action,
+But within the breast of either
+Smoldered still the baneful embers--
+Fires of jealousy and hatred--
+Like a camp-fire in the forest
+Left by hunters and deserted;
+Only seems a bed of ashes,
+But the East wind, Wabun-noodin,
+Scatters through the woods the ashes,
+Fans to flame the sleeping embers,
+And the wild-fire roars and rages,
+Roars and rages through the forest.
+So the baneful embers smoldered,
+Smoldered in the breast of either.
+From the far-off Sunny Islands,
+From the pleasant land of Summer,
+Where the spirits of the blessed
+Feel no more the fangs of hunger,
+Or the cold breath of Kewaydin,
+Came a stately youth and handsome,
+Came Segun,[19] the foe of Winter.
+Like the rising sun his face was,
+Like the shining stars his eyes were,
+Light his footsteps as the Morning's,
+In his hand were buds and blossoms,
+On his brow a blooming garland.
+Straightway to the icy wigwam
+Of old Peboean, the Winter,
+Strode Segun and quickly entered.
+There old Peboean sat and shivered,
+Shivered o'er his dying lodge-fire.
+
+"Ah, my son, I bid you welcome;
+Sit and tell me your adventures;
+I will tell you of my power;
+We will pass the night together."
+Thus spake Peboean--the Winter;
+Then he filled his pipe and lighted;
+Then by sacred custom raised it
+To the spirits in the ether;
+To the spirits in the caverns
+Of the hollow earth he lowered it.
+Thus he passed it to the spirits,
+And the unseen spirits puffed it.
+Next himself old Peboean honored;
+Thrice he puffed his pipe and passed it,
+Passed it to the handsome stranger.
+
+"Lo I blow my breath," said Winter,
+"And the laughing brooks are silent.
+Hard as flint become the waters,
+And the rabbit runs upon them."
+
+Then Segun, the fair youth, answered:
+"Lo I breathe upon the hillsides,
+On the valleys and the meadows,
+And behold as if by magic--
+By the magic of the spirits,
+Spring the flowers and tender grasses."
+
+Then old Peboean replying:
+"_Nah!_[20] I breathe upon the forests,
+And the leaves fall sere and yellow;
+Then I shake my locks and snow falls,
+Covering all the naked landscape."
+
+Then Segun arose and answered:
+"_Nashke!_[20]--see!--I shake my ringlets;
+On the earth the warm rain falleth,
+And the flowers look up like children
+Glad-eyed from their mother's bosom.
+Lo my voice recalls the robin,
+Brings the bobolink and bluebird,
+And the woods are full of music.
+With my breath I melt their fetters,
+And the brooks leap laughing onward."
+
+Then old Peboean looked upon him,
+Looked and knew Segun, the Summer.
+From his eyes the big tears started
+And his boastful tongue was silent.
+Now Keezis--the great life-giver,
+From his wigwam in Waubu-nong[21]
+Rose and wrapped his shining blanket
+Round his giant form and started,
+Westward started on his journey,
+Striding on from hill to hill-top.
+Upward then he climbed the ether--
+On the Bridge of Stars[22] he traveled,
+Westward traveled on his journey
+To the far-off Sunset Mountains--
+To the gloomy land of shadows.
+
+On the lodge-poles sang the robin--
+And the brooks began to murmur.
+On the South-wind floated fragrance
+Of the early buds and blossoms.
+From old Peboean's eyes the tear-drops
+Down his pale face ran in streamlets;
+Less and less he grew in stature
+Till he melted down to nothing;
+And behold, from out the ashes,
+From the ashes of his lodge-fire,
+Sprang the Miscodeed[23] and, blushing,
+Welcomed Segun to the North-land.
+
+So from Sunny Isles returning,
+From the Summer-Land of spirits,
+On the poles of Panther's wigwam
+Sang Opee-chee--sang the robin.
+In the maples cooed the pigeons--
+Cooed and wooed like silly lovers.
+"Hah!--hah!" laughed the crow derisive,
+In the pine-top, at their folly--
+Laughed and jeered the silly lovers.
+Blind with love were they, and saw not;
+Deaf to all but love, and heard not;
+So they cooed and wooed unheeding,
+Till the gray hawk pounced upon them,
+And the old crow shook with laughter.
+
+[Illustration: SEGUN AND PEBOAN]
+
+On the tall cliff by the sea-shore
+Red Fox made a swing. She fastened
+Thongs of moose-hide to the pine-tree,
+To the strong arm of the pine-tree.
+Like a hawk, above the waters,
+There she swung herself and fluttered,
+Laughing at the thought of danger,
+Swung and fluttered o'er the waters.
+Then she bantered Sea-Gull, saying,
+"See!--I swing above the billows!
+Dare you swing above the billows--
+Swing like me above the billows?"
+
+To herself said Sea-Gull--"Surely
+I will dare whatever danger
+Dares the Red Fox--dares my rival;
+She shall never call me coward."
+So she swung above the waters--
+Dizzy height above the waters,
+Pushed and aided by her rival,
+To and fro with reckless daring,
+Till the strong tree rocked and trembled,
+Rocked and trembled with its burden.
+As above the yawning billows
+Flew the Sea-Gull like a whirlwind,
+Red Fox, swifter than red lightning,
+Cut the thongs, and headlong downward,
+Like an osprey from the ether,
+Like a wild-goose pierced with arrows,
+Fluttering fell the frantic woman,
+Fluttering fell into the waters--
+Plunged and sunk beneath the waters!
+Hark!--the wailing of the West-wind!
+Hark!--the wailing of the waters,
+And the beating of the billows!
+But no more the voice of Sea-Gull.
+
+[Illustration: FLUTTERING FELL THE FRANTIC WOMAN]
+
+In the wigwam sat the Red Fox,
+Hushed the wail of Waub-omee-mee,
+Weeping for her absent mother.
+With the twinkling stars the hunter
+From the forest came and Raven.
+"Sea-Gull wanders late," said Red Fox,
+"Late she wanders by the sea-shore,
+And some evil may befall her."
+In the misty morning twilight
+Forth went Panther and the Raven,
+Searched the forest and the marshes,
+Searched for leagues along the lake-shore,
+Searched the islands and the highlands;
+But they found no trace or tidings,
+Found no track in marsh or meadow,
+Found no trail in fen or forest,
+On the shore-sand found no footprints.
+Many days they sought and found not.
+Then to Panther spoke the Raven:
+"She is in the Land of Spirits--
+Surely in the Land of Spirits.
+High at midnight I beheld her--
+Like a flying star beheld her--
+To the waves of Gitchee Gumee
+Downward flashing through the ether.
+Thus she flashed that I might see her,
+See and know my mother's spirit;
+Thus she pointed to the waters,
+And beneath them lies her body,
+In the wigwam of the spirits--
+In the lodge of Nebe-naw-baigs."[24]
+
+Then spoke Panther to the Raven:
+"On the tall cliff by the waters
+Wait and watch with Waub-omee-mee.
+If the Sea-Gull hear the wailing
+Of her infant she will answer."
+
+On the tall cliff by the waters
+So the Raven watched and waited;
+All the day he watched and waited,
+But the hungry infant slumbered,
+Slumbered by the side of Raven,
+Till the pines' gigantic shadows
+Stretched and pointed to Waubu-nong[21]--
+To the far-off land of Sunrise;
+Then the wee one woke and, famished,
+Made a long and piteous wailing.
+
+From afar where sky and waters
+Meet in misty haze and mingle,
+Straight toward the rocky highland,
+Straight as flies the feathered arrow,
+Straight to Raven and the infant,
+Swiftly flew a snow-white sea-gull--
+Flew and touched the earth a woman.
+And behold, the long-lost mother
+Caught her wailing child and nursed her,
+Sang a lullaby and nursed her.
+
+Thrice was wound a chain of silver
+Round her waist and strongly fastened.
+Far away into the waters--
+To the wigwam of the spirits--
+To the lodge of Nebe-naw-baigs--
+Stretched the magic chain of silver.
+Spoke the mother to the Raven:
+"O my son--my brave young hunter,
+Feed my tender little orphan;
+Be a father to my orphan;
+Be a mother to my orphan--
+For the crafty Red Fox robbed us--
+Robbed the Sea-Gull of her husband,
+Robbed the infant of her mother.
+From this cliff the treacherous woman
+Headlong into Gitchee Gumee
+Plunged the mother of my orphan.
+Then a Nebe-naw-baig caught me--
+Chief of all the Nebe-naw-baigs--
+Took me to his shining wigwam,
+In the cavern of the waters,
+Deep beneath the mighty waters.
+All below is burnished copper,
+All above is burnished silver
+Gemmed with amethyst and agates.
+As his wife the Spirit holds me;
+By this silver chain he holds me.
+
+"When my little one is famished,
+When with long and piteous wailing
+Cries the orphan for her mother,
+Hither bring her, O my Raven;
+I will hear her--I will answer.
+Now the Nebe-naw-baig calls me--
+Pulls the chain--I must obey him."
+Thus she spoke, and in the twinkling
+Of a star the spirit-woman
+Changed into a snow-white sea-gull,
+Spread her wings and o'er the waters
+Swiftly flew and swiftly vanished.
+Then in secret to the Panther
+Raven told his tale of wonder.
+Sad and sullen was the hunter;
+Sorrow gnawed his heart like hunger;
+All the old love came upon him,
+And the new love was a hatred.
+Hateful to his heart was Red Fox,
+But he kept from her the secret--
+Kept his knowledge of the murder.
+Vain was she and very haughty--
+Oge-ma-kwa[25] of the wigwam.
+All in vain her fond caresses
+On the Panther now she lavished;
+When she smiled his face was sullen,
+When she laughed he frowned upon her;
+In her net of raven tresses
+Now no more she held him tangled.
+Now through all her fair disguises
+Panther saw an evil spirit,
+Saw the false heart of the woman.
+
+On the tall cliff o'er the waters
+Raven sat with Waub-omee-mee,
+Sat and watched again and waited,
+Till the wee one, faint and famished,
+Made a long and piteous wailing.
+Then again the snow-white Sea-Gull,
+From afar where sky and waters
+Meet in misty haze and mingle,
+Straight toward the rocky highland,
+Straight as flies the feathered arrow,
+Straight to Raven and the infant,
+With the silver chain around her,
+Flew and touched the earth a woman.
+In her arms she caught her infant--
+Caught the wailing Waub-omee-mee,
+Sang a lullaby and nursed her.
+Sprang the Panther from the thicket--
+Sprang and broke the chain of silver!
+With his tomahawk he broke it.
+Thus he freed the willing Sea-Gull--
+From the Water-Spirit freed her,
+From the Chief of Nebe-naw-baigs.
+
+Very angry was the Spirit;
+When he drew the chain of silver,
+Drew and found that it was broken,
+Found that he had lost the woman,
+Very angry was the Spirit.
+Then he raged beneath the waters,
+Raged and smote the mighty waters,
+Till the big sea boiled and bubbled,
+Till the white-haired, bounding billows
+Roared around the rocky headlands,
+Rolled and roared upon the shingle.
+
+To the wigwam happy Panther,
+As when first he wooed and won her
+Led his wife--as young and handsome.
+For the waves of Gitchee Gumee
+Washed away the frost and wrinkles,
+And the spirits by their magic
+Made her young and fair forever.
+
+In the wigwam sat the Red Fox,
+Sat and sang a song of triumph,
+For she little dreamed of danger,
+Till the haughty hunter entered,
+Followed by the happy mother,
+Holding in her arms her infant.
+When the Red Fox saw the Sea-Gull--
+Saw the dead a living woman,
+One wild cry she gave despairing,
+One wild cry as of a demon.
+Up she sprang and from the wigwam
+To the tall cliff flew in terror;
+Frantic sprang upon the margin,
+Frantic plunged into the waters,
+Headlong plunged into the waters.
+
+Dead she tossed upon the billows;
+For the Nebe-naw-baigs knew her,
+Knew the crafty, wicked woman,
+And they cast her from the waters,
+Spurned her from their shining wigwams;
+Far away upon the shingle
+With the roaring waves they cast her.
+There upon her bloated body
+Fed the cawing crows and ravens,
+Fed the hungry wolves and foxes.
+
+On the shore of Gitchee Gumee,
+Ever young and ever handsome,
+Long and happy lived the Sea-Gull,
+Long and happy with the Panther.
+Evermore the happy hunter
+Loved the mother of his children.
+Like a red star many winters
+Blazed their lodge-fire on the sea-shore.
+O'er the Bridge of Souls[26] together
+Walked the Sea-Gull and the Panther.
+To the far-off Sunny Islands--
+To the Summer-Land of Spirits,
+Sea-Gull journeyed with her husband--
+Where no more the happy hunter
+Feels the fangs of frost or famine,
+Or the keen blasts of Kewaydin,
+Where no pain or sorrow enters,
+And no crafty, wicked woman.
+There she rules his lodge forever,
+And the twain are very happy,
+On the far-off Sunny Islands,
+In the Summer-Land of Spirits.
+On the rocks of Gitchee Gumee--
+On the Pictured Rocks--the legend
+Long ago was traced and written,
+Pictured by the Water-Spirits;
+But the storms of many winters
+Have bedimmed the pictured story,
+So that none can read the legend
+But the Jossakeeds,[27] the prophets.
+
+POETRY.
+
+
+I had rather write one word upon the rock
+Of ages than ten thousand in the sand.
+The rock of ages! lo I cannot reach
+Its lofty shoulders with my puny hand:
+I can but touch the sands about its feet.
+Yea, I have painted pictures for the blind,
+And sung my sweetest songs to ears of stone.
+What matter if the dust of ages drift
+Five fathoms deep above my grave unknown,
+For I have sung and loved the songs I sung.
+Who sings for fame the Muses may disown;
+Who sings for gold will sing an idle song;
+But he who sings because sweet music springs
+Unbidden from his heart and warbles long,
+May haply touch another heart unknown.
+There is sweeter poetry in the hearts of men
+Than ever poet wrote or minstrel sung;
+For words are clumsy wings for burning thought.
+The full heart falters on the stammering tongue,
+And silence is more eloquent than song
+When tender souls are wrung by grief or shameful wrong.
+
+The grandest poem is God's Universe:
+In measured rhythm the planets whirl their course:
+Rhythm swells and throbs in every sun and star,
+In mighty ocean's organ-peals and roar,
+In billows bounding on the harbor-bar,
+In the blue surf that rolls upon the shore,
+In the low zephyr's sigh, the tempest's sob,
+In the rain's patter and the thunder's roar;
+Aye, in the awful earthquake's shuddering throb,
+When old Earth cracks her bones and trembles to her core.
+
+I hear a piper piping on a reed
+To listening flocks of sheep and bearded goats;
+I hear the larks shrill-warbling o'er the mead
+Their silver sonnets from their golden throats;
+And in my boyhood's clover-fields I hear
+The twittering swallows and the hum of bees.
+Ah, sweeter to my heart and to my ear
+Than any idyl poet ever sung,
+The low, sweet music of their melodies;
+Because I listened when my soul was young,
+In those dear meadows under maple trees.
+My heart they molded when its clay was moist,
+And all my life the hum of honey-bees
+Hath waked in me a spirit that rejoiced,
+And touched the trembling chords of tenderest memories.
+
+I hear loud voices and a clamorous throng
+With braying bugles and with bragging drums--
+Bards and bardies laboring at a song.
+One lifts his locks, above the rest preferred,
+And to the buzzing flies of fashion thrums
+A banjo. Lo him follow all the herd.
+When Nero's wife put on her auburn wig,
+And at the Coliseum showed her head,
+The hair of every dame in Rome turned red;
+When Nero fiddled all Rome danced a jig.
+Novelty sets the gabbling geese agape,
+And fickle fashion follows like an ape.
+Aye, brass is plenty; gold is scarce and dear;
+Crystals abound, but diamonds still are rare.
+Is this the golden age, or the age of gold?
+Lo by the page or column fame is sold.
+Hear the big journal braying like an ass;
+Behold the brazen statesmen as they pass;
+See dapper poets hurrying for their dimes
+With hasty verses hammered out in rhymes:
+The Muses whisper--'"Tis the age of brass."
+Workmen are plenty, but the masters few--
+Fewer to-day than in the days of old.
+Rare blue-eyed pansies peeping pearled with dew,
+And lilies lifting up their heads of gold,
+Among the gaudy cockscombs I behold,
+And here and there a lotus in the shade;
+And under English oaks a rose that ne'er will fade.
+
+Fair barks that flutter in the sun your sails,
+Piping anon to gay and tented shores
+Sweet music and low laughter, it is well
+Ye hug the haven when the tempest roars,
+For only stalwart ships of oak or steel
+May dare the deep and breast the billowy sea
+When sweeps the thunder-voiced, dark hurricane,
+And the mad ocean shakes his shaggy mane,
+And roars through all his grim and vast immensity.
+
+The stars of heaven shine not till it is dark.
+Seven cities strove for Homer's bones, 'tis said,
+"Through which the living Homer begged for bread."
+When in their coffins they lay dumb and stark
+Shakespeare began to live, Dante to sing,
+And Poe's sweet lute began its werbelling.
+Rear monuments of fame or flattery--
+Think ye their sleeping souls are made aware?
+Heap o'er their heads sweet praise or calumny--
+Think ye their moldering ashes hear or care?
+Nay, praise and fame are by the living sought;
+But he is wise who scorns their flattery,
+And who escapes the tongue of calumny
+May count himself an angel or a naught:
+Lo over Byron's grave a maggot writhes distraught.
+
+Genius is patience, labor and good sense.
+Steel and the mind grow bright by frequent use;
+In rest they rust. A goodly recompense
+Comes from hard toil, but not from its abuse.
+The slave, the idler, are alike unblessed;
+Aye, in loved labor only is there rest.
+But he will read and range and rhyme in vain
+Who hath no dust of diamonds in his brain;
+And untaught genius is a gem undressed.
+The life of man is short, but Art is long,
+And labor is the lot of mortal man,
+Ordained by God since human time began:
+Day follows day and brings its toil and song.
+Behind the western mountains sinks the moon,
+The silver dawn steals in upon the dark,
+Up from the dewy meadow wheels the lark
+And trills his welcome to the rising sun,
+And lo another day of labor is begun.
+
+Poets are born, not made, some scribbler said,
+And every rhymester thinks the saying true:
+Better unborn than wanting labor's aid:
+Aye, all great poets--all great men--are made
+Between the hammer and the anvil. Few
+Have the true metal, many have the fire.
+No slave or savage ever proved a bard;
+Men have their bent, but labor its reward,
+And untaught fingers cannot tune the lyre.
+The poet's brain with spirit-vision teems;
+The voice of nature warbles in his heart;
+A sage, a seer, he moves from men apart,
+And walks among the shadows of his dreams;
+He sees God's light that in all nature beams;
+And when he touches with the hand of art
+The song of nature welling from his heart,
+And guides it forth in pure and limpid streams,
+Truth sparkles in the song and like a diamond gleams.
+
+Time and patience change the mulberry-leaf
+To shining silk; the lapidary's skill
+Makes the rough diamond sparkle at his will,
+And cuts a gem from quartz or coral-reef.
+Better a skillful cobbler at his last
+Than unlearned poet twangling on the lyre;
+Who sails on land and gallops on the blast,
+And mounts the welkin on a braying ass,
+Clattering a shattered cymbal bright with brass,
+And slips his girth and tumbles in the mire.
+All poetry must be, if it be true,
+Like the keen arrows of the--Grecian god
+Apollo, that caught fire as they flew.
+Ah, such was Byron's, but alas he trod
+Ofttimes among the brambles and the rue,
+And sometimes dived full deep and brought up mud.
+But when he touched with tears, as only he
+Could touch, the tender chords of sympathy,
+His coldest critics warmed and marveled much,
+And all old England's heart throbbed to his thrilling touch.
+
+Truth is the touchstone of all genius Art,
+In poet, painter, sculptor, is the same:
+What cometh from the heart goes to the heart,
+What comes from effort only is but tame.
+Nature the only perfect artist is:
+Who studies Nature may approach her skill;
+Perfection hers, but never can be his,
+Though her sweet voice his very marrow thrill;
+The finest works of art are Nature's shadows still.
+
+Look not for faultless men or faultless art;
+Small faults are ever virtue's parasites:
+As in a picture shadows show the lights,
+So human foibles show a human heart.
+
+O while I live and linger on the brink
+Let the dear Muses be my company;
+Their nectared goblets let my parched lips drink;
+Ah, let me drink the _soma_ of their lips!
+As humming-bird the lily's nectar sips,
+Or _Houris_ sip the wine of Salsabil.
+Aye, let me to their throbbing music thrill,
+And let me never for one moment think,
+Although no laurel crown my constancy,
+Their gracious smiles are false, their dearest kiss a lie.
+
+
+
+
+TWENTY YEARS AGO
+
+
+I am growing old and weary
+  Ere yet my locks are gray;
+Before me lies eternity,
+  Behind me--but a day.
+How fast the years are vanishing!
+  They melt like April snow:
+It seems to me but yesterday--
+  Twenty years ago.
+
+There's the school-house on the hill-side,
+  And the romping scholars all;
+Where we used to con our daily tasks,
+  And play our games of ball.
+They rise to me in visions--
+  In sunny dreams--and ho'
+I sport among the boys and girls
+  Twenty years ago.
+
+We played at ball in summer time--
+  We boys--with hearty will;
+With merry shouts in winter time
+  We coasted on the hill.
+We would choose our chiefs, divide in bands,
+  And build our forts of snow,
+And storm those forts right gallantly--
+  Twenty years ago.
+
+Last year in June I visited
+  That dear old sacred spot,
+But the school-house on the hill-side
+  And the merry shouts were not.
+A church was standing where it stood;
+  I looked around, but no--
+I could not see the boys and girls
+  Of twenty years ago.
+
+There was sister dear, and brother,
+  Around the old home-hearth;
+And a tender, Christian mother,
+  Too angel-like for earth.
+She used to warn me from the paths
+  Where thorns and brambles grow,
+And lead me in the "narrow way"--
+  Twenty years ago.
+
+I loved her and I honored her
+  Through all my boyhood years;
+I knew her joys--I knew her cares--
+  I knew her hopes and fears.
+But alas, one autumn morning
+  She left her home below,
+And she left us there a-weeping--
+  Twenty years ago.
+
+They bore her to the church-yard,
+  With slow and solemn pace;
+And there I took my last fond look
+  On her dear, peaceful face.
+They lowered her in her silent grave,
+  While we bowed our heads in woe,
+And they heaped the sods above her head--
+  Twenty years ago.
+
+That low, sweet voice--my mother's voice--
+  I never can forget;
+And in those loving eyes I see
+  The big tears trembling yet.
+I try to tread the "narrow way;"
+  I stumble oft I know:
+I miss--how much!--the helping hand
+  Of twenty years ago.
+
+Mary--(Mary I will call you--
+  'Tis not the old-time name)
+Sainted Mary--blue-eyed Mary--
+  Are you in heaven the same?
+Are your eyes as bright and beautiful,
+  Your cheeks as full of glow,
+As when the school-boy kissed you, May,
+  Twenty years ago?
+
+How we swung upon the grape-vine
+  Down by the Genesee;
+  And I caught the speckled trout for you,
+    While you gathered flowers for me:
+  How we rambled o'er the meadows
+    With brows and cheeks aglow,
+  And hearts like God's own angels--
+    Twenty years ago.
+
+[Illustration: HOW, WE SWUNG UPON THE GRAPE-VINE DOWN BY THE GENESEE,
+AND I CAUGHT THE SPECKLED TROUT FOR YOU, WHILE YOU GATHERED FLOWERS FOR
+ME]
+
+How our young hearts grew together
+  Until they beat as one;
+Distrust it could not enter;
+  Cares and fears were none.
+All my love was yours, dear Mary,
+  'Twas boyish love, I know;
+But I ne'er have loved as then I loved--
+  Twenty years ago.
+
+How we pictured out the future--
+  The golden coming years,
+And saw no cloud in all our sky,
+  No gloomy mist of tears;
+But ah--how vain are human hopes!
+  The angels came--and O--
+They bore my darling up to heaven--
+  Twenty years ago.
+
+I will not tell--I cannot tell--
+  What anguish wrung my soul;
+But a silent grief is on my heart
+  Though the years so swiftly roll;
+And I cannot shake it off, May,
+  This lingering sense of woe,
+Though I try to drown the memory
+  Of twenty years ago.
+
+I am fighting life's stern battle, May,
+  With all my might and main;
+But a seat by you and mother there
+  Is the dearest prize to gain;
+And I know you both are near me,
+  Whatever winds may blow,
+For I feel your spirits cheer me
+  Like twenty years ago.
+
+
+
+
+BETZKO
+
+A HUNGARIAN LEGEND
+
+Stibor had led in many a fight,
+  And broken a score of swords
+In furious frays and bloody raids
+  Against the Turkish hordes.
+
+And Sigismund, the Polish king,
+  Who joined the Magyar bands,
+Bestowed upon the valiant knight
+  A broad estate of lands.
+
+Once when the wars were o'er, the knight
+  Was holding wassail high,
+And the valiant men that followed him
+  Were at the revelry.
+
+Betzko, his Jester, pleased him so
+  He vowed it his the task
+To do whatever in human power
+  His witty Fool might ask.
+
+"Build on yon cliff," the Jester cried,
+  In drunken jollity,
+"A mighty castle high and wide,
+  And name it after me."
+
+"Ah, verily a Jester's prayer,"
+  Exclaimed the knightly crew,
+"To ask of such a noble lord
+  What you know he cannot do."
+
+"Who says I cannot," Stibor cried,
+  "Do whatsoe'er I will?
+Within one year a castle shall stand
+  On yonder rocky hill--
+
+"A castle built of ponderous stones,
+  To give me future fame;
+In honor of my witty Fool,
+  Betzko shall be its name."
+
+Now the cliff was high three hundred feet,
+  And perpendicular;
+And the skill that could build a castle there
+  Must come from lands afar.
+
+And craftsmen came from foreign lands,
+  Italian, German and Jew--
+Apprentices and fellow-craftsmen,
+  And master-masons, too.
+
+And every traveler journeying
+  Along the mountain-ways
+Was held to pay his toll of toil
+  On the castle for seven days.
+
+Slowly they raised the massive towers
+  Upon the steep ascent,
+And all around a thousand hands
+  Built up the battlement.
+
+Three hundred feet above the glen--
+  (By the steps five hundred feet)--
+The castle stood upon the cliff
+  At the end of the year--complete.
+
+Now throughout all the Magyar land
+  There's none other half so high,
+So massive built, so strong and grand;--
+  It reaches the very sky.
+
+But from that same high battlement
+  (Say tales by gypsies told)
+The valiant Stibor met his death
+  When he was cross and old.
+
+I'll tell you the tale as they told it to me,
+  And I doubt not it is true,
+For 'twas handed down from the middle ages
+  From the lips of knights who knew.
+
+One day when the knight was old and cross,
+  And a little the worse for grog,
+Betzko, the Jester, thoughtlessly
+  Struck Stibor's favorite dog.
+
+Now the dog was a hound and Stibor's pet,
+  And as white as Carpathian snow,
+And Stibor hurled old Betzko down
+  From the walls to the rocks below.
+
+And as the Jester headlong fell
+  From the dizzy, dreadful height,
+He muttered a curse with his latest breath
+  On the head of the cruel knight.
+
+One year from that day old Stibor held
+  His drunken wassail long,
+And spent the hours till the cock crew morn
+  In jest and wine and song.
+
+Then he sought his garden on the cliff,
+  And lay down under a vine
+To sleep away the lethargy
+  Of a wassail-bowl of wine.
+
+While sleeping soundly under the shade,
+  And dreaming of revelries,
+An adder crawled upon his breast,
+  And bit him in both his eyes.
+
+Blinded and mad with pain he ran
+  Toward the precipice,
+Unheeding till he headlong fell
+  Adown the dread abyss.
+
+Just where old Betzko's blood had dyed
+  With red the old rocks gray,
+Quivering and bleeding and dumb and dead
+  Old Stibor's body lay.
+
+
+
+
+WESSELENYI
+
+A HUNGARIAN TALE
+
+
+When madly raged religious war
+  O'er all the Magyar land
+And royal archer and hussar
+  Met foemen hand to hand,
+A princess fair in castle strong
+  The royal troops defied
+And bravely held her fortress long
+  Though help was all denied.
+
+Princess Maria was her name--
+  Brave daughter nobly sired;
+She caught her father's trusty sword
+  When bleeding he expired,
+And bravely rallied warders all
+  To meet the storming foe,
+And hurled them from the rampart-wall
+  Upon the crags below.
+
+Prince Casimir--her father--built
+  Murana high and wide;
+It sat among the mountain cliffs--
+  The Magyars' boast and pride.
+Bold Wesselenyi--stalwart knight,
+  Young, famed and wondrous fair,
+With a thousand men besieged the height,
+  And led the bravest there.
+
+And long he tried the arts of war
+  To take that castle-hold,
+Till many a proud and plumed hussar
+  Was lying stiff and cold;
+And still the frowning castle stood
+  A grim, unbroken wall,
+Like some lone rock in stormy seas
+  That braves the billows all.
+
+Bold Wesselenyi's cheeks grew thin;
+  A solemn oath he sware
+That if he failed the prize to win
+  His bones should molder there.
+Two toilsome months had worn away,
+  Two hundred men were slain,
+His bold assaults were baffled still,
+  And all his arts were vain.
+
+But love is mightier than the sword,
+  He clad him in disguise--
+In the dress of an inferior lord--
+  To win the noble prize.
+He bade his armed men to wait,
+  To cease the battle-blare
+And sought alone the castle-gate
+  To hold a parley there.
+
+Aloft a flag of truce he bore:
+  Her warders bade him pass;
+Within he met the princess fair
+  All clad in steel and brass.
+Her bright, black eyes and queenly art,
+  Sweet lips and raven hair,
+Smote bold young Wesselenyi's heart
+  While he held parley there.
+
+Cunning he talked of great reward
+  And royal favor, too,
+If she would yield her father's sword;
+  She sternly answered "No."
+But even while they parleyed there
+  Maria's lustrous eyes
+Looked tenderly and lovingly
+  On the chieftain in disguise.
+
+"Go tell your gallant chief," she said,
+  "To keep his paltry pelf;
+The knight who would my castle win,
+  Must dare to come himself."
+And forth she sternly bade him go,
+  But followed with her eyes.
+I ween she knew the brave knight well
+  Through all his fair disguise.
+
+But when had dawned another morn,
+  He bade his bugleman
+To sound again the parley-horn
+  Ere yet the fray began.
+And forth he sent a trusty knight
+  To seek the castle-gate
+And to the princess privately
+  His message to relate;--
+
+That he it was who in disguise
+  Her warders bade to pass,
+And while he parleyed there her eyes
+  Had pierced his plates of brass.
+His heart he offered and his hand,
+  And pledged a signet-ring
+If she would yield her brave command
+  Unto his gracious king.
+
+"Go tell your chief," Maria cried--
+  "Audacious as he is--
+If he be worthy such a bride
+  My castle and hand are his.
+But he should know that lady fair
+  By faint heart ne'er was won;
+So let your gallant chieftain, sir,
+  Come undisguised alone.
+
+"And he may see in the northern tower,
+  Over yonder precipice,
+A lone, dim light at the midnight hour
+  Shine down the dark abyss.
+And over the chasm's dungeon-gloom
+  Shall a slender ladder hang;
+And if alone he dare to come,--
+  Unarmed--without a clang,
+
+"More of his suit your chief shall hear
+  Perhaps may win the prize;
+Tell him the way is hedged with fear,--
+  One misstep and he dies.
+Nor will I pledge him safe retreat
+  From out yon guarded tower;
+My watchful warders all to cheat
+  May be beyond my power."
+
+At midnight's dark and silent hour
+  The tall and gallant knight
+Sought on the cliff the northern tower,
+  And saw the promised light.
+With toil he climbed the cragged cliff,
+  And there the ladder found;
+And o'er the yawning gulf he clomb
+  The ladder round by round.
+
+And as he climbed the ladder bent
+  Above the yawning deep,
+But bravely to the port he went
+  And entered at a leap
+Full twenty warders thronged the hall
+  Each with his blade in hand;
+They caught the brave knight like a thrall
+  And bound him foot and hand.
+
+They tied him fast to an iron ring,
+  At Maria's stern command,
+And then they jeered--"God save the king
+  And all his knightly band!"
+They bound a bandage o'er his eyes,
+  Then the haughty princess said:
+"Audacious knight, I hold a prize,--
+  My castle or your head!
+
+"Now, mark!--desert the king's command,
+  And join your sword with mine,
+And thine shall be my heart and hand,
+  This castle shall be thine.
+I grant one hour for thee to choose,
+  My bold and gallant lord;
+And if my offer you refuse
+  You perish by the sword!"
+
+He spoke not a word, but his face was pale
+  And he prayed a silent prayer;
+But his heart was oak and it could not quail,
+  And a secret oath he sware.
+And grim stood the warders armed all,
+  In the torches' flicker and flare,
+As they watch for an hour in the gloomy hall
+  The brave knight pinioned there.
+
+The short--the flying hour is past,
+  The warders have bared his breast;
+The bugler bugles a doleful blast;
+  Will the pale knight stand the test?
+He has made his choice--he will do his part,
+  He has sworn and he cannot lie,
+And he cries with the sword at his beating heart,--
+  "_Betray?--nay--better to die!_"
+
+Suddenly fell from his blue eyes
+  The silken, blinding bands,
+And while he looked in sheer surprise
+  They freed his feet and hands.
+"I give thee my castle," Maria cried,
+  "And I give thee my heart and hand,
+And Maria will be the proudest bride
+  In all this Magyar land.
+
+"Grant heaven that thou be true to me
+  As thou art to the king,
+And I'll bless the day I gave to thee
+  My castle for a ring."
+The red blood flushed to the brave knight's face
+  As he looked on the lady fair;
+He sprang to her arms in a fond embrace,
+  And he married her then and there.
+
+So the little blind elf with his feathered shaft
+  Did more than the sword could do,
+For he conquered and took with his magical craft
+  Her heart and her castle, too.
+
+[Illustration: WESSELENYI]
+
+
+
+
+ISABEL
+
+
+    Fare-thee-well:
+  On my soul the toll of bell
+Trembles. Thou art calmly sleeping
+While my weary heart is weeping:
+  I cannot listen to thy knell:
+    Fare-thee-well.
+
+    Sleep and rest:
+  Sorrow shall not pain thy breast,
+Pangs and pains that pierce the mortal
+Cannot enter at the portal
+  Of the Mansion of the Blest:
+    Sleep and rest.
+
+    Slumber sweet,
+  Heart that nevermore will beat
+At the footsteps of thy lover;
+All thy cares and fears are over.
+  In thy silent winding-sheet
+    Slumber sweet.
+
+    Fare-thee-well:
+  In the garden and the dell
+Where thou lov'dst to stroll and meet me,
+Nevermore thy kiss shall greet me,
+  Nevermore, O Isabel!
+    Fare-thee-well.
+
+    We shall meet--
+  Where the wings of angels beat:
+When my toils and cares are over,
+Thou shalt greet again thy lover--
+  Robed and crowned at Jesus' feet
+    We shall meet.
+
+    Watch and wait
+  At the narrow, golden gate;
+Watch my coming,--wait my greeting,
+For my years are few and fleeting
+  And my love shall not abate:
+    Watch and wait.
+
+    So farewell,
+  O my darling Isabel;
+Till we meet in the supernal
+Mansion and with love eternal
+  In the golden city dwell,
+    Fare-thee-well.
+
+
+
+
+BYRON AND THE ANGEL
+
+_Poet:_
+
+"Why this fever--why this sighing?--
+Why this restless longing--dying
+For--a something--dreamy something,
+Undefined, and yet defying
+All the pride and power of manhood?
+
+"O these years of sin and sorrow!
+Smiling while the iron harrow
+Of a keen and biting longing
+Tears and quivers in the marrow
+Of my being every moment--
+Of my very inmost being.
+
+"What to me the mad ambition
+For men's praise and proud position--
+Struggling, fighting to the summit
+Of its vain and earthly mission,
+To lie down on bed of ashes--
+Bed of barren, bitter ashes?
+
+"Cure this fever? I have tried it;
+Smothered, drenched it and defied it
+With a will of brass and iron;
+Every smile and look denied it;
+Yet it heeded not denying,
+And it mocks at my defying
+While my very soul is dying.
+
+"Is there balm in Gilead?--tell me!
+Nay--no balm to soothe and quell me?
+Must I tremble in this fever?
+Death, O lift thy hand and fell me;
+Let me sink to rest forever
+Where this burning cometh never.
+
+"Sometimes when this restless madness
+Softens down to mellow sadness,
+I look back on sun-lit valleys
+Where my boyish heart of gladness
+Nestled without pain or longing--
+Nestled softly in a vision
+Full of love and hope's fruition,
+Lulled by morning songs of spring-time.
+
+"Then I ponder, and I wonder
+Was some heart-chord snapped asunder
+When the threads were soft and silken?
+Did some fatal boyish blunder
+Plant a canker in my bosom
+That hath ever burned and rankled?
+
+"O this thirsting, thirsting hanker!
+O this burning, burning canker'
+Driving Peace and Hope to shipwreck--
+Without rudder, without anchor,
+On the reef-rocks of Damnation!"
+
+_Invisible Angel:_
+
+"Jesus--Son of Virgin Mary;
+Lift the burden from the weary:
+Pity, Jesus, and anoint him
+With the holy balm of Gilead."
+
+_Poet:_
+
+"Yea, Christ Jesus, pour thy blessings
+On these terrible heart-pressings:
+O I bless thee, unseen Angel;
+Lead me--teach me, holy Spirit."
+
+_Angel:_
+
+  "There is balm in Gilead!
+  There is balm in Gilead!
+Peace awaits thee with caressings--
+Sitting at the feet of Jesus--
+At the right-hand of Jehovah--
+At the blessed feet of Jesus;--Alleluia!"
+
+
+
+
+CHRISTMAS EVE
+
+I
+
+
+From church and chapel and dome and tower,
+  Near--far and everywhere,
+The merry bells chime loud and clear
+  Upon the frosty air.
+
+All down the marble avenues
+  The lamp-lit casements glow,
+And from an hundred palaces
+  Glad carols float and flow.
+
+A thousand lamps from street to street
+  Blaze on the dusky air,
+And light the way for happy feet
+  To carol, praise and prayer.
+
+'Tis Christmas eve. In church and hall
+  The laden fir-trees bend;
+Glad children throng the festival
+  And grandsires too attend.
+
+Fur-wrapped and gemmed with pearls and gold,
+  Proud ladies rich and fair
+As Egypt's splendid queen of old
+  In all her pomp are there.
+
+And many a costly, golden gift
+  Hangs on each Christmas-tree,
+While round and round the carols drift
+  In waves of melody.
+
+
+
+II
+
+
+In a dim and dingy attic,
+  Away from the pomp and glare,
+A widow sits by a flickering lamp,
+  Bowed down by toil and care.
+
+On her toil-worn hand her weary head,
+  At her feet a shoe half-bound,
+On the bare, brown table a loaf of bread,
+  And hunger and want around.
+
+By her side at the broken window,
+  With her rosy feet all bare,
+Her little one carols a Christmas tune
+  To the chimes on the frosty air.
+
+And the mother dreams of the by-gone years
+  And their merry Christmas-bells,
+Till her cheeks are wet with womanly tears,
+  And a sob in her bosom swells.
+
+[Illustration: AND THE MOTHER DREAMS OF THE BY GONE YEARS, AND THEIR
+MERRY CHRISTMAS BELLS]
+
+The child looked up; her innocent ears
+  Had caught the smothered cry;
+She saw the pale face wet with tears
+  She fain would pacify.
+
+"Don't cry, mama," she softly said--
+  "Here's a Christmas gift for you,"
+And on the mother's cheek a kiss
+  She printed warm and true.
+
+"God bless my child!" the mother cried
+  And caught her to her breast--
+"O Lord, whose Son was crucified,
+  Thy precious gift is best.
+
+"If toil and trouble be my lot
+  While on life's sea I drift,
+O Lord, my soul shall murmur not,
+  If Thou wilt spare Thy gift."
+
+
+
+
+OUT OF THE DEPTHS
+
+And the scribes and Pharisees brought unto him a woman taken in
+adultery, and when they had set her in the midst, they said unto him
+"Master, this woman was taken in adultery, in the very act. Now Moses in
+the law commanded us that such be stoned; but what sayest thou?"--[_St.
+John_, Chap, viii; 3, 4, 5.
+
+Reach thy hand to me, O Jesus;
+  Reach thy loving hand to me,
+Or I sink, alas, and perish
+  In my sin and agony.
+
+From the depths I cry, O Jesus,
+  Lifting up mine eyes to thee;
+Save me from my sin and sorrow
+  With thy loving charity.
+
+Pity, Jesus--blessed Savior;
+  I am weak, but thou art strong;
+Fill my heart with prayer and praises,
+  Fill my soul with holy song.
+
+Lift me up, O sacred Jesus--
+  Lift my bruised heart to thee;
+Teach me to be pure and holy
+  As the holy angels be.
+
+Scribes and Pharisees surround me:
+  Thou art writing in the sand:
+Must I perish, Son of Mary?
+  Wilt thou give the stern command?
+
+Am I saved?--for Jesus sayeth--
+  "Let the sinless cast a stone."
+Lo the Scribes have all departed,
+  And the Pharisees are gone!
+
+"Woman, where are thine accusers?"
+  (They have vanished one by one.)
+"Hath no man condemned thee, woman?"
+  And she meekly answered--"None."
+
+Then he spake His blessed answer--
+  Balm indeed for sinners sore--
+"Neither then will I condemn thee:
+  Go thy way and sin no more."
+
+
+FAME
+
+Dust of the desert are thy walls
+  And temple-towers, O Babylon!
+O'er crumbled halls the lizard crawls,
+  And serpents bask in blaze of sun.
+
+In vain kings piled the Pyramids;
+  Their tombs were robbed by ruthless hands.
+Who now shall sing their fame and deeds,
+  Or sift their ashes from the sands?
+
+Deep in the drift of ages hoar
+  Lie nations lost and kings forgot;
+Above their graves the oceans roar,
+  Or desert sands drift o'er the spot.
+
+A thousand years are but a day
+  When reckoned on the wrinkled earth;
+And who among the wise shall say
+  What cycle saw the primal birth
+
+Of man, who lords on sea and land,
+  And builds his monuments to-day,
+Like Syrian on the desert sand,
+  To crumble and be blown away.
+
+Proud chiefs of pageant armies led
+  To fame and death their followers forth,
+Ere Helen sinned and Hector bled,
+  Or Odin ruled the rugged North.
+
+And poets sang immortal praise
+  To mortal heroes ere the fire
+Of Homer blazed in Ilion lays,
+  Or Brage tuned the Northern lyre.
+
+For fame men piled the Pyramids;
+  Their names have perished with their bones:
+For fame men wrote their boasted deeds
+  On Babel bricks and Runic stones--
+
+On Tyrian temples, gates of brass,
+  On Roman arch and Damask blades,
+And perished like the desert grass
+  That springs to-day--to-morrow--fades.
+
+And still for fame men delve and die
+  In Afric heat and Arctic cold;
+For fame on flood and field they vie,
+  Or gather in the shining gold.
+
+Time, like the ocean, onward rolls
+  Relentless, burying men and deeds;
+The brightest names, the bravest souls,
+  Float but an hour like ocean weeds,
+
+Then sink forever. In the slime--
+  Forgotten, lost forevermore,
+Lies Fame from every age and clime;
+  Yet thousands clamor on the shore.
+
+Immortal Fame!--O dust and death!
+  The centuries as they pass proclaim
+That Fame is but a mortal breath,
+  That man must perish--name and fame.
+
+The earth is but a grain of sand--
+  An atom in a shoreless sea;
+A million worlds lie in God's hand--
+  Yea, myriad millions--what are we?
+
+O mortal man of bone and blood!
+  Then is there nothing left but dust?
+God made us; He is wise and good,
+  And we may humbly hope and trust.
+
+
+
+
+WINONA.
+
+_When the meadow-lark trilled o'er the leas
+          and the oriole piped in the maples,
+From my hammock, all under the trees,
+          by the sweet-scented field of red clover,
+I harked to the hum of the bees,
+          as they gathered the mead of the blossoms,
+And caught from their low melodies
+          the air of the song of Winona_.
+
+
+(In pronouncing Dakota words give "a" the sound of "ah,"--"e" the sound
+of "a,"--"i" the sound of "e" and "u" the sound of "oo." Sound "ee" as
+in English. The numerals refer to Notes in appendix.)
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Two hundred white Winters and more
+          have fled from the face of the Summer,
+Since here on the oak-shaded shore
+          of the dark-winding, swift Mississippi,
+Where his foaming floods tumble and roar
+          o'er the falls and the white-rolling rapids,
+In the fair, fabled center of Earth,
+          sat the Indian town of _Ka-tha-ga_. [86]
+Far rolling away to the north, and the south,
+          lay the emerald prairies,
+All dotted with woodlands and lakes,
+          and above them the blue bent of ether.
+And here where the dark river breaks into spray
+          and the roar of the _Ha-Ha_, [76]
+Where gathered the bison-skin _tees_[F]
+          of the chief tawny tribe of Dakotas;
+For here, in the blast and the breeze,
+          flew the flag of the chief of _Isantees_, [86]
+Up-raised on the stem of a lance--
+          the feathery flag of the eagle.
+And here to the feast and the dance,
+          from the prairies remote and the forests,
+Oft gathered the out-lying bands,
+          and honored the gods of the nation.
+On the islands and murmuring strands
+          they danced to the god of the waters,
+_Unktehee_, [69] who dwelt in the caves,
+          deep under the flood of the _Ha-Ha_; [76]
+And high o'er the eddies and waves
+          hung their offerings of furs and tobacco,[G]
+And here to the Master of life--
+          _Anpe-tu-wee_, [70] god of the heavens,
+Chief, warrior, and maiden, and wife,
+          burned the sacred green sprigs of the cedar. [50]
+And here to the Searcher-of-hearts--
+          fierce _Ta-ku Skan-skan_, [51] the avenger,
+Who dwells in the uppermost parts of the earth,
+          and the blue, starry ether,
+Ever watching, with all-seeing eyes,
+          the deeds of the wives and the warriors,
+As an osprey afar in the skies,
+          sees the fish as they swim in the waters,
+Oft spread they the bison-tongue feast,
+          and singing preferred their petitions,
+Till the Day-Spirit[70] rose in the East--
+          in the red, rosy robes of the morning,
+To sail o'er the sea of the skies,
+          to his lodge in the land of the shadows,
+Where the black-winged tornadoes[H] arise,
+          rushing loud from the mouths of their caverns.
+And here with a shudder they heard,
+          flying far from his _tee_ in the mountains,
+_Wa-kin-yan_,[32] the huge Thunder-Bird,
+          with the arrows of fire in his talons.
+
+[F] _Tee--teepee_, the Dakota name for tent or wigwam
+
+[G] See _Hennepin's Description of Louisiana_, by Shea, pp. 243 and 256.
+_Parkman's Discovery_, p. 246--and _Carver's Travels_, p. 67.
+
+[Illustration: FALLS OF ST. ANTHONY.
+FACSIMILE OF THE CUT IN CARVER'S TRAVELS, PUBLISHED AT LONDON, IN 1778,
+FROM A SURVEY AND SKETCH MADE BY CAPT. J. CARVER, NOV. 17, 1766.
+PERPENDICULAR FALL, 30 FEET; BREADTH NEAR 600 FEET.]
+
+[H] The Dakotas, like the ancient Romans and Greeks, think the home of
+the winds is in the caverns of the mountains, and their great
+Thunder-bird resembles in many respects the Jupiter of the Romans and
+the Zeus of the Greeks. The resemblance of the Dakota mythology to that
+of the older Greeks and Romans is striking.
+
+Two hundred white Winters and more
+          have fled from the face of the Summer
+Since here by the cataract's roar,
+          in the moon of the red-blooming lilies,[71]
+In the _tee_ of Ta-te-psin[I] was born
+          Winona--wild-rose of the prairies.
+Like the summer sun peeping, at morn,
+          o'er the hills was the face of Winona.
+And here she grew up like a queen--
+          a romping and lily-lipped laughter,
+And danced on the undulant green,
+          and played in the frolicsome waters,
+Where the foaming tide tumbles and whirls
+          o'er the murmuring rocks in the rapids;
+And whiter than foam were the pearls
+          that gleamed in the midst of her laughter.
+Long and dark was her flowing hair flung
+          like the robe of the night to the breezes;
+And gay as the robin she sung,
+          or the gold-breasted lark of the meadows.
+Like the wings of the wind were her feet,
+          and as sure as the feet of _Ta-to-ka_[J]
+And oft like an antelope fleet
+          o'er the hills and the prairies she bounded,
+Lightly laughing in sport as she ran,
+          and looking back over her shoulder
+At the fleet-footed maiden or man
+          that vainly her flying feet followed.
+The belle of the village was she,
+          and the pride of the aged Ta-te-psin,
+Like a sunbeam she lighted his _tee_,
+          and gladdened the heart of her father.
+
+[I] _Tate_--wind,--_psin_--wild-rice--wild-rice wind.
+
+[J] mountain antelope.
+
+In the golden-hued _Wazu-pe-wee_--
+          the moon when the wild-rice is gathered;
+When the leaves on the tall sugar-tree
+          are as red as the breast of the robin,
+And the red-oaks that border the lea
+          are aflame with the fire of the sunset,
+From the wide, waving fields of wild-rice--
+          from the meadows of _Psin-ta-wak-pa-dan_,[K]
+Where the geese and the mallards rejoice,
+          and grow fat on the bountiful harvest,
+Came the hunters with saddles of moose
+          and the flesh of the bear and the bison,
+And the women in birch-bark canoes
+          well laden with rice from the meadows.
+
+[K] Little Rice River. It bears the name of Rice Creek to-day and
+empties into the Mississippi from the east, a few miles above
+Minneapolis.
+
+With the tall, dusky hunters, behold,
+          came a marvelous man or a spirit,
+White-faced and so wrinkled and old,
+          and clad in the robe of the raven.
+Unsteady his steps were and slow,
+          and he walked with a staff in his right hand,
+And white as the first-falling snow
+          were the thin locks that lay on his shoulders.
+Like rime-covered moss hung his beard,
+          flowing down from his face to his girdle;
+And wan was his aspect and weird,
+          and often he chanted and mumbled
+In a strange and mysterious tongue,
+          as he bent o'er his book in devotion,
+Or lifted his dim eyes and sung,
+          in a low voice, the solemn "_Te Deum_,"
+Or Latin, or Hebrew, or Greek--
+          all the same were his words to the warriors,--
+All the same to the maids and the meek,
+          wide-wondering-eyed, hazel-brown children.
+
+Father Rene Menard [L]--it was he,
+          long lost to his Jesuit brothers,
+Sent forth by an holy decree
+          to carry the Cross to the heathen.
+In his old age abandoned to die,
+          in the swamps, by his timid companions,
+He prayed to the Virgin on high,
+          and she led him forth from the forest;
+For angels she sent him as men--
+          in the forms of the tawny Dakotas,
+And they led his feet from the fen,
+          from the slough of despond and the desert,
+Half dead in a dismal morass,
+          as they followed the red-deer they found him,
+In the midst of the mire and the grass,
+          and mumbling "_Te Deum laudamus._"
+"_Unktomee[72]--Ho!_" muttered the braves,
+          for they deemed him the black Spider-Spirit
+That dwells in the drearisome caves,
+          and walks on the marshes at midnight,
+With a flickering torch in his hand,
+          to decoy to his den the unwary.
+His tongue could they not understand,
+          but his torn hands all shriveled with famine
+He stretched to the hunters and said:
+          "He feedeth his chosen with manna;
+And ye are the angels of God
+          sent to save me from death in the desert."
+His famished and woe-begone face,
+          and his tones touched the hearts of the hunters;
+They fed the poor father apace,
+          and they led him away to _Ka-tha-ga._
+
+[L] See the account of Father Menard, his mission and disappearance in
+the wilderness. _Neill's Hist. Minnesota_, pp 104-107, inc.
+
+There little by little he learned
+          the tongue of the tawny Dakotas;
+And the heart of the good father yearned
+          to lead them away from their idols--
+Their giants[16] and dread Thunder-birds--
+          their worship of stones[73] and the devil.
+"_Wakan-de!_"[M] they answered his words,
+          for he read from his book in the Latin,
+Lest the Nazarene's holy commands
+          by his tongue should be marred in translation;
+And oft with his beads in his hands,
+          or the cross and the crucified Jesus,
+He knelt by himself on the sands,
+          and his dim eyes uplifted to heaven.
+But the braves bade him look to the East--
+          to the silvery lodge of _Han-nan-na_;[N]
+And to dance with the chiefs at the feast--
+          at the feast of the Giant _Heyo-ka._[16]
+They frowned when the good father spurned
+          the flesh of the dog in the kettle,
+And laughed when his fingers were burned
+          in the hot, boiling pot of the giant.
+"The Black-robe" they called the poor priest,
+          from the hue of his robe and his girdle;
+And never a game or a feast
+          but the father must grace with his presence.
+His prayer-book the hunters revered,--
+          they deemed it a marvelous spirit;
+It spoke and the white father heard,--
+          it interpreted visions and omens.
+And often they bade him to pray
+          this marvelous spirit to answer,
+And tell where the sly Chippewa
+          might be ambushed and slain in his forest.
+For Menard was the first in the land,
+          proclaiming, like John in the desert,
+"The Kingdom of Heaven is at hand;
+          repent ye, and turn from your idols."
+The first of the brave brotherhood that,
+          threading the fens and the forest,
+Stood afar by the turbulent flood
+          at the falls of the Father of Waters.
+
+[Illustration: FATHER RENE MENARD]
+
+[M] It is wonderful!
+
+[N] The morning.
+
+In the lodge of the Stranger[O] he sat,
+          awaiting the crown of a martyr;
+His sad face compassion begat
+          in the heart of the dark-eyed Winona.
+Oft she came to the _teepee_ and spoke;
+          she brought him the tongue of the bison,
+Sweet nuts from the hazel and oak,
+          and flesh of the fawn and the mallard.
+Soft _hanpa_[P] she made for his feet
+          and leggins of velvety fawn-skin,
+A blanket of beaver complete,
+          and a hood of the hide of the otter.
+And oft at his feet on the mat,
+          deftly braiding the flags and the rushes,
+Till the sun sought his _teepee_
+          she sat, enchanted with what he related
+Of the white-winged ships on the sea
+          and the _teepees_ far over the ocean,
+Of the love and the sweet charity of the Christ
+          and the beautiful Virgin.
+
+[O] A lodge set apart for guests of the village.
+
+[P] Moccasins.
+
+She listened like one in a trance
+          when he spoke of the brave, bearded Frenchmen,
+From the green, sun-lit valleys of France
+          to the wild _Hochelaga_[Q] transplanted,
+Oft trailing the deserts of snow
+          in the heart of the dense Huron forests,
+Or steering the dauntless canoe
+          through the waves of the fresh-water ocean.
+"Yea, stronger and braver are they,"
+          said the aged Menard to Winona,
+"Than the head-chief, tall Wazi-kute,[74]
+          but their words are as soft as a maiden's,
+Their eyes are the eyes of the swan,
+          but their hearts are the hearts of the eagles;
+And the terrible _Masa Wakan_[R]
+          ever walks by their side like a spirit;
+Like a Thunder-bird, roaring in wrath,
+          flinging fire from his terrible talons,
+He sends to their enemies death
+          in the flash of the fatal _Wakandee_."[S]
+
+[Q] The Ottawa name for the region of the St. Lawrence River.
+
+[R] "Mysterious metal"--or metal having a spirit in it. This is the
+common name applied by the Dakotas to all firearms.
+
+[S] Lightning.
+
+The Autumn was past and the snow
+          lay drifted and deep on the prairies;
+From his _teepee_ of ice came the foe--
+          came the storm-breathing god of the winter.
+Then roared in the groves, on the plains,
+          on the ice-covered lakes and the river,
+The blasts of the fierce hurricanes
+          blown abroad from the breast of _Waziya_. [3]
+The bear cuddled down in his den,
+          and the elk fled away to the forest;
+The pheasant and gray prairie-hen
+          made their beds in the heart of the snow-drift;
+The bison herds huddled and stood
+          in the hollows and under the hill-sides,
+Or rooted the snow for their food
+          in the lee of the bluffs and the timber;
+And the mad winds that howled from the north,
+          from the ice-covered seas of _Waziya_,
+Chased the gray wolf and silver-fox forth
+          to their dens in the hills of the forest.
+
+Poor Father Menard--he was ill;
+          in his breast burned the fire of a fever;
+All in vain was the magical skill
+          of _Wicasta Wakan_ [61] with his rattle;
+Into soft, child-like slumber he fell,
+          and awoke in the land of the blessed--
+To the holy applause of "Well-done!"
+          and the harps in the hands of the angels.
+Long he carried the cross and he won
+          the coveted crown of a martyr.
+
+In the land of the heathen he died,
+          meekly following the voice of his Master,
+One mourner alone by his side--
+          Ta-te-psin's compassionate daughter.
+She wailed the dead father with tears,
+          and his bones by her kindred she buried.
+Then winter followed winter. The years
+          sprinkled frost on the head of her father;
+And three weary winters she dreamed
+          of the fearless and fair, bearded Frenchmen;
+At midnight their swift paddles gleamed
+          on the breast of the broad Mississippi,
+And the eyes of the brave strangers beamed
+          on the maid in the midst of her slumber.
+
+She lacked not admirers;
+          the light of the lover oft burned in her _teepee_--
+At her couch in the midst of the night,--
+          but she never extinguished the flambeau.
+The son of Chief Wazi-kute--
+          a fearless and eagle-plumed warrior--
+Long sighed for Winona,
+          and he was the pride of the band of _Isantees_.
+Three times, in the night at her bed,
+          had the brave held the torch of the lover, [75]
+And thrice had she covered her head
+          and rejected the handsome Tamdoka. [T]
+
+[T] Tah-mdo-kah, literally, the buck-deer.
+
+'Twas Summer. The merry-voiced birds
+          trilled and warbled in woodland and meadow;
+And abroad on the prairies the herds
+          cropped the grass in the land of the lilies,--
+And sweet was the odor of rose
+          wide-wafted from hillside and heather;
+In the leaf-shaded lap of repose
+          lay the bright, blue-eyed babes of the summer;
+And low was the murmur of brooks,
+         and low was the laugh of the _Ha-Ha_; [76]
+And asleep in the eddies and nooks
+          lay the broods of _maga_ [60]and the mallard.
+'Twas the moon of _Wasunpa_. [71]
+          The band lay at rest in the tees at _Ka-tha-ga_,
+And abroad o'er the beautiful land
+          walked the spirits of Peace and of Plenty--
+Twin sisters, with bountiful hand
+          wide scattering wild-rice and the lilies.
+_An-pe-tu-wee_[70] walked in the west--
+          to his lodge in the far-away mountains,
+And the war-eagle flew to her nest
+          in the oak on the Isle of the Spirit.[U]
+And now at the end of the day,
+          by the shore of the Beautiful Island,[V]
+A score of fair maidens and gay
+          made joy in the midst of the waters.
+Half-robed in their dark, flowing hair,
+          and limbed like the fair Aphrodite,
+They played in the waters, and there
+          they dived and they swam like the beavers,
+Loud-laughing like loons on the lake
+          when the moon is a round shield of silver,
+And the songs of the whippowils wake
+          on the shore in the midst of the maples.
+
+But hark!--on the river a song,--
+          strange voices commingled in chorus;
+On the current a boat swept along
+          with DuLuth and his hardy companions;
+To the stroke of their paddles they sung,
+          and this the refrain that they chanted:
+
+  "Dans mon chemin j'ai rencontre
+   Deux cavaliers bien montes.
+     Lon, lon, laridon daine,
+     Lon, lon, laridon da."
+
+  "Deux cavaliers bien montes;
+   L'un a cheval, et l'autre a pied.
+     Lon, lon, laridon daine,
+     Lon, lon, laridon da."[W]
+
+[U] The Dakotas say that for many years in olden times war-eagles made
+their nests in oak trees on Spirit-island--_Wanagi-wita_, just below the
+Falls till frightened away by the advent of white men.
+
+[V] The Dakotas called Nicollet Island _Wi-ta Waste_--the Beautiful
+Island.
+
+[W] A part of one of the favorite songs of the French _voyageurs_.
+
+[Illustration: ARRIVAL OF DULUTH AT KATHAGA]
+
+Like the red, dappled deer in the glade
+          alarmed by the footsteps of hunters,
+Discovered, disordered, dismayed,
+          the nude nymphs fled forth from the waters,
+And scampered away to the shade,
+          and peered from the screen of the lindens.
+
+A bold and adventuresome man was DuLuth,
+          and a dauntless in danger,
+And straight to _Kathaga_ he ran,
+          and boldly advanced to the warriors,
+Now gathering, a cloud on the strand,
+          and gazing amazed on the strangers;
+And straightway he offered his hand
+          unto Wazi-kute, the _Itancan_.[X]
+To the Lodge of the Stranger were led
+          DuLuth and his hardy companions;
+Robes of beaver and bison were spread,
+          and the Peace-pipe[23] was smoked with the Frenchman.
+
+[X] Head-chief
+
+There was dancing and feasting at night,
+          and joy at the presents he lavished.
+All the maidens were wild with delight
+          with the flaming red robes and the ribbons,
+With the beads and the trinkets untold,
+          and the fair, bearded face of the giver;
+And glad were they all to behold
+          the friends from the Land of the Sunrise.
+But one stood apart from the rest--
+          the queenly and silent Winona,
+Intently regarding the guest--
+          hardly heeding the robes and the ribbons,
+Whom the White Chief beholding admired,
+          and straightway he spread on her shoulders
+A lily-red robe and attired
+          with necklet and ribbons the maiden.
+The red lilies bloomed in her face,
+          and her glad eyes gave thanks to the giver,
+And forth from her _teepee_ apace
+          she brought him the robe and the missal
+Of the father--poor Rene Menard;
+          and related the tale of the "Black Robe."
+She spoke of the sacred regard
+          he inspired in the hearts of Dakotas;
+That she buried his bones with her kin,
+          in the mound by the Cave of the Council;
+That she treasured and wrapt in the skin
+          of the red-deer his robe and his prayer book--
+"Till his brothers should come from the East--
+          from the land of the far _Hochelaga_,
+To smoke with the braves at the feast,
+          on the shores of the Loud-laughing Waters. [16]
+For the 'Black Robe' spake much of his youth
+          and his friends in the Land of the Sunrise;
+It was then as a dream; now in truth
+          I behold them, and not in a vision."
+But more spake her blushes, I ween,
+          and her eyes full of language unspoken,
+As she turned with the grace of a queen
+          and carried her gifts to the _teepee_.
+
+Far away from his beautiful France--
+          from his home in the city of Lyons,
+A noble youth full of romance,
+          with a Norman heart big with adventure,
+In the new world a wanderer, by chance
+          DuLuth sought the wild Huron forests.
+But afar by the vale of the Rhone,
+          the winding and musical river,
+And the vine-covered hills of the Saone,
+          the heart of the wanderer lingered,--
+'Mid the vineyards and mulberry trees,
+          and the fair fields of corn and of clover
+That rippled and waved in the breeze,
+          while the honey-bees hummed in the blossoms.
+For there, where th' impetuous Rhone,
+          leaping down from the Switzerland mountains,
+And the silver-lipped, soft-flowing Saone,
+          meeting, kiss and commingle together,
+Down winding by vineyards and leas,
+          by the orchards of fig-trees and olives,
+To the island-gemmed, sapphire-blue seas
+          of the glorious Greeks and the Romans;
+Aye, there, on the vine-covered shore,
+          'mid the mulberry-trees and the olives,
+Dwelt his blue-eyed and beautiful Flore,
+          with her hair like a wheat-field at harvest,
+All rippled and tossed by the breeze,
+          and her cheeks like the glow of the morning,
+Far away o'er the emerald seas,
+          as the sun lifts his brow from the billows,
+Or the red-clover fields when the bees,
+          singing sip the sweet cups of the blossoms.
+Wherever he wandered--
+          alone in the heart of the wild Huron forests,
+Or cruising the rivers unknown
+          to the land of the Crees or Dakotas--
+His heart lingered still on the Rhone,
+          'mid the mulberry trees and the vineyards,
+Fast-fettered and bound by the zone
+          that girdled the robes of his darling.
+Till the red Harvest Moon[71] he remained
+          in the vale of the swift Mississippi.
+The esteem of the warriors he gained,
+          and the love of the dark-eyed Winona.
+He joined in the sports and the chase;
+          with the hunters he followed the bison,
+And swift were his feet in the race
+          when the red elk they ran on the prairies.
+At the Game of the Plum-stones[77] he played,
+          and he won from the skillfulest players;
+A feast to _Wa'tanka_[78] he made,
+          and he danced at the feast of _Heyoka_.[16]
+With the flash and the roar of his gun
+          he astonished the fearless Dakotas;
+They called it the "_Maza Wakan_"--
+          the mighty, mysterious metal.
+"'Tis a brother," they said, "of the fire
+          in the talons of dreadful Wakinyan,'[32]
+When he flaps his huge wings in his ire,
+          and shoots his red shafts at _Unktehee_."[69]
+
+The _Itancan_,[74] tall Wazi-kute,
+          appointed a day for the races.
+From the red stake that stood by his _tee_,
+          on the southerly side of the _Ha-ha_,
+O'er the crest of the hills and the dunes
+          and the billowy breadth of the prairie,
+To a stake at the Lake of the Loons[79]--
+          a league and return--was the distance.
+They gathered from near and afar,
+          to the races and dancing and feasting;
+Five hundred tall warriors were there
+          from _Kapoza_[6] and far-off _Keoza_;[8]
+_Remnica_[Y] too, furnished a share
+          of the legions that thronged to the races,
+And a bountiful feast was prepared
+          by the diligent hands of the women,
+And gaily the multitudes fared
+          in the generous _tees_ of _Kathaga_.
+The chief of the mystical clan
+          appointed a feast to _Unktehee_--
+The mystic "_Wacipee Wakan_"[Z]--
+          at the end of the day and the races.
+A band of sworn brothers are they,
+          and the secrets of each one are sacred,
+And death to the lips that betray
+          is the doom of the swarthy avengers,
+And the son of tall _Wazi-kute_
+          was the chief of the mystical order.
+
+[Y] Pronounced Ray-mne-chah--The village of the Mountains, situate where
+Red Wing now stands.
+
+[Z] Sacred Dance--The Medicine-dance--See description _infra._
+
+
+
+
+THE FOOT RACES.
+
+On an arm of an oak hangs the prize
+          for the swiftest and strongest of runners--
+A blanket as red as the skies,
+          when the flames sweep the plains in October.
+And beside it a strong, polished bow,
+          and a quiver of iron-tipped arrows,
+Which _Kapoza's_ tall chief will bestow
+          on the fleet-footed second that follows.
+A score of swift runners are there
+          from the several bands of the nation,
+And now for the race they prepare,
+          and among them fleet-footed Tamdoka.
+With the oil of the buck and the bear
+          their sinewy limbs are annointed,
+For fleet are the feet of the deer
+          and strong are the limbs of the bruin.
+
+Hark!--the shouts and the braying of drums,
+          and the Babel of tongues and confusion!
+From his _teepee_ the tall chieftain comes,
+          and DuLuth brings a prize for the runners--
+A keen hunting-knife from the Seine,
+          horn-handled and mounted with silver.
+The runners are ranged on the plain,
+          and the Chief waves a flag as a signal,
+And away like the gray wolves they fly--
+          like the wolves on the trail of the red-deer;
+O'er the hills and the prairie they vie,
+          and strain their strong limbs to the utmost,
+While high on the hills hangs a cloud
+          of warriors and maidens and mothers,
+To see the swift-runners, and loud
+          are the cheers and the shouts of the warriors.
+
+Now swift from the lake they return
+          o'er the emerald hills of the prairies;
+Like grey-hounds they pant and they yearn,
+          and the leader of all is Tamdoka.
+At his heels flies _Hu-pa-hu,_[AA]
+          the fleet--the pride of the band of _Kaoza_,--
+A warrior with eagle-winged feet,
+          but his prize is the bow and the quiver.
+Tamdoka first reaches the post,
+          and his are the knife and the blanket,
+By the mighty acclaim of the host
+          and award of the chief and the judges.
+Then proud was the tall warrior's stride,
+          and haughty his look and demeanor;
+He boasted aloud in his pride,
+          and he scoffed at the rest of the runners.
+"Behold me, for I am a man![AB]
+          my feet are as swift as the West-wind.
+With the coons and the beavers I ran;
+          but where is the elk or the _cabri?_[80]
+Come!--where is the hunter will dare
+          match his feet with the feet of Tamdoka?
+Let him think of _Tate_[AC] and beware,
+          ere he stake his last robe on the trial."
+"_Oho! Ho! Ho-heca!_"[AD] they jeered,
+          for they liked not the boast of the boaster;
+But to match him no warrior appeared,
+          for his feet wore the wings of the west-wind.
+
+[AA] The wings.
+
+[AB] A favorite boast of the Dakota braves.
+
+[AC] The wind.
+
+[AD] About equivalent to Oho!--Aha!--fudge!
+
+Then forth from the side of the chief
+          stepped DuLuth and he looked on the boaster;
+"The words of a warrior are brief,--
+          I will run with the brave," said the Frenchman;
+"But the feet of Tamdoka are tired;
+          abide till the cool of the sunset."
+All the hunters and maidens admired,
+          for strong were the limbs of the stranger.
+"_Hiwo Ho!_"[AE] they shouted
+          and loud rose the cheers of the multitude mingled;
+And there in the midst of the crowd
+          stood the glad-eyed and blushing Winona.
+
+[AE] Hurra there!
+
+Now afar o'er the plains of the west
+          walked the sun at the end of his journey,
+And forth came the brave and the guest,
+          at the tap of the drum, for the trial.
+Like a forest of larches the hordes
+          were gathered to witness the contest;
+As loud as the drums were their words
+          and they roared like the roar of the _Ha-ha._
+For some for Tamdoka contend,
+          and some for the fair, bearded stranger,
+And the betting runs high to the end,
+          with the skins of the bison and beaver.
+A wife of tall _Wazi-kute_--
+          the mother of boastful Tamdoka--
+Brought her handsomest robe from the _tee_
+          with a vaunting and loud proclamation:
+She would stake her last robe on her son
+          who, she boasted, was fleet as the _cabri_,
+And the tall, tawny chieftain looked on,
+          approving the boast of the mother.
+Then fleet as the feet of a fawn
+          to her lodge ran the dark-eyed Winona,
+She brought and she spread on the lawn,
+          by the side of the robe of the boaster,
+The lily-red mantel DuLuth,
+          with his own hands, had laid on her shoulders.
+"Tamdoka is swift, but forsooth,
+          the tongue of his mother is swifter,"
+She said, and her face was aflame
+          with the red of the rose and the lily,
+And loud was the roar of acclaim;
+          but dark was the face of Tamdoka.
+They strip for the race and prepare,--
+          DuLuth in his breeches and leggins;
+And the brown, curling locks of his hair
+          down droop to his bare, brawny shoulders,
+And his face wears a smile debonair,
+          as he tightens his red sash around him;
+But stripped to the moccasins bare,
+          save the belt and the breech-clout of buckskin,
+Stands the haughty Tamdoka aware
+          that the eyes of the warriors admire him;
+For his arms are the arms of a bear
+          and his legs are the legs of a panther.
+
+The drum beats,--the chief waves the flag,
+          and away on the course speed the runners,
+And away leads the brave like a stag,--
+          like a bound on his track flies the Frenchman;
+And away haste the hunters once more
+          to the hills, for a view to the lakeside,
+And the dark-swarming hill-tops, they roar
+          with the storm of loud voices commingled.
+Far away o'er the prairie they fly,
+          and still in the lead is Tamdoka,
+But the feet of his rival are nigh,
+          and slowly he gains on the hunter.
+Now they turn on the post at the lake,--
+          now they run full abreast on the home-stretch:
+Side by side they contend for the stake
+          for a long mile or more on the prairie
+They strain like a stag and a hound,
+          when the swift river gleams through the thicket,
+And the horns of the riders resound,
+          winding shrill through the depths of the forest.
+But behold!--at full length on the ground
+          falls the fleet-footed Frenchman abruptly,
+And away with a whoop and a bound
+          springs the eager, exulting Tamdoka
+Long and loud on the hills is the
+          shout of his swarthy admirers and backers,
+"But the race is not won till it's out,"
+          said DuLuth, to himself as he gathered,
+With a frown on his face, for the foot
+          of the wily Tamdoka had tripped him.
+Far ahead ran the brave on the route,
+          and turning he boasted exultant.
+Like spurs to the steed to DuLuth
+          were the jeers and the taunts of the boaster;
+Indignant was he and red wroth
+          at the trick of the runner dishonest;
+And away like a whirlwind he speeds--
+          like a hurricane mad from the mountains;
+He gains on Tamdoka,--he leads!--
+          and behold, with the spring of a panther,
+He leaps to the goal and succeeds,
+          'mid the roar of the mad acclamation.
+Then glad as the robin in May
+          was the voice of Winona exulting;
+Tamdoka turned sullen away,
+          and sulking he walked by the river;
+He glowered as he went and the fire
+          of revenge in his bosom was kindled:
+Dark was his visage with ire
+          and his eyes were the eyes of a panther.
+
+
+THE WAKAN-WACEPEE, OR SACRED DANCE. [81]
+
+Lo the lights in the _"Teepee-Wakan!"_
+          'tis the night of the _Wakan Wacepee_.
+Round and round walks the chief of the clan,
+          as he rattles the sacred _Ta-sha-kay_; [81]
+Long and loud on the _Chan-che-ga_ [81]
+          beat the drummers with magical drumsticks,
+And the notes of the _Cho-tanka_ [81]
+          greet like the murmur of winds on the waters.
+By the friction of white-cedar wood
+          for the feast was a Virgin-fire [20] kindled.
+They that enter the firm brotherhood
+          first must fast and be cleansed by _E-nee-pee_;[81]
+And from foot-sole to crown of the head
+          must they paint with the favorite colors;
+For _Unktehee_ likes bands of blood-red,
+          with the stripings of blue intermingled.
+In the hollow earth, dark and profound,
+          _Unktehee_ and fiery _Wakinyan_
+Long fought, and the terrible sound
+          of the battle was louder than thunder;
+The mountains were heaved and around
+          were scattered the hills and the boulders,
+And the vast solid plains of the ground
+          rose and fell like the waves of the ocean.
+But the god of the waters prevailed.
+          _Wakin-yan_ escaped from the cavern,
+And long on the mountains he wailed,
+          and his hatred endureth forever.
+
+When _Unktehee_ had finished the earth,
+          and the beasts and the birds and the fishes,
+And men at his bidding came forth
+          from the heart of the huge hollow mountains,[69]
+A band chose the god from the hordes,
+          and he said: "Ye are the sons of _Unktehee_:
+Ye are lords of the beasts and the birds,
+          and the fishes that swim in the waters.
+But hearken ye now to my words,--
+          let them sound in your bosoms forever:
+Ye shall honor _Unktehee_ and hate _Wakinyan_,
+          the Spirit of Thunder,
+For the power of _Unktehee_ is great,
+          and he laughs at the darts of _Wakinyan_.
+Ye shall honor the Earth and the Sun,--
+          for they are your father and mother; [70]
+Let your prayer to the Sun be:--
+          _Wakan Ate; on-si-md-da ohee-nee_."[AF]
+And remember the _Taku Wakan_[73]
+          all-pervading in earth and in ether--
+Invisible ever to man,
+          but He dwells in the midst of all matter;
+Yea, he dwells in the heart of the stone--
+          in the hard granite heart of the boulder;
+Ye shall call him forever _Tunkan_--
+          grandfather of all the Dakotas.
+Ye are men that I choose for my own;
+          ye shall be as a strong band of brothers,
+Now I give you the magical bone
+          and the magical pouch of the spirits,[AG]
+And these are the laws ye shall heed:
+          Ye shall honor the pouch and the giver.
+Ye shall walk as twin-brothers; in need,
+          one shall forfeit his life for another.
+Listen not to the voice of the crow.[AH]
+          Hold as sacred the wife of a brother.
+Strike, and fear not the shaft of the foe,
+          for the soul of the brave is immortal.
+Slay the warrior in battle,
+          but spare the innocent babe and the mother.
+Remember a promise,--beware,--
+          let the word of a warrior be sacred
+When a stranger arrives at the _tee_--
+          be he friend of the band or a foeman,
+Give him food; let your bounty be free;
+          lay a robe for the guest by the lodge-fire;
+Let him go to his kindred in peace,
+          if the peace-pipe he smoke in the _teepee_;
+And so shall your children increase,
+          and your lodges shall laugh with abundance.
+And long shall ye live in the land,
+          and the spirits of earth and the waters
+Shall come to your aid, at command,
+          with the power of invisible magic.
+And at last, when you journey afar--
+          o'er the shining "_Wanagee Ta-chan-ku_,"[68]
+You shall walk as a red, shining star[8]
+          in the land of perpetual summer."
+
+[AF] "Sacred Spirit! Father! have pity on me always."
+
+[AG] Riggs' Takoo Wakan, p. 90.
+
+[AH] Slander.
+
+All the night in the _teepee_ they sang,
+          and they danced to the mighty _Unktehee_,
+While the loud-braying _Chan-che-ga_ rang
+          and the shrill-piping flute and the rattle,
+Till _Anpetuwee_ [70] rose in the east--
+          from the couch of the blushing _Han-nan-na_,
+And thus at the dance and the feast
+          sang the sons of _Unktehee_ in chorus:
+
+  "Wa-du-ta o-hna mi-ka-ge!
+  Wa-du-ta o-hna mi-ka-ge!
+  Mini-yata ite wakande maku,
+  Ate wakan--Tunkansidan.
+
+  Tunkansidan pejihuta wakan
+  Micage--he Wicage!
+  Miniyata ite wakande maku.
+  Taukansidan ite, nape du-win-ta woo,
+  Wahutopa wan yuha, nape du-win-ta woo."
+
+TRANSLATION.
+
+  In red swan-down he made it for me;
+  In red swan-down he made it for me;
+  He of the water--he of the mysterious face--
+    Gave it to me;
+  Sacred Father--Grandfather!
+
+  Grandfather made me magical medicine.
+    That is true!
+  Being of mystery,--grown in the water--
+    He gave it to me!
+  To the face of our Grandfather stretch out your hand;
+  Holding a quadruped, stretch out your hand!
+
+Till high o'er the hills of the east
+          _Anpetuwee_ walked on his journey,
+In secret they danced at the feast,
+          and communed with the mighty _Unktehee_.
+Then opened the door of the _tee_
+          to the eyes of the wondering Dakotas,
+And the sons of _Unktehee_ to be,
+          were endowed with the sacred _Ozuha_[82]
+By the son of tall Wazi-kute, Tamdoka,
+          the chief of the Magi.
+And thus since the birth-day of man--
+          since he sprang from the heart of the mountains,[69]
+Has the sacred "_Wacepee Wakan_"
+          by the warlike Dakotas been honored,
+And the god-favored sons of the clan
+          work their will with the help of the spirits.
+
+
+WINONA'S WARNING.
+
+'Twas sunrise; the spirits of mist
+          trailed their white robes on dewy savannas,
+And the flowers raised their heads to be kissed
+          by the first golden beams of the morning.
+The breeze was abroad with the breath
+          of the rose of the Isles of the Summer,
+And the humming-bird hummed on the heath
+          from his home in the land of the rainbow.[AI]
+'Twas the morn of departure. DuLuth
+          stood alone by the roar of the _Ha-ha_;
+Tall and fair in the strength of his youth
+          stood the blue-eyed and fair-bearded Frenchman.
+A rustle of robes on the grass broke his dream
+          as he mused by the waters,
+And, turning, he looked on the face of Winona,
+          wild-rose of the prairies,
+Half hid in her dark, flowing hair,
+          like the round, golden moon in the pine-tops.
+Admiring he gazed--she was fair
+          as his own blooming Flore in her orchards,
+With her golden locks loose on the air,
+          like the gleam of the sun through the olives,
+Far away on the vine-covered shore,
+          in the sun-favored land of his fathers.
+"Lists the chief to the cataract's roar
+          for the mournful lament of the Spirit?"[AJ]
+Said Winona,--"The wail of the sprite
+          for her babe and its father unfaithful,
+Is heard in the midst of the night,
+          when the moon wanders dim in the heavens."
+
+"Wild-Rose of the Prairies," he said,
+          "DuLuth listens not to the _Ha-ha_,
+For the wail of the ghost of the dead
+          for her babe and its father unfaithful;
+But he lists to a voice in his heart
+          that is heard by the ear of no other,
+And to-day will the White Chief depart;
+          he returns to the land of the sunrise."
+"Let Winona depart with the chief,--
+          she will kindle the fire in his _teepee_;
+For long are the days of her grief,
+          if she stay in the _tee_ of Ta-te-psin,"
+She replied, and her cheeks were aflame
+          with the bloom of the wild prairie lilies.
+"_Tanke_[AK], is the White Chief to blame?"
+          said DuLuth to the blushing Winona.
+"The White Chief is blameless," she said,
+          "but the heart of Winona will follow
+Wherever thy footsteps may lead,
+          O blue-eyed, brave Chief of the white men.
+For her mother sleeps long in the mound,
+          and a step-mother rules in the _teepee_,
+And her father, once strong and renowned,
+          is bent with the weight of his winters.
+No longer he handles the spear,--
+          no longer his swift, humming arrows
+Overtake the fleet feet of the deer,
+          or the bear of the woods, or the bison;
+But he bends as he walks, and the wind
+          shakes his white hair and hinders his footsteps;
+And soon will he leave me behind,
+          without brother or sister or kindred.
+The doe scents the wolf in the wind,
+          and a wolf walks the path of Winona.
+Three times have the gifts for the bride[55]
+          to the lodge of Ta-te-psin been carried,
+But the voice of Winona replied
+          that she liked not the haughty Tamdoka.
+And thrice were the gifts sent away,
+          but the tongue of the mother protested,
+And the were-wolf[52] still follows his prey,
+          and abides but the death of my father."
+
+[AI] The Dakotas say the humming-bird comes from the "Land of the
+rain-bow."
+
+[AJ] See Legend of the Falls, or Note 28--Appendix.
+
+[AK] My Sister.
+
+"I pity Winona," he said,
+          "but my path is a pathway of danger,
+And long is the trail for the maid
+          to the far-away land of the sunrise;
+And few are the braves of my band,
+          and the braves of Tamdoka are many;
+But soon I return to the land,
+          and a cloud of my hunters will follow.
+When the cold winds of winter return
+          and toss the white robes of the prairies,
+The fire of the White Chief will burn
+          in his lodge at the Meeting-of-Waters;[AL]
+And when from the Sunrise again
+          comes the chief of the sons of the Morning,
+Many moons will his hunters remain
+          in the land of the friendly Dakotas.
+The son of Chief Wazi-Kute guides
+          the White Chief afar on his journey;
+Nor long on the _Tanka Mede_[AM]--
+          on the breast of the blue, bounding billows--
+Shall the bark of the Frenchman delay,
+          but his pathway shall kindle behind him."
+
+[AL] Mendota--properly Mdo-te--meaning the out-let of a lake or river
+into another, commonly applied to the region about Fort Snelling.
+
+[AM] _Tanka-Mede_--Great Lake, i.e. Lake Superior. The Dakotas seem to
+have had no other name for it. They generally referred to it as
+_Mini-ya-ta--There at the water_.
+
+She was pale, and her hurried voice
+          swelled with alarm as she questioned replying--
+"Tamdoka thy guide?--I beheld
+          thy death in his face at the races.
+He covers his heart with a smile,
+          but revenge never sleeps in his bosom;
+His tongue--it is soft to beguile;
+          but beware of the pur of the panther!
+For death, like a shadow, will walk
+          by thy side in the midst of the forest,
+Or follow thy path like a hawk
+          on the trail of a wounded _Mastinca_.[AN]
+A son of _Unktehee_ is he,--
+          the Chief of the crafty magicians;
+They have plotted thy death;
+          I can see thy trail--it is red in the forest;
+Beware of Tamdoka,--beware.
+          Slumber not like the grouse of the woodlands,
+With head under wing, for the glare
+          of the eyes that sleep not are upon thee."
+
+[AN] The rabbit. The Dakotas called the Crees "Mastincapi"--Rabbits.
+
+"Winona, fear not," said DuLuth,
+          "for I carry the fire of _Wakinyan_[AO]
+And strong is the arm of my youth,
+          and stout are the hearts of my warriors;
+But Winona has spoken the truth,
+          and the heart of the White Chief is thankful.
+Hide this in thy bosom, dear maid,--
+          'tis the crucified Christ of the white men.[AP]
+Lift thy voice to his spirit in need,
+          and his spirit will hear thee and answer;
+For often he comes to my aid;
+          he is stronger than all the Dakotas;
+And the Spirits of evil, afraid,
+          hide away when he looks from the heavens."
+In her swelling, brown bosom she hid
+          the crucified Jesus in silver;
+"_Niwaste_,"[AQ] she sadly replied;
+          in her low voice the rising tears trembled;
+Her dewy eyes turned she aside,
+          and she slowly returned to the _teepees_.
+But still on the swift river's strand,
+          admiring the graceful Winona,
+As she gathered, with brown, dimpled hand,
+          her hair from the wind, stood the Frenchman.
+
+
+DULUTH'S DEPARTURE
+
+To bid the brave White Chief adieu,
+          on the shady shore gathered the warriors;
+His glad boatmen manned the canoe,
+          and the oars in their hands were impatient.
+Spake the Chief of _Isantees_:
+          "A feast will await the return of my brother.
+In peace rose the sun in the East,
+          in peace in the West he descended.
+May the feet of my brother be swift
+          till they bring him again to our _teepees_,
+The red pipe he takes as a gift,
+          may he smoke that red pipe many winters.
+At my lodge-fire his pipe shall be lit,
+          when the White Chief returns to _Kathaga_;
+On the robes of my _tee_ shall he sit;
+          he shall smoke with the chiefs of my people.
+The brave love the brave, and his son
+          sends the Chief as a guide for his brother,
+By the way of the _Wakpa Wakan_[AR]
+          to the Chief at the Lake of the Spirits.
+As light as the foot-steps of dawn
+          are the feet of the stealthy Tamdoka;
+He fears not the _Maza Wakan_;[AS]
+          he is sly as the fox of the forest.
+When he dances the dance of red war
+          howl the wolves by the broad _Mini-ya-ta_,[AT]
+For they scent on the south-wind afar
+          their feast on the bones of Ojibways."
+Thrice the Chief puffed the red pipe of peace,
+          ere it passed to the lips of the Frenchman.
+Spake DuLuth: "May the Great Spirit bless
+          with abundance the Chief and his people;
+May their sons and their daughters increase,
+          and the fire ever burn in their _teepees_."
+Then he waved with a flag his adieu
+          to the Chief and the warriors assembled;
+And away shot Tamdoka's canoe
+          to the strokes of ten sinewy hunters;
+And a white path he clove up the blue,
+          bubbling stream of the swift Mississippi;
+And away on his foaming trail flew,
+          like a sea-gull, the bark of the Frenchman.
+
+[AO] i.e. fire-arms which the Dakotas compare to the roar of the wings
+of the Thunder-bird and the fierey arrows he shoots.
+
+[AP] DuLuth was a devout Catholic.
+
+[AQ] _Nee-wah-shtay_--Thou art good.
+
+[AR] Spirit-River, now called Rum River.
+
+[AS] Fire-arm--spirit-metal.
+
+[AT] Lake Superior--at that time the home of the Ojibways (Chippewas).
+
+[Illustration: TWO HUNDRED WHITE WINTERS AND MORE HAVE FLED FROM THE
+FACE OF THE SUMMER ...
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+AH, LITTLE HE DREAMED THEN, FORSOOTH, THAT A CITY WOULD STAND ON THAT
+HILL SIDE]
+
+Then merrily rose the blithe song
+          of the _voyageurs_ homeward returning,
+And thus, as they glided along,
+          sang the bugle-voiced boatmen in chorus:
+
+  SONG.
+
+  Home again! home again! bend to the oar!
+  Merry is the life of the gay _voyageur._
+  He rides on the river with his paddle in his hand,
+  And his boat is his shelter on the water and the land.
+  The clam has his shell and the water-turtle too,
+  But the brave boatman's shell is his birch-bark canoe.
+  So pull away, boatmen; bend to the oar;
+  Merry is the life of the gay _voyageur._
+
+  Home again! home again! bend to the oar!
+  Merry is the life of the gay _voyageur_,
+  His couch is as downy as a couch can be,
+  For he sleeps on the feathers of the green fir-tree.
+  He dines on the fat of the pemmican-sack,
+  And his _eau de vie_ is the _eau de lac_.
+  So pull away, boatmen; bend to the oar;
+  Merry is the life of the gay _voyageur_.
+
+  Home again! home again! bend to the oar!
+  Merry is the life of the gay _voyageur_.
+  The brave, jolly boatman,--he never is afraid
+  When he meets at the portage a red, forest maid,
+  A Huron, or a Cree, or a blooming Chippeway;
+  And he marks his trail with the _bois brules_[AU]
+  So pull away, boatmen; bend to the oar;
+  Merry is the life of the gay _voyageur_.
+  Home again! home again! bend to the oar!
+  Merry is the life of the gay _voyageur_.
+
+In the reeds of the meadow the stag
+          lifts his branchy head stately and listens,
+And the bobolink, perched on the flag,
+          her ear sidelong bends to the chorus.
+From the brow of the Beautiful Isle,[AV]
+          half hid in the midst of the maples,
+The sad-faced Winona, the while,
+          watched the boat growing less in the distance,
+Till away in the bend of the stream,
+          where it turned and was lost in the lindens,
+She saw the last dip and the gleam
+          of the oars ere they vanished forever.
+
+
+[AU] "Burnt woods"--half-breeds.
+
+[AV] _Wita Waste_--"Beautiful Island"; the Dakota name for Nicollet
+Island.
+
+Still afar on the waters the song,
+          like bridal bells distantly chiming,
+The stout, jolly boatmen prolong,
+          beating time with the stroke of their paddles;
+And Winona's ear, turned to the breeze,
+          lists the air falling fainter and fainter,
+Till it dies like the murmur of bees
+          when the sun is aslant on the meadows.
+Blow, breezes,--blow softly and sing
+          in the dark, flowing hair of the maiden;
+But never again shall you bring
+          the voice that she loves to Winona.
+
+
+THE CANOE RACE.
+
+Now a light rustling wind from the South
+          shakes his wings o'er the wide, wimpling waters:
+Up the dark-winding river DuLuth
+          follows fast in the wake of Tamdoka.
+On the slopes of the emerald shores
+          leafy woodlands and prairies alternate;
+On the vine-tangled islands the flowers
+          peep timidly out at the white men;
+In the dark-winding eddy the loon
+          sits warily watching and voiceless,
+And the wild-goose, in reedy lagoon,
+          stills the prattle and play of her children.
+The does and their sleek, dappled fawns
+          prick their ears and peer out from the thickets,
+And the bison-calves play on the lawns,
+          and gambol like colts in the clover.
+Up the still-flowing _Wakpa Wakan's_
+          winding path through the groves and the meadows,
+Now DuLuth's brawny boatmen pursue
+          the swift-gliding bark of Tamdoka;
+And hardly the red braves out-do
+          the stout, steady oars of the white men.
+
+Now they bend to their oars in the race--
+          the ten tawny braves of Tamdoka;
+And hard on their heels in the chase
+          ply the six stalwart oars of the Frenchmen.
+In the stern of his boat sits DuLuth;
+          in the stern of his boat sits Tamdoka,
+And warily, cheerily, both urge
+          the oars of their men to the utmost.
+Far-stretching away to the eyes,
+          winding blue in the midst of the meadows,
+As a necklet of sapphires that lies
+          unclaspt in the lap of a virgin,
+Here asleep in the lap of the plain
+          lies the reed-bordered, beautiful river.
+Like two flying coursers that strain,
+          on the track, neck and neck on the home-stretch,
+With nostrils distended and mane froth-flecked,
+          and the neck and the shoulders,
+Each urged to his best by the cry
+          and the whip and the rein of his rider,
+Now they skim o'er the waters and fly,
+          side by side, neck and neck, through the meadows,
+The blue heron flaps from the reeds,
+          and away wings her course up the river:
+Straight and swift is her flight o'er the meads,
+          but she hardly outstrips the canoemen.
+See! the _voyageurs_ bend to their oars
+          till the blue veins swell out on their foreheads;
+And the sweat from their brawny breasts pours;
+          but in vain their Herculean labor;
+For the oars of Tamdoka are ten,
+          and but six are the oars of the Frenchman,
+And the red warriors' burden of men
+          is matched by the _voyageurs'_ luggage.
+Side by side, neck and neck, for a mile,
+          still they strain their strong arms to the utmost,
+Till rounding a willowy isle,
+          now ahead creeps the boat of Tamdoka,
+And the neighboring forests profound,
+          and the far-stretching plain of the meadows
+To the whoop of the victors resound,
+          while the panting French rest on their paddles.
+
+
+IN CAMP.
+
+With sable wings wide o'er the land
+          night sprinkles the dew of the heavens;
+And hard by the dark river's strand,
+          in the midst of a tall, somber forest,
+Two camp fires are lighted and beam
+          on the trunks and the arms of the pine trees.
+In the fitful light darkle and gleam
+          the swarthy-hued faces around them.
+And one is the camp of DuLuth,
+          and the other the camp of Tamdoka.
+But few are the jests and uncouth
+          of the voyageurs over their supper,
+While moody and silent the braves
+          round their fire in a circle sit crouching;
+And low is the whisper of leaves
+          and the sough of the wind in the branches;
+And low is the long-winding howl
+          of the lone wolf afar in the forest;
+But shrill is the hoot of the owl,
+          like a bugle-blast blown in the pine-tops,
+And the half-startled _voyageurs_ scowl
+          at the sudden and saucy intruder.
+Like the eyes of the wolves are the eyes
+          of the watchful and silent Dakotas;
+Like the face of the moon in the skies,
+          when the clouds chase each other across it,
+Is Tamdoka's dark face in the light
+          of the flickering flames of the camp-fire.
+They have plotted red murder by night,
+          and securely contemplate their victims.
+But wary and armed to the teeth
+          are the resolute Frenchmen, and ready,
+If need be, to grapple with death,
+          and to die hand to hand in the forest.
+Yet skilled in the arts and the wiles
+          of the cunning and crafty _Algonkins_[AW]
+They cover their hearts with their smiles,
+          and hide their suspicions of evil.
+Round their low, smouldering fire,
+          feigning sleep, lie the watchful and wily Dakotas;
+But DuLuth and his _voyageurs_ heap
+          their fire that shall blaze till the morning,
+Ere they lay themselves snugly to rest,
+          with their guns by their sides on the blankets,
+As if there were none to molest
+          but the gray, skulking wolves of the forest.
+
+[AW] Ojibways.
+
+'Tis midnight. The rising moon gleams,
+          weird and still, o'er the dusky horizon;
+Through the hushed, somber forest she beams,
+          and fitfully gloams on the meadows;
+And a dim, glimmering pathway she paves,
+          at times, on the dark stretch of river.
+The winds are asleep in the caves--
+          in the heart of the far-away mountains;
+And here on the meadows and there,
+          the lazy mists gather and hover;
+And the lights of the Fen-Spirits[72] flare
+          and dance on the low-lying marshes,
+As still as the footsteps of death
+          by the bed of the babe and its mother;
+And hushed are the pines, and beneath
+          lie the weary-limbed boatmen in slumber.
+Walk softly,--walk softly, O Moon,
+          through the gray, broken clouds in thy pathway,
+For the earth lies asleep and the boon
+          of repose is bestowed on the weary.
+Toiling hands have forgotten their care;
+          e'en the brooks have forgotten to murmur;
+But hark!--there's a sound on the air!--
+          'tis the light-rustling robes of the Spirits,
+Like the breath of the night in the leaves
+           or the murmur of reeds on the river,
+In the cool of the mid-summer eyes,
+          when the blaze of the day has descended.
+Low-crouching and shadowy forms,
+          as still as the gray morning's footsteps,
+Creep sly as the serpent that charms,
+          on her nest in the meadow, the plover;
+In the shadows of pine-trunks they creep,
+          but their panther-eyes gleam in the fire-light,
+As they peer on the white-men asleep,
+          in the glow of the fire, on their blankets.
+Lo in each swarthy right-hand a knife;
+          in the left-hand, the bow and the arrows!
+Brave Frenchmen, awake to the strife!--
+          or you sleep in the forest forever.
+Nay, nearer and nearer they glide,
+          like ghosts on the field of their battles,
+Till close on the sleepers, they bide
+          but the signal of death from Tamdoka.
+Still the sleepers sleep on. Not a breath
+          stirs the leaves of the awe-stricken forest;
+The hushed air is heavy with death;
+          like the footsteps of death are the moments.
+"_Arise!_"--At the word, with a bound,
+          to their feet spring the vigilant Frenchmen;
+And the depths of the forest resound
+          to the crack and the roar of their rifles;
+And seven writhing forms on the ground
+          clutch the earth. From the pine-tops the screech-owl
+Screams and flaps his wide wings in affright,
+          and plunges away through the shadows;
+And swift on the wings of the night
+          flee the dim, phantom-forms through the darkness.
+Like _cabris_[80] when white wolves pursue,
+          fled the four yet remaining Dakotas;
+Through forest and fen-land they flew,
+          and wild terror howled on their footsteps.
+And one was Tamdoka. DuLuth
+          through the night sent his voice like a trumpet:
+"Ye are _Sons of Unktehee_, forsooth!
+          Return to your mothers, ye cowards!"
+His shrill voice they heard as they fled,
+          but only the echoes made answer.
+At the feet of the brave Frenchmen, dead,
+          lay seven swarthy _Sons of whitehead_;
+And there, in the midst of the slain,
+          they found, as it gleamed in the fire-light,
+The horn-handled knife from the Seine,
+          where it fell from the hand of Tamdoka.
+
+[Illustration: NEARER AND NEARER THEY GLIDE LIKE GHOSTS ON THE FIELDS OF
+THEIR BATTLES. TILL CLOSE ON THE SLEEPERS, THEY BIDE FOR THE SIGNAL OF
+DEATH FROM TAMDOKA]
+
+In the gray of the morn, ere the sun
+          peeped over the dewy horizon,
+Their journey again was begun,
+          and they toiled up the swift, winding river;
+And many a shallow they passed
+          on their way to the Lake of the Spirits;[AX]
+But dauntless they reached it at last,
+          and found Akee-pa-kee-tin's[AY] village,
+On an isle in the midst of the lake;
+          and a day in his teepees they tarried.
+Of the deed in the wilderness spake,
+          to the brave Chief, the frank-hearted Frenchman.
+A generous man was the Chief,
+          and a friend of the fearless explorer;
+And dark was his visage with grief
+          at the treacherous act of the warriors.
+"Brave Wazi-kute is a man,
+          and his heart is as clear as the sunlight;
+But the head of a treacherous clan
+          and a snake-in-the-grass, is Tamdoka,"
+Said the chief; and he promised DuLuth,
+          on the word of a friend and a warrior,
+To carry the pipe and the truth
+          to his cousin, the chief at Kathaga;
+For thrice at the _Tanka Mede_
+          he smoked in the lodge of the Frenchman;
+And thrice had he carried away
+          the bountiful gifts of the trader.
+
+[AX] Mille Lacs
+
+[AY] See Hennepin's account of "Aqui-pa-que-tin," and his village.
+Shea's Hennepin, 225.
+
+When the chief could no longer prevail
+          on the white men to rest in his _teepees_,
+He guided their feet on the trail
+          to the lakes of the winding Rice-River.[AZ]
+Now on speeds the light bark canoe,
+          through the lakes to the broad _Gitchee Seebee_;[BA]
+And up the great river they row,--
+          up the Big Sandy Lake and Savanna;
+And down through the meadows they go
+          to the river of blue _Gitchee-Gumee_.[BB]
+Still onward they speed to the Dalles--
+          to the roar of the white-rolling rapids,
+Where the dark river tumbles and falls
+          down the ragged ravine of the mountains.
+And singing his wild jubilee
+          to the low-moaning pines and the cedars,
+Rushes on to the unsalted sea
+          o'er the ledges upheaved by volcanoes.
+Their luggage the _voyageurs_ bore
+          down the long, winding path of the portage,[BC]
+While they mingled their song with the roar
+          of the turbid and turbulent waters.
+Down-wimpling and murmuring there
+          'twixt two dewy hills winds a streamlet,
+Like a long, flaxen ringlet of hair
+          on the breast of a maid in her slumber.
+
+All safe at the foot of the trail,
+          where they left it, they found their felucca,
+And soon to the wind spread the sail,
+          and glided at ease through the waters,--
+Through the meadows and lakelets and forth,
+          round the point stretching south like a finger,
+From the pine-plumed hills on the north,
+          sloping down to the bay and the lake-side
+And behold, at the foot of the hill,
+          a cluster of Chippewa wigwams,
+And the busy wives plying with skill
+          their nets in the emerald waters.
+Two hundred white winters and more
+          have fled from the face of the Summer
+Since DuLuth on that wild, somber shore,
+          in the unbroken forest primeval,
+From the midst of the spruce and the pines,
+          saw the smoke of the wigwams up-curling,
+Like the fumes from the temples and shrines
+          of the Druids of old in their forests.
+Ah, little he dreamed then, forsooth,
+          that a city would stand on that hill-side,
+And bear the proud name of DuLuth,
+          the untiring and dauntless explorer,--
+A refuge for ships from the storms,
+          and for men from the bee-hives of Europe,
+Out-stretching her long, iron arms
+          o'er an empire of Saxons and Normans.
+
+[AZ] Now called "Mud River"--it empties into the Mississippi at Aitkin.
+
+[BA] _Gitchee See-bee_--Big River--is the Ojibway name for the
+Mississippi, which is a corruption of Gitchee Seebee--as Michigan is a
+corruption of _Gitchee Gumee_--Great Lake, the Ojibway name of Lake
+Superior.
+
+[BB] The Ojibways called the St. Louis River _Gitchee-Gumee
+See-bee_--_Great-lake River_, i.e. the river of the Great Lake (Lake
+Superior).
+
+[BC] The route of DuLuth above described--from the mouth of the
+Wild-Rice (Mud) River, to Lake Superior--was for centuries, and still
+is, the Indians' canoe-route. I have walked over the old portage from
+the foot of the Dalles to the St. Louis above--trod by the feet of
+half-breeds and _voyageurs_ for more than two centuries, and by the
+Indians for perhaps a thousand years.
+
+The swift west-wind sang in the sails,
+          and on flew the boat like a sea-gull,
+By the green, templed hills and the dales,
+          and the dark, rugged rocks of the North Shore;
+For the course of the brave Frenchman lay
+          to his fort at the _Gah-mah-na-tek-wahk,_[83]
+By the shore of the grand Thunder Bay,
+          where the gray rocks loom up into mountains;
+Where the Stone Giant sleeps on the Cape,
+          and the god of the storms makes the thunder,[83]
+And the _Makinak_[83] lifts his huge shape
+          from the breast of the blue-rolling waters.
+And thence to the south-westward led his course
+          to the Holy Ghost Mission,[84]
+Where the Black Robes, the brave shepherds,
+          fed their wild sheep on the isle _Wauga-ba-me_,[94]
+In the enchanting _Cha-quam-e-gon_ Bay
+          defended by all the Apostles,[BD]
+And thence, by the Ke-we-naw,
+          lay his course to the Mission Sainte Marie,[BE]
+Now the waves clap their myriad hands,
+          and streams the white hair of the surges;
+DuLuth at the steady helm stands,
+          and he hums as he bounds o'er the billows:
+
+    O sweet is the carol of bird,
+    And sweet is the murmur of streams,
+    But sweeter the voice that I heard--
+    In the night--in the midst of my dreams.
+
+[BD] The Apostle Islands.
+
+[BE] At the Sault Ste. Marie.
+
+
+
+WINONA AND TA-TE-PSIN.
+
+'Tis the moon of the sere, falling leaves.
+          From the heads of the maples the west-wind
+Plucks the red-and-gold plumage and grieves
+          on the meads for the rose and the lily;
+Their brown leaves the moaning oaks strew,
+          and the breezes that roam on the prairies,
+Low-whistling and wanton pursue
+          the down of the silk-weed and thistle.
+All sere are the prairies and brown
+          in the glimmer and haze of the Autumn;
+From the far northern marshes flock down,
+          by thousands, the geese and the mallards.
+From the meadows and wide-prairied plains,
+          for their long southward journey preparing.
+In croaking flocks gather the cranes,
+          and choose with loud clamor their leaders.
+The breath of the evening is cold,
+          and lurid along the horizon
+The flames of the prairies are rolled,
+          on the somber skies flashing their torches.
+At noontide a shimmer of gold
+          through the haze pours the sun from his pathway.
+The wild-rice is gathered and ripe,
+von the moors, lie the scarlet _po-pan-ka_,[BF]
+_Michabo_[85] is smoking his pipe,--
+          'tis the soft, dreamy Indian Summer,
+When the god of the South[3] as he flies
+          from _Waziya_, the god of the Winter,
+For a time turns his beautiful eyes,
+          and backward looks over his shoulder.
+
+[BF] Cranberries.
+
+It is noon. From his path in the skies
+          the red sun looks down on _Kathaga_.
+Asleep in the valley it lies,
+          for the swift hunters follow the bison.
+Ta-te-psin, the aged brave, bends
+        as he walks by the side of Winona;
+Her arm to his left hand she lends,
+        and he feels with his staff for the pathway;
+On his slow, feeble footsteps attends
+        his gray dog, the watchful Wichaka; [a]
+For blind in his years is the chief
+        of a fever that followed the Summer,
+And the days of Ta-te-psin are brief.
+        Once more by the dark-rolling river
+Sits the Chief in the warm, dreamy haze
+        of the beautiful Summer in Autumn;
+And the faithful dog lovingly lays his head
+        at the feet of his master.
+On a dead, withered branch sits a crow,
+        down-peering askance at the old man;
+On the marge of the river below
+        romp the nut-brown and merry-voiced children,
+And the dark waters silently flow,
+        broad and deep, to the plunge of the Ha-ha.
+
+[a] Wee-chah kah--literally "Faithful".
+
+By his side sat Winona.
+        He laid his thin, shriveled hand on her tresses,
+"Winona my daughter," he said,
+        "no longer thy father beholds thee;
+But he feels the long locks of thy hair,
+        and the days that are gone are remembered,
+When Sisoka [BG] sat faithful and fair
+        in the lodge of swift footed Ta-te-psin.
+The white years have broken my spear;
+        from my bow they have taken the bow-string;
+But once on the trail of the deer,
+        like a gray wolf from sunrise till sunset,
+By woodland and meadow and mere,
+        ran the feet of Ta-te-psin untiring.
+But dim are the days that are gone,
+        and darkly around me they wander,
+Like the pale, misty face of the moon
+        when she walks through the storm of the winter;
+And sadly they speak in my ear.
+        I have looked on the graves of my kindred.
+The Land of the Spirits is near.
+        Death walks by my side like a shadow.
+Now open thine ear to my voice,
+        and thy heart to the wish of thy father,
+And long will Winona rejoice
+        that she heeded the words of Ta-te-psin.
+The cold, cruel winter is near,
+        and famine will sit in the teepee.
+What hunter will bring me the deer,
+        or the flesh of the bear or the bison?
+For my kinsmen before me have gone;
+        they hunt in the land of the shadows.
+In my old age forsaken, alone,
+        must I die in my teepee of hunger?
+Winona, Tamdoka can make my empty lodge
+        laugh with abundance;
+For thine aged and blind father's sake,
+        to the son of the Chief speak the promise.
+For gladly again to my tee
+        will the bridal gifts come for my daughter.
+A fleet-footed hunter is he,
+        and the good spirits feather his arrows;
+And the cold, cruel winter
+        will be a feast-time instead of a famine."
+
+[BG] The Robin--the name of Winona's Mother.
+
+
+"My father," she said, and her voice
+          was filial and full of compassion,
+"Would the heart of Ta-te-psin rejoice
+          at the death of Winona, his daughter?
+The crafty Tamdoka I hate.
+          Must I die in his _teepee_ of sorrow?
+For I love the White Chief and I wait
+          his return to the land of Dakotas.
+When the cold winds of winter return,
+          and toss the white robes of the prairies,
+The fire of the White Chief will burn
+          in his lodge at the Meeting-of-Waters.
+Winona's heart followed his feet
+          far away to the land of the Morning,
+And she hears in her slumber his sweet,
+          kindly voice call the name of thy daughter.
+My father, abide, I entreat,
+          the return of the brave to _Katahga_.
+The wild-rice is gathered, the meat
+          of the bison is stored in the _teepee_;
+Till the Coon-Moon[71] enough and to spare;
+          and if then the white warrior return not,
+Winona will follow the bear and the coon
+          to their dens in the forest.
+She is strong; she can handle the spear;
+          she can bend the stout bow of the hunter;
+And swift on the trail of the deer
+          will she run o'er the snow on her snow-shoes.
+Let the step-mother sit in the tee,
+          and kindle the fire for my father;
+And the cold, cruel winter shall be
+          a feast-time instead of a famine."
+"The White Chief will never return,"
+          half angrily muttered Ta-te-psin;
+"His camp-fire will nevermore burn
+          in the land of the warriors he slaughtered.
+I grieve, for my daughter has said
+          that she loves the false friend of her kindred;
+For the hands of the White Chief are red
+          with the blood of the trustful Dakotas."
+
+Then warmly Winona replied,
+          "Tamdoka himself is the traitor,
+And the brave-hearted stranger had died
+          by his treacherous hand in the forest,
+But thy daughter's voice bade him beware
+          of the sly death that followed his footsteps.
+The words of Tamdoka are fair,
+          but his heart is the den of the serpents.
+When the braves told their tale like a bird
+          sang the heart of Winona rejoicing,
+But gladlier still had she heard
+          of the death of the crafty Tamdoka.
+The Chief will return; he is bold,
+          and he carries the fire of Wakinyan:
+To our people the truth will be told,
+          and Tamdoka will hide like a coward."
+His thin locks the aged brave shook;
+          to himself half inaudibly muttered;
+To Winona no answer he spoke,--only moaned he "_Micunksee! Micunksee_![BH]
+In my old age forsaken and blind!
+          _Yun-he-he! Micunksee! Micunksee_!"[BI]
+And Wichaka, the pitying dog,
+          whined as he looked on the face of his master.
+
+[BH] My Daughter; My Daughter.
+
+[BI] Alas, O My Daughter,--My Daughter!
+
+
+
+FAMINE.
+
+_Waziya_ came down from the North--
+          from the land of perpetual winter.
+From his frost-covered beard issued forth the sharp-biting,
+          shrill-whistling North-wind;
+At the touch of his breath
+          the wide earth turned to stone, and the lakes and the rivers:
+From his nostrils the white vapors rose,
+          and they covered the sky like a blanket.
+Like the down of _Maga_[BJ] fell the snows,
+          tossed and whirled into heaps by the North-wind.
+Then the blinding storms roared on the plains,
+          like the simoons on sandy Sahara;
+From the fangs of the fierce hurricanes
+          fled the elk and the deer and the bison.
+Ever colder and colder it grew,
+          till the frozen ground cracked and split open;
+And harder and harder it blew,
+          till the hillocks were bare as the boulders.
+To the southward the buffalos fled,
+          and the white rabbits hid in their burrows;
+On the bare sacred mounds of the dead
+          howled the gaunt, hungry wolves in the night-time,
+The strong hunters crouched in their _tees_;
+          by the lodge-fires the little ones shivered;
+And the Magic-Men[BK] danced to appease,
+          in their _teepee_, the wrath of _Waziya_;
+But famine and fatal disease,
+          like phantoms, crept into the village.
+The Hard Moon[BL] was past, but the moon
+          when the coons make their trails in the forest[BM]
+Grew colder and colder. The coon,
+          or the bear, ventured not from his cover;
+For the cold, cruel Arctic simoon
+          swept the earth like the breath of a furnace.
+In the _tee_ of Ta-te-psin the store
+          of wild-rice and dried meat was exhausted;
+And Famine crept in at the door,
+          and sat crouching and gaunt by the lodge-fire.
+But now with the saddle of deer
+          and the gifts came the crafty Tamdoka;
+And he said, "Lo I bring you good cheer,
+          for I love the blind Chief and his daughter.
+Take the gifts of Tamdoka, for dear
+          to his heart is the dark-eyed Winona."
+The aged Chief opened his ears;
+          in his heart he already consented:
+But the moans of his child and her tears
+          touched the age-softened heart of the father,
+And he said, "I am burdened with years,--
+          I am bent by the snows of my winters;
+Ta-te-psin will die in his _tee_;
+          let him pass to the Land of the Spirits;
+But Winona is young; she is free
+          and her own heart shall choose her a husband."
+The dark warrior strode from the _tee_;
+          low-muttering and grim he departed;
+"Let him die in his lodge," muttered he,
+          "but Winona shall kindle my lodge-fire."
+
+Then forth went Winona. The bow
+          of Ta-te-psin she took and his arrows,
+And afar o'er the deep, drifted snow
+          through the forest she sped on her snow shoes.
+Over meadow and ice-covered mere,
+          through the thickets of red-oak and hazel,
+She followed the tracks of the deer,
+          but like phantoms they fled from her vision.
+From sunrise to sunset she sped;
+          half famished she camped in the thicket;
+In the cold snow she made her lone bed;
+          on the buds of the birch[BN] made her supper.
+To the dim moon the gray owl preferred,
+          from the tree-top, his shrill lamentation,
+And around her at midnight she heard
+          the dread famine-cries of the gray wolves.
+In the gloam of the morning again
+          on the trail of the red-deer she followed--
+All day long through the thickets in vain,
+          for the gray wolves were chasing the roebucks;
+And the cold, hungry winds from the plain
+          chased the wolves and the deer and Winona.
+
+[BJ] Wild-goose
+
+[BK] Medicine-men.
+
+[BL] January.
+
+[BM] February.
+
+[BN] The pheasant feeds on birch-buds in winter. Indians eat them when
+very hungry.
+
+In the twilight of sundown she sat
+          in the forest, all weak and despairing;
+Ta-te-psin's bow lay at her feet,
+          and his otter-skin quiver of arrows
+"He promised,--he promised," she said,--
+          half-dreamily uttered and mournful,--
+"And why comes he not? Is he dead?
+          Was he slain by the crafty Tamdoka?
+Must Winona, alas, make her choice--
+          make her choice between death and Tamdoka?
+She will die, but her soul will rejoice
+          in the far Summer-land of the spirits.
+Hark! I hear his low, musical voice!
+          he is coming! My White Chief is coming!
+Ah, no, I am half in a dream!--
+          'twas the memory of days long departed;
+But the birds of the green Summer seem
+          to be singing above in the branches."
+Then forth from her bosom she drew
+          the crucified Jesus in silver.
+In her dark hair the cold north-wind blew,
+          as meekly she bent o'er the image.
+"O Christ of the Whiteman," she prayed,
+          "lead the feet of my brave to Kathaga;
+Send a good spirit down to my aid,
+          or the friend of the White Chief will perish."
+Then a smile on her wan features played,
+          and she lifted her pale face and chanted
+
+        "E-ye-he-kta! E-ye-he-kta!
+         He-kta-ce; e-ye-ce-quon.
+         Mi-Wamdee-ska, he-he-kta,
+         He-kta-ce, e-ye-ce-quon,
+           Mi-Wamdee-ska."
+
+             [TRANSLATON]
+
+         He will come; he will come;
+         He will come, for he promised.
+         My White Eagle, he will come;
+         He will come, for he promised----
+           My White Eagle.
+
+Thus sadly she chanted, and lo--
+          allured by her sorrowful accents--
+From the dark covert crept a red roe
+          and wonderingly gazed on Winona.
+Then swift caught the huntress her bow;
+          from her trembling hand hummed the keen arrow.
+Up-leaped the red roebuck and fled,
+          but the white snow was sprinkled with scarlet,
+And he fell in the oak thicket dead.
+          On the trail ran the eager Winona.
+Half-famished the raw flesh she ate.
+          To the hungry maid sweet was her supper
+Then swift through the night ran her feet,
+          and she trailed the sleek roebuck behind her;
+And the guide of her steps was a star--
+          the cold-glinting star of _Waziya_[BO]--
+Over meadow and hilltop afar, on the way
+          to the lodge of her father.
+But hark! on the keen frosty air
+          wind the shrill hunger-howls of the gray-wolves!
+And nearer,--still nearer!--the blood
+          of the deer have they scented and follow;
+Through the thicket, the meadow, the wood,
+          dash the pack on the trail of Winona.
+Swift she speeds with her burden,
+          but swift on her track fly the minions of famine;
+Now they yell on the view from the drift,
+          in the reeds at the marge of the meadow;
+Red gleam their wild, ravenous eyes,
+          for they see on the hill-side their supper;
+The dark forest echoes their cries,
+          but her heart is the heart of a warrior.
+From its sheath snatched Winona her knife,
+          and a leg from the roebuck she severed;
+With the carcass she ran for her life,--
+          to a low-branching oak ran the maiden;
+Round the deer's neck her head-strap[BP] was tied;
+          swiftly she sprang to the arms of the oak-tree;
+Quick her burden she drew to her side,
+          and higher she clomb on the branches,
+While the maddened wolves battled and bled,
+          dealing death o'er the leg to each other;
+Their keen fangs devouring the dead,--
+          yea, devouring the flesh of the living,
+They raved and they gnashed and they growled,
+          like the fiends in the regions infernal;
+The wide night re-echoing howled,
+          and the hoarse North-wind laughed o'er the slaughter.
+But their ravenous maws unappeased
+          by the blood and the flesh of their fellows,
+To the cold wind their muzzles they raised,
+          and the trail to the oak-tree they followed.
+Round and round it they howled for the prey,
+          madly leaping and snarling and snapping;
+But the brave maiden's keen arrows slay,
+          till the dead number more than the living.
+All the long, dreary night-time, at bay,
+          in the oak sat the shivering Winona;
+But the sun gleamed at last, and away
+          skulked the gray cowards[BQ] down through the forest.
+Then down dropped the deer and the maid.
+          Ere the sun reached the midst of his journey,
+Her red, welcome burden she laid
+          at the feet of her famishing father.
+_Waziya's_ wild wrath was appeased,
+          and homeward he turned to his _teepee_,[3]
+O'er the plains and the forest-land breezed
+          from the Islands of Summer the South-wind.
+From their dens came the coon and the bear;
+          o'er the snow through the woodlands they wandered;
+On her snow-shoes with stout bow and spear
+          on their trails ran the huntress Winona.
+The coon to his den in the tree,
+          and the bear to his burrow she followed;
+A brave, skillful hunter was she,
+          and Ta-te-psin's lodge laughed with abundance.
+
+[BO] _Waziya's_ Star is the North-star.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+[BP] A strap used in carrying burdens.
+
+[BQ] Wolves sometimes attack people at night, but rarely, if ever, in
+the day time. If they have followed a hunter all night, and "treed" him,
+they will skulk away as soon as the sun rises.
+
+
+DEATH OF TA-TE-PSIN.
+
+The long winter wanes. On the wings
+          of the spring come the geese and the mallards;
+On the bare oak the red-robin sings,
+          and the crocus peeps up on the prairies,
+And the bobolink pipes, but he brings
+          of the blue-eyed, brave White Chief no tidings.
+With the waning of winter, alas,
+          waned the life of the aged Ta-te-psin;
+Ere the wild pansies peeped from the grass,
+          to the Land of the Spirits he journeyed;
+Like a babe in its slumber he passed,
+          or the snow from the hill-tops of April;
+And the dark-eyed Winona, at last,
+          stood alone by the graves of her kindred.
+When their myriad mouths opened the trees
+          to the sweet dew of heaven and the raindrops,
+And the April showers fell on the leas,
+          on his mound fell the tears of Winona.
+Round her drooping form gathered the years
+          and the spirits unseen of her kindred,
+As low, in the midst of her tears,
+          at the grave of her father she chanted
+
+    E-yo-tan-han e-yay-wah-ke-yay!
+    E-yo-tan-han e-yay-wah-ke-yay!
+    E-yo-tan-han e-yay-wah-ke-yay!
+  Ma-kah kin hay-chay-dan tay-han wan-kay.
+  Tu-way ne ktay snee e-yay-chen e-wah chay.
+    E-yo-tan-han e-yay-wah-ke-yay!
+    E-yo-tan-han e-yay-wah-ke-yay!
+Ma-kah kin hay-chay-dan tay-han wan-kay.
+
+[TRANSLATION].
+
+    Sore is my sorrow!
+    Sore is my sorrow!
+    Sore is my sorrow!
+  The earth alone lasts.
+  I speak as one dying;
+    Sore is my sorrow!
+    Sore is my sorrow!
+  The earth alone lasts.
+
+Still hope, like a star in the night
+          gleaming oft through the broken clouds somber,
+Cheered the heart of Winona, and bright
+          on her dreams beamed the face of the Frenchman.
+As the thought of a loved one and lost,
+          sad and sweet were her thoughts of the White Chief;
+In the moon's mellow light, like a ghost,
+          walked Winona alone by the _Ha-Ha_,
+Ever wrapped in a dream. Far away--
+          to the land of the sunrise--she wandered;
+On the blue-rolling _Tanka-Mede_[BR]
+          in the midst of her dreams, she beheld him--
+In his white-winged canoe, like a bird,
+          to the land of Dakotas returning,
+
+[BR] Lake Superior,--The Gitchee Gumee of the Chippewas.
+
+And often in fancy she heard
+          the dip of his oars on the river.
+On the dark waters glimmered the moon,
+          but she saw not the boat of the Frenchman.
+On the somber night bugled the loon,
+          but she heard not the song of the boatmen.
+The moon waxed and waned, but the star
+          of her hope never waned to the setting;
+Through her tears she beheld it afar,
+          like a torch on the eastern horizon.
+"He will come,--he is coming," she said;
+          "he will come, for my White Eagle promised,"
+And low to the bare earth the maid
+          bent her ear for the sound of his footsteps,
+"He is gone, but his voice in my ear
+          still remains like the voice of the robin;
+He is far, but his footsteps I hear;
+          he is coming; my White Chief is coming!"
+But the moon waxed and waned. Nevermore
+          will the eyes of Winona behold him.
+Far away on the dark, rugged shore
+          of the blue _Gitchee Gumee_ he lingers.
+No tidings the rising sun brings;
+          no tidings the star of the evening;
+But morning and evening she sings,
+          like a turtle-dove widowed and waiting:
+
+  Ake u, ake u, ake u;
+  Ma cante maseeca.
+  Ake u, ake u, ake u;
+  Ma cante maseca.
+
+  Come again, come again, come again;
+  For my heart is sad.
+  Come again, come again, come again;
+  For my heart is sad.
+
+
+
+DEATH OF WINONA.
+
+Down the broad _Ha-Ha Wak-pa_[BS]
+          the band took their way to the Games at _Keoza_[8]
+While the swift-footed hunters by land
+          ran the shores for the elk and the bison.
+Like _magas_[BT] ride the birchen canoes
+          on the breast of the dark, winding river,
+By the willow-fringed island they cruise,
+          by the grassy hills green to their summits;
+By the lofty bluffs hooded with oaks
+          that darken the deep with their shadows;
+And bright in the sun gleam the strokes
+          of the oars in the hands of the women.
+With the band went Winona.
+          The oar plied the maid with the skill of a hunter.
+They tarried a time on the shore of _Remnica_--
+          the Lake of the Mountains.[BU]
+There the fleet hunters followed the deer,
+          and the thorny pahin[BV] for the women
+From the tees rose the smoke of good cheer,
+          curling blue through the tops of the maples,
+Near the foot of a cliff that arose,
+          like the battle-scarred walls of a castle,
+Up-towering, in rugged repose,
+          to a dizzy height over the waters.
+
+[BS] The Dakota name for the Mississippi, see note 76 in Appendix.
+
+[BT] Wild Geese.
+
+[BU] Lake Pepin, by Hennepin called Lake of Tears--Called by the Dakotas
+_Remnee-chah-Mday_--Lake of the Mountains.
+
+[BV] Pah-hin--the porcupine--the quills of which are greatly prized for
+ornamental work.
+
+But the man-wolf still followed his prey,
+          and the step-mother ruled in the teepee;
+Her will must Winona obey,
+          by the custom and law of Dakotas.
+The gifts to the teepee were brought--
+          the blankets and beads of the White men,
+And Winona, the orphaned, was bought
+          by the crafty, relentless Tamdoka.
+In the Spring-time of life, in the flush
+          of the gladsome mid-May days of Summer,
+When the bobolink sang and the thrush,
+          and the red robin chirped in the branches,
+To the tent of the brave must she go;
+          she must kindle the fire in his _teepee_;
+She must sit in the lodge of her foe,
+          as a slave at the feet of her master.
+Alas for her waiting! the wings
+          of the East-wind have brought her no tidings;
+On the meadow the meadow-lark sings,
+          but sad is her song to Winona,
+For the glad warbler's melody brings
+          but the memory of voices departed.
+The Day-Spirit walked in the west
+          to his lodge in the land of the shadows;
+His shining face gleamed on the crest
+          of the oak-hooded hills and the mountains,
+And the meadow-lark hied to her nest,
+          and the mottled owl peeped from her cover.
+But hark! from the _teepees_ a cry!
+          Hear the shouts of the hurrying warriors!
+Are the feet of the enemy nigh,--
+          of the crafty and cruel Ojibways?
+Nay; look!--on the dizzy cliff high--
+          on the brink of the cliff stands Winona!
+Her sad face up-turned to the sky.
+          Hark! I hear the wild wail of her death-song:
+
+    "My Father's Spirit, look down, look down--
+     From your hunting grounds in the shining skies;
+     Behold, for the light of my heart is gone;
+     The light is gone and Winona dies.
+
+     I looked to the East, but I saw no star;
+     The face of my White Chief was turned away.
+     I harked for his footsteps in vain; afar
+     His bark sailed over the Sunrise-sea.
+
+     Long have I watched till my heart is cold;
+     In my breast it is heavy and cold as a stone.
+     No more shall Winona his face behold,
+     And the robin that sang in her heart is gone.
+
+     Shall I sit at the feet of the treacherous brave?
+     On his hateful couch shall Winona lie?
+     Shall she kindle his fire like a coward slave?
+     No!--a warrior's daughter can bravely die.
+
+     My Father's Spirit, look down, look down--
+     From your hunting-grounds in the shining skies;
+     Behold, for the light in my heart is gone;
+     The light is gone and Winona dies."
+
+[Illustration: DOWN WHIRLING AND FLUTTERING SHE FELL,
+AND HEADLONG PLUNGED INTO THE WATERS.]
+
+Swift the strong hunters climbed as she sang,
+          and the foremost of all was Tamdoka;
+From crag to crag upward he sprang;
+          like a panther he leaped to the summit.
+Too late!--on the brave as he crept
+          turned the maid in her scorn and defiance;
+Then swift from the dizzy height leaped.
+          Like a brant arrow-pierced in mid-heaven.
+Down whirling and fluttering she fell,
+          and headlong plunged into the waters.
+Forever she sank mid the wail,
+          and the wild lamentation of women.
+Her lone spirit evermore dwells
+          in the depths of the Lake of the Mountains,
+And the lofty cliff evermore tells
+          to the years as they pass her sad story.[BW]
+
+In the silence of sorrow the night
+          o'er the earth spread her wide, sable pinions;
+And the stars[18] hid their faces; and light
+          on the lake fell the tears of the spirits.
+As her sad sisters watched on the shore
+          for her spirit to rise from the waters,
+They heard the swift dip of an oar,
+          and a boat they beheld like a shadow,
+Gliding down through the night in the gray,
+          gloaming mists on the face of the waters.
+'Twas the bark of DuLuth on his way
+          from the Falls to the Games at _Keoza_.
+
+[BW] The Dakotas say that the spirit of Winona forever haunts the lake.
+They say that it was many, many winters ago when Winona leaped from the
+rock,--that the rock was then perpendicular to the water's edge and she
+leaped into the lake, but now the rock has partly crumbled down and the
+waters have also receded, so that they do not now reach, the foot of the
+perpendicular rock as of old.
+
+
+
+
+SPRING
+
+_Et nunc omnis ager, mine omms parturit arbos;
+Nunc frondent sylvae, nunc formostssimus annus.
+--Virgil._
+
+Delightful harbinger of joys to come,
+  Of summer's verdure and a fruitful year,
+Who bids thee o'er our northern snow-fields roam,
+  And make all gladness in thy bright career?
+Lo from the Indian Isle thou dost appear,
+  And dost a thousand pleasures with thee bring:
+But why to us art thou so ever dear?
+  Bearest thou the hope--upon thy radiant wing--
+Of Immortality, O soft, celestial Spring?
+
+Yea, buds and flowers that fade not, they are thine,
+  And youth-renewing balms; the sear and old
+Are young and gladsome at thy touch divine.
+  Thou breath'st upon the frozen earth--behold,
+Meadows and vales of grass and floral gold,
+  Green-covered hills and leafy mountains grand:
+Young life leaps up where all was dumb and cold,
+  As smoldering embers into flame are fanned,
+Or the dead came back to life at the touch of the Savior's hand.
+
+The snow-clouds fly the canopy of heaven;
+  The rivulets ripple with the merry tone
+Of wanton waters, and the breezes given
+  To fan the budding hills are all thine own.
+Returning songsters from the tropic zone
+  Their vernal love-songs in the tree tops sing,
+And talk and twitter in a tongue unknown
+  Of joys that journey on thy golden wing,
+And God who sends thee forth to wake the world, O Spring!
+
+[ILLUSTRATION: SPRING ADA MARY HUNTLY WILLIE]
+
+  Emblem of youth--enchanting goddess, Spring;
+Lo now the happy rustic wends his way
+  O'er meadows decked with violets from thy wing,
+And laboring to the rhythm of song all day,
+  Performs the task the harvest shall repay
+  An hundredfold into the reaper's hand.
+What recks the tiller of his toil in May?
+  What cares he if his cheeks are tinged and tanned
+By thy warm sunshine-kiss and by thy breezes bland?
+
+Hark to the tinkling bells of grazing kine!
+  The lambkins bleating on the mountain-side!
+The red squirrel chippering in the proud old pine!
+  The pigeon-cock cooing to his vernal bride!
+O'er all the land and o'er the peaceful tide,
+  Singing and praising every living thing,
+Till one sweet anthem, echoed far and wide,
+  Makes all the broad blue bent of ether ring
+With welcomings to thee, God-given, supernal Spring.
+
+
+
+
+TO MOLLIE
+
+O Mollie, I would I possessed such a heart;
+  It enchants me--so gentle and true;
+I would I possessed all its magical art,
+  Then, Mollie, I would enchant you.
+
+Those dear, rosy lips--tho' I never caressed them(?)--
+  Are as sweet as the wild honey-dew;
+Your cheeks--all the angels in Heaven have blessed them,
+  But not one is as lovely as you.
+
+Then give me that heart,--O that innocent heart!
+  For mine own is cold and _perdu_;
+It enchants me, but give me its magical art,
+  Then, Mollie, I will enchant you.
+
+1855.
+
+
+
+
+TO SYLVA
+
+I know thou art true, and I know thou art fair
+  As the rose-bud that blooms in thy beautiful hair;
+Thou art far, but I feel the warm throb of thy heart;
+  Thou art far, but I love thee wherever thou art.
+
+Wherever at noontide my spirit may be,
+  At evening it silently wanders to thee;
+It seeks thee, my dear one, for comfort and rest,
+  As the weary-winged dove seeks at night-fall her nest.
+
+Through the battle of life--through its sorrow and care--
+  Till the mortal sink down with its load of despair,--
+Till we meet at the feet of the Father and Son,
+  I'll love thee and cherish thee, beautiful one.
+
+1859.
+
+
+
+
+THANKSGIVING.
+
+[Nov. 26, 1857, during the great financial depression.]
+
+
+Father, our thanks are due to thee
+  For many a blessing given,
+By thy paternal love and care,
+  From the bounty-horn of heaven.
+
+We know that still that horn is filled
+  With blessings for our race,
+And we calmly look thro' winter's storm
+  To thy benignant face.
+
+Father, we raise our thanks to Thee,--
+  Who seldom thanked before;
+And seldom bent the stubborn knee
+  Thy goodness to adore:
+
+But Father, thou hast blessings poured
+  On all our wayward days
+And now thy mercies manifold
+  Have filled our hearts with praise
+
+The winter-storm may rack and roar;
+  We do not fear its blast;
+And we'll bear with faith and fortitude
+  The lot that thou hast cast.
+
+But Father,--Father,--O look down
+  On the poor and homeless head
+And feed the hungry thousands
+  That cry to thee for bread.
+
+Thou givest us our daily bread;
+  We would not ask for more;
+But, Father, give their daily bread
+  To the multitudes of poor.
+
+In all the cities of the land
+  The naked and hungry are;
+O feed them with thy manna, Lord,
+  And clothe them with thy care.
+
+Thou dost not give a serpent, Lord,
+  We will not give a stone;
+For the bread and meat thou givest us
+  Are not for us alone.
+
+And while a loaf is given to us
+  From thy all-bounteous horn
+We'll cheerfully divide that loaf
+  With the hungry and forlorn.
+
+
+
+
+CHARITY
+
+Frail are the best of us, brothers--
+  God's charity cover us all--
+Yet we ask for perfection in others,
+  And scoff when they stumble and fall.
+Shall we give him a fish--or a serpent--
+  Who stretches his hand in his need?
+Let the proud give a stone, but the manly
+  Will give him a hand full of bread.
+
+Let us search our own hearts and behavior
+  Ere we cast at a brother a stone,
+And remember the words of the Savior
+  To the frail and unfortunate one;
+Remember when others displease us
+  The Nazarene's holy command,
+For the only word written by Jesus
+  Was charity--writ in the sand.
+
+
+
+
+CHARITY
+
+[Written in a friend's book of autographs, 1876.]
+
+Bear and forbear, I counsel thee,
+  Forgive and be forgiven,
+For Charity is the golden key
+  That opens the gate of heaven.
+
+
+
+
+SAILOR-BOY'S SONG
+
+Away, away, o'er the bounding sea
+  My spirit flies like a gull;
+For I know my Mary is watching for me,
+  And the moon is bright and full.
+
+She sits on the rock by the sounding shore,
+  And gazes over the sea;
+And she sighs, "Will my sailor-boy come no more?
+  Will he never come back to me?"
+
+The moonbeams play in her raven hair;
+  And the soft breeze kisses her brow;
+But if your sailor-boy, love, were there,
+  He would kiss your sweet lips I trow.
+
+And mother--she sits in the cottage-door;
+  But her heart is out on the sea;
+And she sighs, "Will my sailor-boy come no more?
+  Will he never come back to me?"
+
+Ye winds that over the billows roam
+  With a low and sullen moan,
+O swiftly come to waft me home;
+  O bear me back to my own.
+
+For long have I been on the billowy deep,
+  On the boundless waste of sea;
+And while I sleep there are two who weep,
+  And watch and pray for me.
+
+When the mad storm roars till the stoutest fear
+  And the thunders roll over the sea,
+I think of you, Mary and mother dear,
+  For I know you are thinking of me.
+
+Then blow, ye winds, for my swift return;
+  Let the tempest roar o'er the main;
+Let the billows yearn and the lightning burn;
+  They will hasten me home again.
+
+
+
+MY DEAD
+
+Last night in my feverish dreams I heard
+A voice like the moan of an autumn sea,
+Or the low, sad wail of a widowed bird,
+And it said--"My darling, come home to me."
+
+Then a hand was laid on my throbbing head--
+As cold as clay, but it soothed my pain:
+I wakened and knew from among the dead
+My darling stood by my coach again.
+
+
+
+DUST TO DUST
+
+    Dust to dust:
+Fall and perish love and lust:
+  Life is one brief autumn day;
+  Sin and sorrow haunt the way
+  To the narrow house of clay,
+Clutching at the good and just:
+    Dust to dust.
+
+Dust to dust:
+Still we strive and toil and trust,
+  From the cradle to the grave:
+  Vainly crying, "Jesus, save!"
+  Fall the coward and the brave,
+Fall the felon and the just:
+    Dust to dust.
+
+    Dust to dust:
+Hark, I hear the wintry gust;
+  Yet the roses bloom to-day,
+  Blushing to the kiss of May,
+  While the north winds sigh and say:
+"Lo we bring the cruel frost--
+    Dust to dust."
+
+    Dust to dust:
+Yet we live and love and trust,
+  Lifting burning brow and eye
+  To the mountain peaks on high:
+  From the peaks the ages cry,
+Strewing ashes, rime and rust:
+    "Dust to dust!"
+
+    Dust to dust:
+What is gained when all is lost?
+  Gaily for a day we tread--
+  Proudly with averted head
+  O'er the ashes of the dead--
+Blind with pride and mad with lust:
+    Dust to dust.
+
+    Hope and trust:
+All life springs from out the dust:
+  Ah, we measure God by man,
+Looking forward but a span
+  On His wondrous, boundless plan;
+All His ways are wise and just;
+    Hope and trust.
+
+    Hope and trust:
+Hope will blossom from the dust;
+  Love is queen: God's throne is hers;
+  His great heart with loving force
+  Throbs throughout the universe;
+We are His and He is just;
+    Hope and trust.
+
+
+
+
+O LET ME DREAM THE DREAMS OF LONG AGO
+
+Call me not back, O cold and crafty world:
+I scorn your thankless thanks and hollow praise.
+Wiser than seer or scientist--content
+To tread no paths beyond these bleating hills,
+Here let me lie beneath this dear old elm,
+Among the blossoms of the clover-fields,
+And listen to the humming of the bees.
+Here in those far-off, happy, boyhood years,
+When all my world was bounded by these hills,
+I dreamed my first dreams underneath this elm.
+Dreamed? Aye, and builded castles in the clouds;
+Dreamed, and made glad a fond, proud mother's heart,
+Now moldering into clay on yonder hill;
+Dreamed till my day-dreams paved the world with gold;
+Dreamed till my mad dreams made one desolate;
+Dreamed--O my soul, and was it all a dream?
+
+As I lay dreaming under this old elm,
+Building my castles in the sunny clouds,
+Her soft eyes peeping from the copse of pine,
+Looked tenderly on me and my glad heart leaped
+Following her footsteps. O the dream--the dream!
+O fawn-eyed, lotus-lipped, white-bosomed Flore!
+I hide my bronzed face in your golden hair:
+Thou wilt not heed the dew-drops on my beard;
+Thou wilt not heed the wrinkles on my brow;
+Thou wilt not chide me for my long delay.
+
+Here we stood heart to heart and eye to eye,
+And I looked down into her inmost soul,
+The while she drank my promise like sweet wine
+O let me dream the dreams of long ago!
+Soft are the tender eyes of maiden love;
+Sweet are the dew-drops of a dear girl's lips
+When love's red roses blush in sudden bloom:
+O let me dream the dreams of long ago!
+Hum soft and low, O bee-bent clover-fields;
+Blink, blue-eyed violets, from the dewy grass;
+Break into bloom, my golden dandelions;
+Break into bloom, my dear old apple-trees.
+I hear the robins cherup on the hedge,
+I hear the warbling of the meadow-larks;
+I hear the silver-fluted whippowil;
+I hear the harps that moan among the pines
+Touched by the ghostly fingers of the dead.
+Hush!--let me dream the dreams of long ago.
+
+And wherefore left I these fair, flowery fields,
+Where her fond eyes and ever gladsome voice
+Made all the year one joyous, warbling June,
+To chase my castles in the passing clouds--
+False as the mirage of some Indian isle
+To shipwrecked sailors famished on the brine?
+Wherefore?--Look out upon the babbling world--
+Fools clamoring at the heels of clamorous fools!
+I hungered for the sapless husks of fame.
+Dreaming I saw, beyond my native hills,
+The sunshine shimmer on the laurel trees.
+Ah tenderly plead her fond eyes brimmed with tears;
+But lightly laughing at her fears I turned,
+Eager to clutch my crown of laurel leaves,
+Strong-souled and bold to front all winds of heaven--
+A lamb and lion molded into one--
+And burst away to tread the hollow world.
+Ah nut-brown boys that tend the lowing kine,
+Ah blithesome plowmen whistling on the glebe,
+Ah merry mowers singing in the swaths,
+Sweet, simple souls, contented not to know,
+Wiser are ye and ye may teach the wise.
+
+Years trode upon the heels of flying years,
+And still my _Ignis Fatuus_ flew before;
+On thorny paths my eager feet pursued,
+Till she whose fond heart doted on my dreams
+Passed painless to the pure eternal peace.
+Years trode upon the heels of flying years
+And touched my brown beard with their silver wands,
+And still my _Ignis Fatuus_ flew before;
+Through thorns and mire my torn feet followed still,
+Till she, my darling, unforgotten Flore,
+Nursing her one hope all those weary years
+Waiting my tardy coming, drooped and died.
+I hear her low, sweet voice among the pines:
+O let me dream the dreams of long ago:
+I see her fond eyes peeping from the pines:
+O let me dream the dreams of long ago
+And hide my bronzed face in her golden hair.
+
+Is this the Indian summer of my days--
+Wealth without care and love without desire?
+O misty, cheerless moon of falling leaves!
+Is this the fruitage promised by the spring?
+O blighted clusters withering on the vine!
+O promised lips of love to one who dreams
+And wakens holding but the hollow air!
+
+Let me dream on lest, dead unto my dead,
+False to the true and true unto the false,
+Maddened by thoughts of that which might have been,
+And weary of the chains of that which is,
+I slake my heart-thirst at forbidden springs.
+I hear the voices of the moaning pines;
+I hear the low, hushed whispers of the dead,
+And one wan face looks in upon my dreams
+And wounds me with her sad, imploring eyes.
+
+The dead sun sinks beyond the misty hills;
+The chill winds whistle in the leafless elms;
+The cold rain patters on the fallen leaves.
+Where pipes the silver-fluted whippowil?
+I hear no hum of bees among the bloom;
+I hear no robin cherup on the hedge:
+One dumb, lone lark sits shivering in the rain.
+I hear the voices of the Autumn wind;
+I hear the cold rain dripping on the leaves;
+I hear the moaning of the mournful pines;
+I hear the hollow voices of the dead.
+O let me dream the dreams of long ago
+And dreaming pass into the dreamless sleep--
+Beyond the voices of the autumn winds,
+Beyond the patter of the dreary rain,
+Beyond compassion and all vain regret
+Beyond all waking and all weariness:
+O let me dream the dreams of long ago.
+
+
+
+
+THE PIONEER
+
+[MINNESOTA--1860-1875]
+
+When Mollie and I were married from the dear old cottage-home,
+  In the vale between the hills of fir and pine,
+I parted with a sigh in a stranger-land to roam,
+  And to seek a western home for me and mine.
+
+By a grove-encircled lake in the wild and prairied West,
+  As the sun was sinking down one summer day,
+I laid my knapsack down and my weary limbs to rest,
+  And resolved to build a cottage-home and stay.
+
+I staked and marked my "corners," and I "filed" upon my claim,
+  And I built a cottage-home of "logs and shakes;"
+And then I wrote a letter, and Mollie and baby came
+  Out to bless me and to bake my johnny-cakes.
+
+When Mollie saw my "cottage" and the way that I had "bached",
+  She smiled, but I could see that she was "blue;"
+Then she found my "Sunday-clothes" all soiled and torn and patched,
+  And she hid her face and shed a tear or two.
+
+But she went to work in earnest and the cabin fairly shone,
+  And her dinners were so savory and so nice
+That I felt it was "not good that the man should be alone"--
+  Even in this lovely land of Paradise.
+
+Well, the neighbors they were few and were many miles apart,
+  And you couldn't hear the locomotive scream;
+But I was young and hardy, and my Mollie gave me heart,
+  And my "steers" they made a fast and fancy team.
+
+And the way I broke the sod was a marvel, you can bet,
+  For I fed my "steers" before the dawn of day;
+And when the sun went under I was plowing prairie yet,
+  Till my Mollie blew the old tin horn for tea.
+
+And the lazy, lousy "Injuns" came a-loafing round the lake,
+  And a-begging for a bone or bit of bread;
+And the sneaking thieves would steal whatever they could take--
+  From the very house where they were kindly fed.
+
+O the eastern preachers preach, and the long-haired poets sing
+  Of the "noble braves" and "dusky maidens fair;"
+But if they had pioneered 'twould have been another thing
+  When the "Injuns" got a-hankering for their "hair."
+
+Often when we lay in bed in the middle of the night,
+  How the prairie-wolves would howl their jubilee!
+Then Mollie she would waken in a shiver and a fright,
+  Clasp our baby-pet and snuggle up to me.
+
+There were hardships you may guess, and enough of weary toil
+  For the first few years, but then it was so grand
+To see the corn and wheat waving o'er the virgin soil,
+  And two stout and loving hearts went hand in hand.
+
+But Mollie took the fever when our second babe was born,
+  And she lay upon the bed as white as snow;
+And my idle cultivator lay a rusting in the corn;
+  And the doctor said poor Mollie she must go.
+
+Now I never prayed before, but I fell upon my knees,
+  And I prayed as never any preacher prayed;
+And Mollie always said that it broke the fell disease;
+  And I truly think the Lord He sent us aid:
+
+For the fever it was broken, and she took a bit of food,
+  And O then I went upon my knees again;
+And I never cried before,--and I never thought I could,--
+  But my tears they fell upon her hand like rain.
+
+And I think the Lord has blessed us ever since I prayed the prayer,
+  For my crops have never wanted rain or dew:
+And Mollie often said in the days of debt and care,
+  "Don't you worry, John, the Lord will help us through."
+
+For the "pesky," painted Sioux, in the fall of 'sixty-two,
+  Came a-whooping on their ponies o'er the plain,
+And they killed my pigs and cattle, and I tell you it looked "blue,"
+  When they danced around my blazing stacks of grain.
+
+And the settlers mostly fled, but I didn't have a chance,
+  So I caught my hunting-rifle long and true,
+And Mollie poured the powder while I made the devils dance,
+  To a tune that made 'em jump and tumble, too.
+
+And they fired upon the cabin; 'twas as good as any fort,
+  But the "beauties" wouldn't give us any rest;
+For they skulked and blazed away, and I didn't call it sport,
+  For I had to do my very "level best."
+
+Now they don't call _me_ a coward, but my Mollie she's a "brick;"
+  For she chucked the children down the cellar-way,
+And she never flinched a hair tho' the bullets pattered thick,
+  And we held the "painted beauties" well at bay.
+
+But once when I was aiming, a bullet grazed my head,
+  And it cut the scalp and made the air look blue;
+Then Mollie straightened up like a soldier and she said:
+  "Never mind it, John, the Lord will help us through."
+
+And you bet it raised my "grit," and I never flinched a bit,
+  And my nerves they got as strong as steel or brass;
+And when I fired again I was sure that I had hit,
+  For I saw the skulking devil "claw the grass."
+
+Well, the fight was long and hot, and I got a charge of shot
+  In the shoulder, but it never broke a bone;
+And I never stopped to think whether I was hit or not
+  Till we found our ammunition almost gone.
+
+But the "Rangers" came at last--just as we were out of lead,--
+  And I thanked the Lord, and Mollie thanked Him, too;
+Then she put her arms around my neck and sobbed and cried and said:
+  "Bless the Lord!--I knew that He would help us through."
+
+And yonder on the hooks hangs that same old trusty gun,
+  And above it--I am sorry they're so few--
+Hang the black and braided trophies[BX] yet that I and Mollie won
+  In that same old bloody battle with the Sioux.
+
+[BX] Scalp-locks.
+
+Fifteen years have rolled away since I laid my knapsack down,
+  And my prairie claim is now one field of grain;
+And yonder down the lake loom the steeples of a town,
+  And my flocks are feeding out upon the plain.
+
+The old log-house is standing filled with bins of corn and wheat,
+  And the cars they whistle past our cottage-home;
+But my span of spanking trotters they are "just about" as fleet,
+  And I wouldn't give my farm to rule in Rome.
+
+For Mollie and I are young yet, and monarchs, too, are we--
+  Of a "section" just as good as lies out-doors;
+And the children are so happy (and Mollie and I have three)
+  And we think that we can "lie upon our oars."
+
+[Illustration: THE PIONEER]
+
+So this summer we went back to the old home by the hill:
+  O the hills they were so rugged and so tall!
+And the lofty pines were gone but the rocks were all there still,
+  And the valleys looked so crowded and so small;
+
+And the dear familiar faces that I longed so much to see,
+  Looked so strangely unfamiliar and so old,
+That the land of hills and valleys was no more a home to me,
+  And the river seemed a rivulet as it rolled.
+
+So I gladly hastened back to the prairies of the West--
+  To the boundless fields of waving grass and corn;
+And I love the lake-gemmed land where the wild-goose builds her nest,
+  Far better than the land where I was born.
+
+And I mean to lay my bones over yonder by the lake--
+  By and by when I have nothing else to do--
+And I'll give the "chicks" the farm, and I know for Mollie's sake,
+  That the good and gracious Lord will help 'em through.
+
+
+
+
+NIGHT THOUGHTS
+
+"_Le notte e madre dipensien_."
+
+I tumble and toss on my pillow,
+  As a ship without rudder or spars
+Is tumbled and tossed on the billow,
+  'Neath the glint and the glory of stars.
+'Tis midnight and moonlight, and slumber
+  Has hushed every heart but my own;
+O why are these thoughts without number
+  Sent to me by the man in the moon?
+
+Thoughts of the Here and Hereafter,--
+  Thoughts all unbidden to come,--
+Thoughts that are echoes of laughter--
+  Thoughts that are ghosts from the tomb,--
+Thoughts that are sweet as wild honey,--
+  Thoughts that are bitter as gall,--
+Thoughts to be coined into money,--
+  Thoughts of no value at all.
+
+Dreams that are tangled like wild-wood,
+  A hint creeping in like a hare;
+Visions of innocent childhood,--
+  Glimpses of pleasure and care;
+Brave thoughts that flash like a saber,--
+  Cowards that crouch as they come,--
+Thoughts of sweet love and sweet labor
+  In the fields at the old cottage-home.
+
+Visions of maize and of meadow,
+  Songs of the birds and the brooks,
+Glimpses of sunshine and shadow,
+  Of hills and the vine-covered nooks;
+Dreams that were dreams of a lover,--
+  A face like the blushing of morn,--
+Hum of bees and the sweet scent of clover
+  And a bare-headed girl in the corn.
+
+Hopes that went down in the battle,
+  Apples that crumbled to dust,--
+Manna for rogues, and the rattle
+  Of hail-storms that fall on the just.
+The "shoddy" that lolls in her chariot,--
+  Maud Muller at work in the grass:
+Here a silver-bribed Judas Iscariot,--
+  There--Leonidas dead in the pass.
+
+Commingled the good and the evil;
+  Sown together the wheat and the tares;
+In the heart of the wheat is the weevil;
+  There is joy in the midst of our cares.
+The past,--shall we stop to regret it?
+  What is,--shall we falter and fall?
+If the envious wrong thee, forget it;
+  Let thy charity cover them all.
+
+The cock hails the morn, and the rumble
+  Of wheels is abroad in the streets,
+Still I tumble and mumble and grumble
+  At the fleas in my ears and--the sheets;
+Mumble and grumble and tumble
+  Till the buzz of the bees is no more;
+In a jumble I mumble and drumble
+  And tumble off--into a snore.
+
+
+
+
+DANIEL
+
+[Written at the grave of an old friend.]
+
+Down into the darkness at last, Daniel,--down into the darkness at last;
+Laid in the lap of our Mother, Daniel,--sleeping the dreamless sleep,--
+Sleeping the sleep of the babe unborn--the pure and the perfect rest:
+Aye, and is it not better than this fitful fever and pain?
+Aye, and is it not better, if only the dead soul knew?
+
+Joy was there in the spring-time and hope like a blossoming rose,
+When the wine-blood of youth ran tingling and throbbing in every vein;
+Chirrup of robin and blue-bird in the white-blossomed apple and pear;
+Carpets of green on the meadows spangled with dandelions;
+Lowing of kine in the valleys, bleating of lambs on the hills;
+Babble of brooks and the prattle of fountains that flashed in the sun;
+Glad, merry voices, ripples of laughter, snatches of music and song,
+And blue-eyed girls in the gardens that blushed like the roses they wore.
+
+And life was a pleasure unvexed, unmingled with sorrow and pain?
+A round of delight from the blink of morn
+          till the moon rose laughing at night?
+Nay, there were cares and cankers--envy and hunger and hate;
+Death and disease in the pith of the limbs,
+          in the root and the bud and the branch;
+Dry-rot, alas, at the heart, and a canker-worm gnawing therein.
+
+The summer of life came on with its heat and its struggle and toil,
+Sweat of the brow and the soul, throbbing of muscle and brain,
+Toil and moil and grapple with Fortune clutched as she flew--
+Only a shred of her robe, and a brave heart baffled and bowed!
+Stern-visaged Fate with a hand of iron uplifted to fell;
+The secret stab of a friend that stung like the sting of an asp,
+Wringing red drops from the soul and a stifled moan of despair;
+The loose lips of gossip and then--a storm of slander and lies,
+Till Justice was blind as a bat and deaf to the cries of the just,
+And Mercy, wrapped up in her robe, stood by like a statue in stone.
+
+Sear autumn followed the summer with frost and the falling of leaves
+And red-ripe apples that blushed on the hills in the orchard of peace:
+Red-ripe apples, alas, with worms writhing down to the core,
+Apples of ashes and fungus that fell into rot at a touch;
+Clusters of grapes in the garden blighted and sour on the vines;
+Wheat-fields that waved in the valley and promised a harvest of gold,
+Thrashing but chaff and weevil or cockle and shriveled cheat.
+Fair was the promise of spring-time; the harvest a harvest of lies:
+Fair was the promise of summer with Fortune clutched by the robe;
+Fair was the promise of autumn--a hollow harlot in red,
+A withered rose at her girdle and the thorns of the rose in her hand.
+
+Down into the darkness at last, Daniel,--down into the darkness at last;
+Laid in the lap of our Mother, Daniel, sleeping the dreamless sleep--
+Sleeping the sleep of the babe unborn--the pure and the perfect rest:
+Aye, and is it not better than this fitful fever and pain?
+Aye, and is it not better, if only the dead soul knew?
+Dead Ashes, what do you care if it storm, if it shine, if it shower?
+Hail-storm, tornado or tempest, or the blinding blizzard of snow,
+Or the mid-May showers on the blossoms with the glad sun blinking between,
+Dead Ashes, what do you care?--they break not the sleep of the dead.
+
+Proud stands the ship to the sea, fair breezes belly her sails;
+Strong masted, stanch in her shrouds, stanch in her beams and her bones;
+Bound for Hesperian isles--for the isles of the plantain and palm,
+Hope walks her deck with a smile and Confidence stands at the helm;
+Proudly she turns to the sea and walks like a queen on the waves.
+Caught in the grasp of the tempest, lashed by the fiends of the storm,
+Torn into shreds are her sails, tumbled her masts to the main;
+Rudderless, rolling she drives and groans in the grasp of the sea;
+Harbor or hope there is none; she goes to her grave in the brine:
+Dead in the fathomless slime lie the bones of the ship and her crew.
+Such was the promise of life; so is the promise fulfilled.
+
+Down into the darkness at last, Daniel,--down into the darkness at last;
+Laid in the lap of our Mother, Daniel,--sleeping the dreamless sleep,--
+Sleeping the sleep of the babe unborn--the pure and the perfect rest:
+Aye, and is it not better than this fitful fever and pain?
+Aye, and is it not better, if only the dead soul knew?
+Over your grave the tempest may roar or the zephyr sigh;
+Over your grave the blue-bells may blink or the snow-drifts whirl,--
+Dead Ashes, what do you care?--they break not the sleep of the dead.
+They that were friends may mourn, they that were friends may praise;
+They that knew you and yet--knew you never--may cavil and blame;
+They that were foes in disguise may strike at you down in the grave;
+Slander, the scavenger-buzzard--may vomit her lies on you there;
+Dead Ashes, what do you care?--they break not the sleep of the dead.
+
+The hoarse, low voice of the years croaks on forever-and-aye:
+_Change! Change! Change_! and the winters wax and wane.
+The old oak dies in the forest; the acorn sprouts at its feet;
+The sea gnaws on at the land; the continent crowds on the sea.
+Bound to the Ixion wheel with brazen fetters of fate
+Man rises up from the dust and falls to the dust again.
+God washes our eyes with tears, and still they are blinded with dust:
+We grope in the dark and marvel, and pray to the Power unknown--
+Crying for help to the desert: not even an echo replies.
+Doomed unto death like the moon, like the midget that men call man,
+Wrinkled with age and agony the old Earth rolls her rounds;
+Shrinking and shuddering she rolls--an atom in God's great sea--
+Only an atom of dust in the infinite ocean of space.
+What to him are the years who sleeps in her bosom there?
+What to him is the cry wrung out of the souls of men?
+_Change, Change, Change_, and the sea gnaws on at the land:
+Dead Ashes, what do you care?--it breaks not the sleep of the dead.
+
+Down into the darkness at last, Daniel,--down into the darkness at last;
+Laid in the lap of our Mother, Daniel,--sleeping the dreamless sleep,--
+Sleeping the sleep of the babe unborn--the pure and the perfect rest:
+Aye, and is it not better than this fitful fever and pain?
+Aye, and is it not better if only the dead soul knew?
+
+Up--out of the darkness at last, Daniel,--out of the darkness at last;
+Into the light of the life eternal--into the sunlight of God,
+Singing the song of the soul immortal freed from the fetters of flesh:
+Aye, and is it not better than this fitful fever and pain?
+Aye, and is it not better than sleeping the dreamless sleep?
+Hark! from the reel of the spheres eternal
+          the freed soul answereth "_Aye_."
+Aye--Aye--Aye--it is better, brothers,
+          if it be but the dream of the famished soul.
+
+
+MINNETONKA[BY]
+
+[BY] The Dakota name for this beautiful lake is _We-ne-a-tan-ka_--Broad
+Water. By dropping the "a" before "tanka" we have changed the name to
+_Big Water_.
+
+
+I sit once more on breezy shore, at sunset in this glorious June,
+I hear the dip of gleaming oar, I list the singers' merry tune.
+Beneath my feet the waters beat, and ripple on the polished stones,
+The squirrel chatters from his seat; the bag-pipe beetle hums and drones.
+The pink and gold in blooming wold,--the green hills mirrored in the lake!
+The deep, blue waters, zephyr-rolled, along the murmuring pebbles break.
+The maples screen the ferns, and lean the leafy lindens o'er the deep;
+The sapphire, set in emerald green, lies like an Orient gem asleep.
+The crimson west glows
+          like the breast of _Rhuddin_[CA] when he pipes in May,
+As downward droops the sun to rest, and shadows gather on the bay.
+In amber sky the swallows fly and sail and circle o'er the deep;
+The light-winged night-hawks whir and cry; the silver pike and salmon leap.
+The rising moon, o'er isle and dune, looks laughing down on lake and lea;
+Weird o'er the waters shrills the loon; the high stars twinkle in the sea.
+From bank and hill the whippowil sends piping forth his flute-like notes,
+And clear and shrill the answers trill from leafy isles and silver throats.
+The twinkling light on cape and height; the hum of voices on the shores;
+The merry laughter on the night; the dip and plash of frolic oars,--
+These tell the tale. On hill and dale the cities pour their gay and fair;
+Along the sapphire lake they sail, and quaff like wine the balmy air.
+'Tis well. Of yore from isle and shore
+          the smoke of Indian _teepees_[CB] rose;
+The hunter plied the silent oar; the forest lay in still repose.
+The moon-faced maid, in leafy glade, her warrior waited from the chase;
+The nut-brown, naked children played, and chased the gopher on the grass.
+The dappled fawn on wooded lawn, peeped out upon the birch canoe,
+Swift-gliding in the gray of dawn along the silent waters blue.
+In yonder tree the great Wanm-dee[CC] securely built her spacious nest;
+The blast that swept the landlocked sea[CD]
+          but rocked her clamorous babes to rest.
+By grassy mere the elk and deer gazed on the hunter as he came;
+Nor fled with fear from bow or spear;--
+          "so wild were they that they were tame."
+Ah, birch canoe, and hunter, too, have long forsaken lake and shore;
+He bade his fathers' bones adieu and turned away forevermore.
+But still, methinks, on dusky brinks the spirit of the warrior moves;
+At crystal springs the hunter drinks, and nightly haunts the spot he loves.
+For oft at night I see the light of lodge-fires on the shadowy shores,
+And hear the wail some maiden's sprite above her slaughtered warrior pours.
+I hear the sob, on Spirit Knob,[BZ] of Indian mother o'er her child;
+And on the midnight waters throb her low _yun-he-he's_[CE] weird and wild:
+And sometimes, too, the light canoe glides like a shadow o'er the deep
+At midnight when the moon is low, and all the shores are hushed in sleep.
+Alas,--Alas!--for all things pass; and we shall vanish too, as they;
+We build our monuments of brass, and granite, but they waste away.
+
+[BZ] Spirit-Knob was a small hill upon a point in the lake in full view
+from Wayzata. It is now washed away by the waves. The spirit of a Dakota
+mother, whose only child was drowned in the lake during a storm many
+years ago, often wailed at midnight (so the Dakotas said), on this hill.
+So they called it _Wa-na-gee Pa-zo-dan_--Spirit-Knob. (Literally--little
+hill of the spirit.)
+
+[CA] The Welsh name for the robin.
+
+[Illustration: CRYSTAL BAY LAKE MINNETONKA]
+
+[CB] Lodges.
+
+[CC] Wanm-dee--the war-eagle of the Dakotas.
+
+[CD] Lake Superior.
+
+[CE] Pronounced _Yoon-hay-hay_--the exclamation used by Dakota women in
+their lament for the dead, and equivalent to "woe-is-me."
+
+
+
+BEYOND
+
+
+White-haired and hoary-bearded, who art thou
+That speedest on, albeit bent with age,
+Even as a youth that followeth after dreams?
+Whence are thy feet, and whither trends thy way?
+
+Stayed not his hurried steps, but as he passed
+His low, hoarse answer fell upon the wind:
+"Go thou and question yonder mountain-peaks;
+Go thou and ask the hoary-heaving main;--
+Nay, if thou wilt, the great, globed, silent stars
+That sail innumerable the shoreless sea,
+And let the eldest answer if he may.
+Lo the unnumbered myriad, myriad worlds
+Rolling around innumerable suns,
+Through all the boundless, bottomless abyss,
+Are but as grains of sand upwhirled and flung
+By roaring winds and scattered on the sea.
+I have beheld them and my hand hath sown.
+
+"Far-twinkling faint through dim, immeasured depths,
+Behold Alcyone--a grander sun.
+Round him thy solar orb with all his brood
+Glimmering revolves. Lo from yon mightier sphere
+Light, flying faster than the thoughts of men,
+Swift as the lightnings cleave the glowering storm,
+Shot on and on through dim, ethereal space,
+Ere yet it touched thy little orb of Earth,
+Five hundred cycles of thy world and more.
+Round him thy Sun, obedient to his power,
+Thrice tenfold swifter than the swiftest wing,
+His aeon-orbit, million-yeared and vast,
+Wheels through the void. Him flaming I beheld
+When first he flashed from out his central fire--
+A mightier orb beyond thine utmost ken.
+Round upon round innumerable hath swung
+Thy sun upon his circuit; grander still
+His vaster orbit far Alcyone
+Wheels and obeys the mightier orb unseen.
+
+"Seest thou yon star-paved pathway like an arch
+Athwart thy welkin?--wondrous zone of stars,
+Dim in the distance circling one huge sun,
+To whom thy sun is but a spark of fire--
+To whom thine Earth is but a grain of dust:
+Glimmering around him myriad suns revolve
+And worlds innumerable as sea-beach sands.
+Ere on yon _Via Lactea_ rolled one star
+Lo I was there and trode the mighty round;
+Yea, ere the central orb was fired and hung
+A lamp to light the chaos. Star on star,
+System on system, myriad worlds on worlds,
+Beyond the utmost reach of mortal ken,
+Beyond the utmost flight of mortal dream,
+Yet have mine eyes beheld the birth of all.
+But whence I am I know not. We are three--
+Known, yet unknown--unfathomable to man,
+Time, Space, and Matter pregnant with all life,
+Immortals older than the oldest orb.
+We were and are forever: out of us
+Are all things--suns and satellites, midge and man.
+Worlds wax and wane, suns flame and glow and die;
+Through shoreless space their scattered ashes float,
+Unite, cohere, and wax to worlds again,
+Changing, yet changless--new, but ever old--
+No atom lost and not one atom gained,
+Though fire to vapor melt the adamant,
+Or feldspar fall in drops of summer rain.
+And in the atoms sleep the germs of life,
+Myriad and multiform and marvelous,
+Throughout all vast, immeasurable space,
+In every grain of dust, in every drop
+Of water, waiting but the thermal touch.
+Yea, in the womb of nature slumber still
+Wonders undreamed and forms beyond compare,
+Minds that will cleave the chaos and unwind
+The web of fate, and from the atom trace
+The worlds, the suns, the universal law:
+And from the law, the Master; yea, and read
+On yon grand starry scroll the Master's will."
+
+Yea, but what Master? Lift the veil, O Time!
+Where lie the bounds of Space and whither dwells
+The Power unseen--the infinite Unknown?
+Faint from afar the solemn answer fell:
+
+"AEon on aeon, cycles myriad-yeared,
+Swifter than light out-flashing from the suns,
+My flying feet have sought the bounds of space
+And found not, nor the infinite Unknown.
+I see the Master only in his work:
+I see the Ruler only in his law:
+Time hath not touched the great All-father's throne,
+Whose voice unheard the Universe obeys,
+Who breathes upon the deep and worlds are born.
+Worlds wax and wane, suns crumble into dust,
+But matter pregnant with immortal life,
+Since erst the white-haired centuries wheeled the vast,
+Hath lost nor gained. Who made it, and who made
+The Maker? Out of nothing, nothing. Lo
+The worm that crawls from out the sun-touched sand,
+What knows he of the huge, round, rolling Earth?
+Yet more than thou of all the vast Beyond,
+Or ever wilt. Content thee; let it be:
+Know only this--there is a Power unknown--
+Master of life and Maker of the worlds."
+
+
+
+LINES
+
+On the death of Captain Hiram A. Coats, my old schoolmate and friend.
+
+Dead? or is it a dream--
+Only the voice of a dream?
+Dead in the prime of his years,
+And laid in the lap of the dust;
+Only a handful of ashes
+Moldering down into dust.
+
+Strong and manly was he,
+Strong and tender and true;
+Proud in the prime of his years;
+Strong in the strength of the just:
+A heart that was half a lion's,
+And half the heart of a girl;
+Tender to all that was tender,
+And true to all that was true;
+Bold in the battle of life,
+And bold on the bloody field;
+First at the call of his country,
+First in the front of the foe.
+Hope of the years was his--
+The golden and garnered sheaves;
+Fair on the hills of autumn
+Reddened the apples of peace.
+
+Dead? or is it a dream?
+Dead in the prime of his years,
+And laid in the lap of the dust.
+
+Aye, it _is_ but a dream;
+For the life of man is a dream:
+Dead in the prime of his years
+And laid in the lap of the dust;
+Only a handful of ashes
+Moldering down into dust.
+
+Only a handful of ashes
+Moldering down into dust?
+Aye, but what of the breath
+Blown out of the bosom of God?
+What of the spirit that breathed
+And burned in the temple of clay?
+Dust unto dust returns;
+The dew-drop returns to the sea;
+The flash from the flint and the steel
+Returns to its source in the sun.
+Change cometh forever-and-aye,
+But forever nothing is lost--
+The dew-drop that sinks in the sand,
+Nor the sunbeam that falls in the sea.
+Ah, life is only a link
+In the endless chain of change.
+Death giveth the dust to the dust
+And the soul to the infinite soul:
+For aye since the morning of man--
+
+Since the human rose up from the brute--
+Hath Hope, like a beacon of light,
+Like a star in the rift of the storm,
+Been writ by the finger of God
+On the longing hearts of men.
+O follow no goblin fear;
+O cringe to no cruel creed;
+Nor chase the shadow of doubt
+Till the brain runs mad with despair.
+Stretch forth thy hand, O man,
+To the winds and the quaking earth--
+To the heaving and falling sea--
+To the ultimate stars and feel
+The throb of the spirit of God--
+The pulse of the Universe.
+
+
+MAULEY
+
+THE BRAVE FERRY-MAN
+
+[NOTE.--The great Sioux massacre in Minnesota commenced at the Agency
+village, on the Minnesota River, early in the morning of the 16th day of
+August, 1862, precipitated, doubtless, by the murders at Acton on the
+day previous. The massacre and the Indian war that followed developed
+many brave men, but no truer hero than Mauley, an obscure Frenchman, the
+ferry-man at the Agency. Continually under fire, he resolutely ran his
+ferry-boat back and forth across the river, affording the
+terror-stricken people the only chance for escape. He was shot down on
+his boat just as he had landed on the opposite shore the last of those
+who fled from the burning village to the ferry-landing. The Indians
+disemboweled his dead body, cut off the head, hands and feet and thrust
+them into the cavity. See _Heard's Hist. Sioux War_, p 67.]
+
+
+Crouching in the early morning,
+Came the swarth and naked "Sioux;"[CF]
+On the village, without warning,
+Fell the sudden, savage blow.
+Horrid yell and crack of rifle
+Mingle as the flames arise;--
+With the tomahawk they stifle
+Mothers' wails and children's cries.
+Men and women to the ferry
+Fly from many a blazing cot;--
+Brave and ready--grim and steady,
+Mauley mans the ferry-boat.
+
+Can they cross the ambushed river?
+'Tis for life the only chance;
+Only this may some deliver
+From the scalping-knife and lance.
+Through the throng of wailing women
+Frantic men in terror burst;--
+"Back, ye cowards!" thundered Mauley,--
+"I will take the women first!"
+Then with brawny arms and lever
+Back the craven men he smote.
+Brave and ready--grim and steady,
+Mauley mans the ferry-boat.
+
+To and fro across the river
+Plies the little mercy-craft,
+While from ambushed gun and quiver
+On it falls the fatal shaft.
+Trembling from the burning village,
+Still the terror-stricken fly,
+For the Indians' love of pillage
+Stays the bloody tragedy.
+At the windlass-bar bare-headed--
+Bare his brawny arms and throat--
+Brave and ready--grim and steady,
+Mauley mans the ferry-boat.
+
+Hark!--a sudden burst of war-whoops!
+They are bent on murder now;
+Down the ferry-road they rally,
+Led by furious Little Crow.
+Frantic mothers clasp their children,
+And the help of God implore;
+Frantic men leap in the river
+Ere the boat can reach the shore.
+Mauley helps the weak and wounded
+Till the last soul is afloat;--
+Brave and ready--grim and steady,
+Mauley mans the ferry-boat.
+
+Speed the craft!--The fierce Dakotas
+Whoop and hasten to the shore,
+And a shower of shot and arrows
+On the crowded boat they pour.
+Fast it floats across the river,
+Managed by the master hand,
+Laden with a freight so precious,--
+God be thanked!--it reaches land.
+Where is Mauley--grim and steady,
+Shall his brave deed be forgot?
+Grasping still the windlass-lever,
+Dead he lies upon the boat.
+
+[CF] Pronounced Soo; a name given to the Dakotas in early days by the
+French traders.
+
+[Illustration: MAULEY THE BRAVE FERRY-MAN]
+
+
+
+
+MEN
+
+Man is a creature of a thousand whims;
+The slave of hope and fear and circumstance.
+Through toil and martyrdom a million years
+Struggling and groping upward from the brute,
+And ever dragging still the brutish chains,
+And ever slipping backward to the brute.
+Shall he not break the galling, brazen bonds
+That bind him writhing on the wheel of fate?
+Long ages groveling with his brother brutes,
+He plucked the tree of knowledge and uprose
+And walked erect--a god; but died the death:
+For knowledge brings but sadness and unrest
+Forever, insatiate longing and regret.
+Behold the brute's unerring instinct guides
+True as the pole-star, while man's reason leads
+How oft to quicksands and the hidden reefs!
+Contented brute, his daily wants how few!
+And these by Nature's mother-hand supplied.
+Man's wants unnumbered and unsatisfied,
+And multiplied at every onward step--
+Insatiate as the cavernous maw of time.
+His real wants how simple and how few!
+Behold the kine in yonder pasture-field
+Cropping the clover, or in rest reclined,
+Chewing meek-eyed the cud of sweet content.
+Ambition plagues them not, nor hope, nor fear;
+No demons fright them and no cruel creeds;
+No pangs of disappointment or remorse.
+See man the picture of perpetual want,
+The prototype of all disquietude;
+Full of trouble, yet ever seeking more;
+Between the upper and the nether stone
+Ground and forever in the mill of fate.
+Nature and art combine to clothe his form,
+To feed his fancy and to fill his maw;
+And yet the more they give the more he craves.
+Give him the gold of Ophir, still he delves;
+Give him the land, and he demands the sea;
+Give him the earth--he reaches for the stars.
+Doomed by his fate to scorn the good he has
+And grasp at fancied good beyond his reach,
+He seeks for silver in the distant hills
+While in the sand gold glitters at his feet.
+
+O man, thy wisdom is but folly still;
+Wiser the brute and full of sweet content.
+The wit and wisdom of five thousand years--What
+are they but the husks we feed upon,
+While beast and bird devour the golden grain?
+Lo for the brutes dame Nature sows and tills;
+For them the Tuba-tree of Paradise
+Bends with its bounties free and manifold;
+For them the fabled fountain Salsabil,
+Gushes pure wine that sparkles as it runs,
+And fair Al Cawthar flows with creamy milk.
+But man, forever doomed to toil and sweat,
+Digs the hard earth and casts his seeds therein,
+And hopes the harvest;--how oft he hopes in vain!
+Weeds choke, winds blast, and myriad pests devour,
+The hot sun withers and the floods destroy.
+Unceasing labor, vigilance and care
+Reward him here and there with bounteous store.
+Had man the blessed wisdom of content,
+Happy were he--as wise Horatius sung--
+To whom God gives enough with sparing hand.
+Of all the crops by sighing mortals sown,
+And watered with man's sweat and woman's tears,
+There is but only one that never fails
+In drouth or flood, on fat or flinty soil,
+On Nilus' banks or Scandia's stony hills--
+The plenteous, never-stinted crop of fools.
+So hath it been since erst aspiring man
+Broke from the brute and plucked the fatal tree,
+And will be till eternity grows gray.
+
+Princes and parasites comprise mankind:
+To one wise prince a million parasites;
+The most uncommon thing is common-sense;
+A truly wise man is a freak of nature.
+The herd are parasites of parasites
+That blindly follow priest or demagogue,
+Himself blind leader of the blind. The wise
+Weigh words, but by the yard fools measure them.
+The wise beginneth at the end; the fool
+Ends at the beginning, or begins anew:
+Aye, every ditch is full of after-wit.
+Folly sows broad cast; Wisdom gathers in,
+And so the wise man fattens on the fool,
+And from the follies of the foolish learns
+Wisdom to guide himself and bridle them.
+"To-morrow I made my fortune," cries the fool,
+"To-day I'll spend it." Thus will Folly eat
+His chicken ere the hen hath laid the egg.
+So Folly blossoms with promises all the year--
+Promises that bud and blossom but to blast.
+"All men are fools," said Socrates, the wise,
+And in the broader sense I grant it true,
+For even Socrates had his Xanthipp'.
+Whose head is wise oft hath a foolish heart;
+The wisest has more follies than he needs;
+Wisdom and madness, too, are near akin.
+The marrow-maddening canker-worm of love
+Feeds on the brains of wise men as on fools'.
+
+The wise man gathers wisdom from all men
+As bees their honey hive from plant and weed.
+Yea, from the varied history of the world,
+From the experience of all times, all men,
+The wise man learneth wisdom. Folly learns
+From his own bruises if he learns at all.
+The fool--born wise--what need hath he to learn?
+He needs but gabble wisdom to the world:
+Grill him on a gridiron and he gabbles still.
+
+Wise men there are--wise in the eyes of men--
+Who cram their hollow heads with ancient wit
+Cackled in Carthage, babbled in Babylon,
+Gabbled in Greece and riddled in old Rome,
+And never coin a farthing of their own.
+Wise men there are--for owls are counted wise--
+Who love to leave the lamp-lit paths behind,
+And chase the shapeless shadow of a doubt.
+Too wise to learn, too wise to see the truth,
+E'en though it glow and sparkle like a gem
+On God's outstretched forefinger for all time.
+These have one argument, and only one,
+For good or evil, earth or jeweled heaven--
+The olden, owlish argument of doubt.
+Ah, he alone is wise who ever stands
+Armed _cap-a-pie_ with God's eternal truth.
+Where _Grex_ is _Rex_ God help the hapless land.
+The yelping curs that bay the rising moon
+Are not more clamorous, and the fitful winds
+Not more inconstant. List the croaking frogs
+That raise their heads in fen or stagnant pool,
+Shouting at eve their wisdom from the mud.
+Beside the braying, bleating, bellowing mob,
+Their jarring discords are sweet harmony.
+The headless herd are but a noise of wind;
+Sometimes, alas, the wild tornado's roar.
+As full of freaks as curs are full of fleas,
+Like gnats they swarm, like flies they buzz and breed.
+Thought works in silence: Wisdom stops to think.
+No ass so obstinate as ignorance.
+Oft as they seize the ship of state, behold--
+Overboard goes all ballast and they crowd
+To blast or breeze or hurricane full sail,
+Each dunce a pilot and a captain too.
+How often cross-eyed Justice hits amiss!
+Doomed by Athenian mobs to banishment,
+See Aristides leave the land he saved:
+Wisdom his fault and justice his offense.
+See Caesar crowned a god and Tully slain;
+See Paris red with riot and noble blood,
+A king beheaded and a monster throned,--
+King Drone, flat fool that weather-cocked all winds,
+Gulped gall and vinegar and smacked it wine,
+Wig-wagged his way from gilded _Oeil de Boeuf_
+Through mob and maelstrom to the guillotine.
+Chateaus up-blazing torch the doom of France,
+While human wolves howl ruin round their walls.
+Contention hisses from a million mouths,
+And from ten thousand muttering craters smokes
+The smell of sulphur. Gaul becomes a ghoul;
+While _Parlez-Tous_ in hot palaver holds
+Hubbub _ad_ Bedlam--Pandemonium thriced.
+There, voices drowning voice with frantic cries,
+Discord demented flaps her ruffled wings
+And shrieks delirium to her screeching brood.
+Sneer-lipped, hawk-eyed, wolf-tongued oraculars--
+Wise-wigs, Girondins, frothing Jacobins--
+Reason to madness run, tongues venom-tanged--
+Howl chaos all with one united throat.
+Maelstrom of madness, lazar-howled, hag-shrilled!
+Quack quackles quack; all doctors disagree,
+While Doctor Guillotine's huge scalpel heads
+Hell-dogs beheading helpless innocents.
+The very babes bark rabies. Journalism,
+Moon-mad, green-eyed, hound-scented, _lupus_-tongued
+On howls the pack and smells her bread in blood.
+
+_O Tempus ferax insanorum, Heu!_
+Physicked with metaphysics, pamphleteered
+Into paroxysms, bruited into brutes.
+And metamorphosed into murder, lo
+Men lapse to savagery and turn to beasts.
+Hell-broth hag-boiled: a mad Theroigne is queen--
+Mounts to the brazen throne of Harlotdom,
+Queen of the cursed, and flares her cannon-torch.
+Watch-wolves, lean-jawed, fore-smelling feast of blood,
+In packs on Paris howl from farthest France.
+Discord demented bursts the bounds of _Dis_;
+Mad Murder raves and Horror holds her hell.
+Hades up-heaves her whelps. In human forms
+Up-flare the Furies, serpent-haired and grin
+Horrid with bloody jaws. Scaled reptiles crawl
+From slum and sewer, slimy, coil on coil--
+Danton, dark beast, that builded for himself
+A monument of quicksand limed with blood;
+Horse-leech Marat, blear-eyed, vile vulture born;
+Fair Charlotte's dagger robbed the guillotine!
+Black-biled, green-visaged, traitorous Robespierre,
+That buzzard-beaked, hawk-taloned octopus
+Who played with pale poltroonery of men,
+And drank the cup of flattery till he reeled;
+Hell's pope uncrowned, immortal for a day.
+Tinville, relentless dog of murder-plot--
+Doom-judge whose trembling victims were foredoomed;
+Maillard who sucked his milk from Murder's dugs,
+Twin-whelp to Theroigne, captain of the hags;
+Jourdan, red-grizzled mule-son blotched with blood,
+Headsman forever "famous-infamous;"
+Keen, hag-whelped journalist Camille Desmoulins,
+Who with a hundred other of his ilk
+Hissed on the hounds and smeared his bread with blood;
+Lebon, man-fiend, that vampire-ghoul who drank
+Hot blood of headless victims, and compelled
+Mothers to view the murder of their babes;
+At whose red guillotine, in Arras raised,
+The pipe and fiddle played at every fall
+Of ghastly head the ribald "_Ca Ira_;"
+And fiends unnamed and nameless brutes untaled.
+
+Petticoat-patriots _sans bas_, and _Sans-culottes_,
+Rampant in rags and hunger-toothed uproar
+Paris the proud. With Jacobin clubs they club
+The head of France till all her brains are out.
+Hired murder hunts in packs. Men murder-mad
+Slay for the love of murder. Gloomy night,
+Hiding her stars lest they in pity fall,
+Beholds a thousand guiltless, trembling souls--
+Men, women, children--forth from prisons flung
+In flare of torch and glare of demon eyes,
+Among the howling wolves and lazar-hags,
+Crying for mercy where no mercy is,
+Hewed down in heaps by bloody ax and pike.
+From their grim battlements the imps of hell
+Indignant hissed and damped their fires with tears;
+And Manhood from the watch-towers of the world
+Cried in the name of Human Nature--"Hold!"
+As well the drifting snail might strive to still
+The volcan-heaved, storm-struck, moon-maddened sea.
+Blood-frenzied beasts demand their feast of blood.
+_"Liberty--Equality--Fraternity!"_--the cry
+Of blood-hounds baying on the track of babes.
+Queen innocent beheaded--mother-queen!
+And queenly Roland--Nature's queenly queen!
+Aye, at the foot of bloody guillotine
+She stood a heroine: before her loomed
+The Goddess of Liberty--in statue-stone.
+Queen Roland saw, and spake the words that ring
+Along the centuries--_"O Liberty!
+What crimes are committed in thy name!"_--and died.
+And when the headsman raised her severed head
+To hell-dogs shouting _"Vive la Liberte,"_
+Godlike disdain still sparkled in her eyes.
+Grim Hell herself in pity stood aghast,
+Clanged shut her doors and stopped her ears with pitch.
+
+See the wise ruler--father of Brazil,
+Who struck the shackles from a million slaves,
+Whose reign was peace and love and gentleness,
+Despoiled and driven from the land he loves.
+See jealous Labor strike the hand that feeds,
+And burn the mills that grind his daily bread;
+Yea, in blind rage denounce the very laws
+That shield his home from Europe's pauperdom.
+See the grieved farmer raise his horny hand
+And splutter garlic. Hear the demagogues
+Fist-maul the wind and weather-cock the crowd,
+With brazen foreheads full of empty noise
+Out-bellowing the bulls of Bashan; and behold
+Shrill, wrinkled Amazons in high harangue
+Stamp their flat feet and gnash their toothless gums,
+And flaunt their petticoat-flag of "Liberty."
+Hear the old bandogs of the Daily Press,
+Chained to their party posts, or fetter-free
+And running amuck against old party creeds,
+On-howl their packs and glory in the fight.
+See mangy curs, whose editorial ears
+Prick to all winds to catch the popular breeze,
+Slang-whanging yelp, and froth and snap and snarl,
+And sniff the gutters for their daily food.
+And these--are they our prophets and our priests?
+Hurra!--Hurra!--Hurra!--for "Liberty!"
+Flaunt the red flag and flutter the petticoat;
+Ran-tan the drums and let the bugles bray,
+The eagle scream and sixty million throats
+Sing Yankee-doodle--Yankee-doodle-doo.
+
+The state is sick and every fool a quack
+Running with pills and plasters and sure-cures,
+And every pill and package labelled _Ism_.
+See Liberty run mad, and Anarchy,
+Bearing the torch, the dagger and the bomb
+Red-mouthed run riot in her sacred name
+Hear mobs of idlers cry--_"Equality!
+Let all men share alike: divide, divide!"_
+Butting their heads against the granite rocks
+Of Nature and the eternal laws of God.
+Pull down the toiler, lift the idler up!
+Despoil the frugal, crown the negligent!
+Offer rewards to idleness and crime!
+And pay a premium for improvidence!
+Fools, can your wolfish cries repeal the laws
+Of God engraven on the granite hills,
+Written in every Wrinkle of the earth,
+On every plain, on every mountain-top,--
+Nay, blazened o'er all the boundless Universe
+On every jewel that sparkles on God's throne?
+And can ye rectify God's mighty plan?
+O pygmies, can ye measure God himself?
+Aye, would ye measure God's almighty power,
+Go--crack Earth's bones and heave the granite hills;
+Measure the ocean in a drinking-cup;
+Measure Eternity by the town-clock;
+Nay, with a yard-stick measure the Universe:
+Measure for measure. Measure God by man!
+"Fools to the midmost marrow of your bones!"
+O buzzing flies and gnats! Ye cannot strike
+One little atom from God's Universe,
+Or warp the laws of Nature by a hair!
+
+His loving eye sees through all evil good.
+Man's life is but a breath; but lo with Him
+To-day, to-morrow, yesterday, are one
+One in the cycle of eternal time
+That hath beginning none, nor any end.
+The Earth revolving round her sire, the Sun,
+Measures the flying year of mortal man,
+But who shall measure God's eternal year?
+The unbegotten, everlasting God;
+Unmade, eternal, all-pervading power;
+Center and source of all things, high and low,
+Maker and master of the Universe--
+Ah, nay, the mighty Universe itself!
+All things in nature bear God's signature
+So plainly writ that he who runs may read.
+We know not what life is; how may we know
+Death--what it is, or what may lie beyond?
+Whoso forgets his God forgets himself.
+
+Let me not blindly judge my brother man:
+There is but one just judge; there is but one
+Who knows the hearts of men. Him let us praise--
+Not with blind prayer, or idle, sounding psalms--
+But let us daily in our daily works,
+Praise God by righteous deeds and brother-love.
+Go forth into the forest and observe--
+For men believe their eyes and doubt their ears--
+The creeping vine, the shrub, the lowly bush,
+The dwarfed and stunted trees, the bent and bowed,
+And here and there a lordly oak or elm,
+And o'er them all a tall and princely pine.
+All struggle upward, but the many fail;
+The low dwarfed by the shadows of the great,
+The stronger basking in the genial sun.
+Observe the myriad fishes of the seas--
+The mammoths and the minnows of the deep.
+Behold the eagle and the little wren,
+The condor on his cliff, the pigeon-hawk,
+The teal, the coot, the broad-winged albatross.
+Turn to the beasts in forest and in field--
+The lion, the lynx, the mammoth and the mouse,
+The sheep, the goat, the bullock and the horse,
+The fierce gorillas and the chattering apes--
+Progenitors and prototypes of man.
+Not only differences in genera find,
+But grades in every kind and every class.
+
+I would not doom to serfdom or to toil
+One race, one caste, one class, or any man:
+Give every honest man an honest chance;
+Protect alike the rich man and the poor;
+Let not the toiler live upon a crust
+While Croesus' bread is buttered on both sides.
+
+O people's king and shepherd, throned Law,
+Strike down the monsters of Monopoly.
+Lift up thy club, O mighty Hercules!
+Behold thy "Labors" yet unfinished are:
+Tear off thy Nessus shirt and bare thine arms.
+The Numean lion fattens on our flocks;
+The Lernean Hydra coils around our farms,
+Our towns, our mills, our mines, our factories;
+The triple monster Geryon lives again,
+Grown quadruple, and over all our plains
+And thousand hills his fattening oxen feed.
+Stymphalean buzzards ravage round our fields;
+The Augean stables reeking stench the land;
+The hundred-headed monster Cerberus,
+That throttled Greece and ravaged hapless France,
+Hath broke from hell and howls for human blood.
+Lift up thy knotted club, O Hercules!
+Strike swift and sure: crush down the Hydra's heads;
+Throttle the Numean lion: strike! nor spare
+The monster Geryon or the buzzard-beaks.
+Clean the Augean stables if thou can'st;
+But hurl the hundred-headed monster down
+Headlong to Hades: chain him; make thee sure
+He shall not burst the bonds of hell again.
+
+To you, O chosen makers of the laws,
+The nation looks--and shall it look in vain?
+Will ye sit idle, or in idle wind
+Blow out your zeal, and crack your party whips,
+Or drivel dotage, while the crisis cries--
+While all around the dark horizon loom
+Clouds thunder-capped that bode a hurricane?
+Sleep ye as slept the "Notables" of France,
+While under them an hundred AEtnas hissed
+And spluttered sulphur, gathering for the shock?
+Be ye our Hercules--and Lynceus-eyed:
+Still ye the storm or ere the storm begin--
+Ere "Liberty" take Justice by the throat,
+And run moon-mad a Malay murder-muck,
+Throttle the "Trusts", and crush the coils combined
+That crack our bones and fatten on our fields.
+Strike down the hissing heads of Anarchy:
+Strike swift and hard, nor parley with the fiend
+Mothered of hell and father of all fiends--
+Fell monster with an hundred bloody mouths,
+And every mouth an hundred hissing tongues,
+And every tongue drips venom from his fangs.
+
+Protect the toiling millions by just laws;
+Let honest labor find its sure reward;
+Let willing hands find work and honest bread.
+So frame the laws that every honest man
+May find his home protected and his craft.
+Let Liberty and Order walk hand in hand
+With Justice: happy Trio! let them rule.
+Put up the bars: bar out the pauper swarms
+Alike from Asia's huts and Europe's hives.
+Let charity begin at home. In vain
+Will we bar out the swarms from Europe's hives
+And Asia's countless lepers, if our ports
+Are free to all the products of their hands.
+Put up the bars: bar out the pauper hordes;
+Bar out their products that compete with ours:
+Give honest toil at home an honest chance:
+Build up our own and keep our coin at home.
+In vain our mines pour forth their wealth of gold
+And silver, if by every ship it sail
+For London, Paris, Birmingham or Berlin.
+
+We have been prodigal. The days are past
+When virgin acres wanted willing hands,
+When fertile empires lay in wilderness
+Waiting the teeming millions of the world.
+Lo where the Indian and the bison roamed--Lords
+of the prairies boundless as the sea--But
+twenty years ago, behold the change!
+Homesteads and hamlets, flocks and lowing herds,
+Railways and cities, miles of rustling corn,
+And leagues on leagues of waving fields of gold.
+
+Let wise men teach and honest men proclaim
+The mutual dependence of the rich and poor;
+For if the wealthy profit by the poor,
+The poor man profits ever by the rich.
+Wealth builds our churches and our colleges;
+Wealth builds the mills that grind the million's bread;
+Wealth builds the factories that clothe the poor;
+Wealth builds the railways and the million ride.
+God hath so willed the toiling millions reap
+The golden harvest that the rich have sown.
+Six feet of earth make all men even; lo
+The toilers are the rich man's heirs at last.
+But there be men would grumble at their lot,
+Even if it were a corner-lot on Broadway.
+We stand upon the shoulders of the past.
+Who knoweth not the past how may he know
+The folly or the wisdom of to-day?
+For by comparison we weigh the good,
+And by comparison all evil weigh.
+"What can we reason, but from what we know?"
+Let honest men look back an hundred years--
+Nay, fifty, and behold the wondrous change.
+Where wooden tubs like sluggards sailed the sea,
+Steam-ships of steel like greyhounds course the main;
+Where lumbering coach and wain and wagon toiled
+Through mud and mire and rut and rugged way,
+The cushioned train a mile a minute flies.
+Then by slow coach the message went and came,
+But now by lightning bridled to man's use
+We flash our silent thoughts from sea to sea;
+Nay, under ocean's depths from shore to shore;
+And talk by telephone to distant ears.
+The dreams of yesterday are deeds to-day.
+Our frugal mothers spun with tedious toil,
+And wove the homespun cloth for all their fold;
+Their needles plied by weary fingers sewed.
+Behold, the humming factory spins and weaves,
+The singing "Singer" sews with lightning speed.
+Our fathers sowed their little fields by hand,
+And reaped with bended sickles and bent backs;
+By hand they bound the sheaves of wheat and rye;
+With flails they threshed and winnowed in the wind.
+Now by machines we sow and reap and bind;
+By steam we thresh and sack the bounteous grain.
+These are but few of all the million ways
+Whereby man's toil is lightened and he hath gained
+Tenfold in comfort, luxury and ease.
+For these and more the millions that enjoy
+May thank the wise and wealthy few who gave.
+If the rich are richer the poor are richer too.
+A narrow demagogue I count the man
+Who cries to-day--_"Progress and Poverty"_;
+As if a thousand added comforts made
+The poor man poorer and his lot the worse.
+'Tis but a new toot on the same old horn
+That brayed in ancient Greece and Babylon,
+And now amid the ruined walls of Rome
+Lies buried fathoms deep in dead men's dust.
+
+_"Progress and Poverty!"_ Man, hast thou traced
+The blood that throbs commingled in thy veins?
+Over thy shoulder hast thou cast a glance
+On thine old Celtic-Saxon-Norman sires--
+Huddled in squalid huts on beds of straw?
+Barefooted churls swine-herding in the fens,
+Bare-legged cowherds in their cow-skin coats,
+Wearing the collars of their Thane or Eorl,
+His serfs, his slaves, even as thy dog is thine;
+Harried by hunger, pillaged, ravaged, slain,
+By Viking robbers and the warring Jarls;
+Oft glad like hunted swine to fill their maws
+With herbs and acorns. _"Progress and Poverty!"_
+The humblest laborer in our mills or mines
+Is royal Thane beside those slavish churls;
+The frugal farmer in our land to-day
+Lives better than their kings--himself a king.
+
+Lo every age refutes old errors still,
+And still begets new errors for the next;
+But all the creeds of politics or priests
+Can't make one error truth, one truth a lie.
+There is no religion higher than the truth;
+Men make the creeds, but God ordains the law.
+
+
+Above all cant, all arguments of men,
+Above all superstitions, old or new,
+Above all creeds of every age and clime,
+Stands the eternal truth--the creed of creeds.
+
+Sweet is the lute to him who hath not heard
+The prattle of his children at his knees:
+Ah, he is rich indeed whose humble home
+Contains a frugal wife and sweet content.
+
+
+
+
+HELOISE
+
+I saw a light on yester-night--
+  A low light on the misty lea;
+The stars were dim and silence grim
+  Sat brooding on the sullen sea.
+
+From out the silence came a voice--
+  A voice that thrilled me through and through,
+And said, "Alas, is this your choice?
+  For he is false and I was true."
+
+And in my ears the passing years
+  Will sadly whisper words of rue:
+Forget--and yet--can I forget
+  That one was false and one was true?
+
+
+
+
+CHANGE
+
+Change is the order of the universe.
+Worlds wax and wane; suns die and stars are born.
+Two atoms of cosmic dust unite, cohere--
+And lo the building of a world begun.
+On all things--high or low, or great or small--
+Earth, ocean, mountain, mammoth, midge and man,
+On mind and matter--lo perpetual change--
+God's fiat--stamped! The very bones of man
+Change as he grows from infancy to age.
+His loves, his hates, his tastes, his fancies, change.
+His blood and brawn demand a change of food;
+His mind as well: the sweetest harp of heaven
+Were hateful if it played the selfsame tune
+Forever, and the fairest flower that gems
+The garden, if it bloomed throughout the year,
+Would blush unsought. The most delicious fruits
+Pall on our palate if we taste too oft,
+And Hyblan honey turns to bitter gall.
+Perpetual winter is a reign of gloom;
+Perpetual summer hardly pleases more.
+Behold the Esquimau--the Hottentot:
+This doomed to regions of perpetual ice,
+And that to constant summer's heat and glow:
+Inferior both, both gloomy and unblessed.
+The home of happiness and plenty lies
+Where autumn follows summer and the breath
+Of spring melts into rills the winter's snows.
+How gladly, after summer's blazing suns,
+We hail the autumn frosts and autumn fruits:
+How blithesome seems the fall of feathery snow
+When winter comes with merry clang of bells:
+And after winter's reign of ice and storm
+How glad we hail the robins of the spring.
+For God hath planted in the hearts of men
+The love of change, and sown the seeds of change
+In earth and air and sea and shoreless space.
+Day follows night and night the dying day,
+And every day--and every hour--is change;
+From when on dewy hills the rising dawn
+Sprinkles her mists of silver in the east,
+Till in the west the golden dust up-wheels
+Behind the chariot of the setting sun;
+From when above the hills the evening star
+Sparkles a diamond 'mong the grains of gold,
+Until her last faint flicker on the sea.
+The voices of the hoar and hurrying years
+Cry from the silence--"Change!--perpetual Change!"
+Man's heart responding throbs--"Perpetual Change,"
+And grinds like a mill-stone: wanting grists of change
+It grinds and grinds upon its troubled self.
+
+Behold the flowers that spring and bloom and fade.
+Behold the blooming maid: the song of larks
+Is in her warbling throat; the blue of heaven
+Is in her eyes; her loosened tresses fall
+A shower of gold on shoulders tinged with rose;
+Her form a seraph's and her gladsome face
+A benediction. Lo beneath her feet
+The loving crocus bursts in sudden bloom.
+Fawn-eyed and full of gentleness she moves--
+A sunbeam on the lawn. The hearts of men
+Follow her footsteps. He whose sinewy arms
+Might burst through bars of steel like bands of straw,
+Caught in the net of her unloosened hair,
+A helpless prisoner lies and loves his chains.
+Blow, ye soft winds, from sandal-shaded isle,
+And bring the _mogra's_ breath and orange-bloom.
+
+Fly, fleet-winged doves, to Ponce de Leon's spring,
+And in your bills bring her the pearls of youth;
+For lo the fingers of relentless Time
+Weave threads of silver in among the gold,
+And seam her face with pain and carking care,
+Till, bent and bowed, the shriveled hands of Death
+Reach from the welcome grave and draw her in.
+
+
+
+
+FIDO
+
+Hark, the storm is raging high;
+  Beat the breakers on the coast,
+And the wintry waters cry
+  Like the wailing of a ghost.
+
+On the rugged coast of Maine
+  Stands the frugal farmer's cot:
+What if drive the sleet and rain?
+  John and Hannah heed it not.
+
+On the hills the mad winds roar,
+  And the tall pines toss and groan;
+Round the headland--down the shore--
+  Stormy spirits shriek and moan.
+
+Inky darkness wraps the sky;
+  Not a glimpse of moon or star;
+And the stormy-petrels cry
+  Out along the harbor-bar.
+
+Seated by their blazing hearth--
+  John and Hannah--snug and warm--
+What if darkness wrap the earth?
+  Drive the sleet and howl the storm!
+
+Let the stormy-petrels fly!
+  Let the moaning breakers beat!
+Hark! I hear an infant cry
+  And the patter of baby-feet:
+
+And Hannah listened as she spoke,
+  But only heard the driving rain,
+As on the cottage-roof it broke
+  And pattered on the window-pane.
+
+And she sat knitting by the fire
+  While pussy frolicked at her feet;
+And ever roared the tempest higher,
+  And ever harder the hailstones beat.
+
+"Hark! the cry--it comes again!"
+  "Nay, it is the winds that wail,
+And the patter on the pane
+  Of the driving sleet and hail"
+
+Replied the farmer as he piled
+  The crackling hemlock on the coals,
+And lit his corn-cob pipe and smiled
+  The smile of sweet contented souls.
+
+Aye, let the storm rave o'er the earth;
+  Their kine are snug in barn and byre;
+The apples sputter on the hearth,
+  The cider simmers on the fire.
+
+But once again at midnight high,
+  She heard in dreams, through wind and sleet,
+An infant moan, an infant cry,
+  And the patter of baby-feet.
+
+Half-waking from her dreams she turned
+  And heard the driving wind and rain;
+Still on the hearth the fagots burned,
+  And hail beat on the window-pane.
+
+John rose as wont, at dawn of day;
+  The earth was white with frozen sleet;
+And lo his faithful Fido lay
+  Dead on the door-stone at his feet.
+
+
+
+
+THE REIGN OF REASON
+
+The day of truth is dawning. I behold
+O'er darksome hills the trailing robes of gold
+And silent footsteps of the gladsome dawn.
+The morning breaks by sages long foretold;
+Truth comes to set upon the world her throne.
+Men lift their foreheads to the rising sun,
+And lo the reign of Reason is begun.
+Fantastic phantasms fly before the light--
+Pale, gibbering ghosts and ghouls and goblin fears:
+Man who hath walked in sleep--what thousands years?
+Groping among the shadows of the night,
+Moon-struck and in a weird somnambulism,
+Mumbling some cunning cant or catechism,
+Thrilled by the electric magic of the skies--
+Sun-touched by Truth--awakes and rubs his eyes.
+
+Old Superstition, mother of cruel creeds,
+O'er all the earth hath sown her dragon-teeth.
+Lo centuries on centuries the seeds
+Grew rank, and from them all the haggard breeds
+Of Hate and Fear and Hell and cruel Death.
+And still her sunken eyes glare on mankind;
+Her livid lips grin horrible; her hands,
+Shriveled to bone and sinew, clutch all lands
+And with blind fear lead on or drive the blind.
+Ah ignorance and fear go hand in hand,
+Twin-born, and broadcast scatter hate and thorns,
+They people earth with ghosts and hell with horns,
+And sear the eyes of truth with burning brand.
+
+Behold, the serried ranks of Truth advance,
+And stubborn Science shakes her shining lance
+Full in the face of stolid Ignorance.
+But Superstition is a monster still--
+An Hydra we may scotch but hardly kill;
+For if with sword of Truth we lop a head,
+How soon another groweth in its stead!
+All men are slaves. Yea, some are slave to wine
+And some to women, some to shining gold,
+But all to habit and to customs old.
+Around our stunted souls old tenets twine
+And it is hard to straighten in the oak
+The crook that in the sapling had its start:
+The callous neck is glad to wear the yoke;
+Nor reason rules the head, but aye the heart:
+The head is weak, the throbbing heart is strong;
+But where the heart is right the head is not far wrong.
+
+Men have been learning error age on age,
+And superstition is their heritage
+Bequeathed from age to age and sire to son
+Since the dim history of the world begun.
+Trust paves the way for treachery to tread;
+Under the cloak of virtue vices creep;
+Fools chew the chaff while cunning eats the bread,
+And wolves become the shepherds of the sheep.
+The mindless herd are but the cunning's tools;
+For ages have the learned of the schools
+Furnished pack-saddles for the backs of fools.
+Pale Superstition loves the gloom of night;
+Truth, like a diamond, ever loves the light.
+But still 'twere wrong to speak but in abuse,
+For priests and popes have had, and have, their use.
+Yea, Superstition since the world began
+Hath been an instrument to govern man:
+For men were brutes, and brutal fear was given
+To chain the brute till Reason came from heaven.
+Aye, men were beasts for lo how many ages!
+And only fear held them in chains and cages.
+
+Wise men were priests, and gladly I accord
+They were the priests and prophets of the Lord;
+For love was lust and o'er all earth's arena
+Hell-fire alone could tame the wild hyena.
+All history is the register, we find,
+Of the crimes and lusts and sufferings of mankind;
+And there are still dark lands where it is well
+That Superstition wear the horns of hell,
+And hold her torches o'er the brutal head,
+And fright the beast with fire and goblin dread
+Till Reason come the darkness to dispel.
+
+How hard it is for mortals to unlearn
+Beliefs bred in the marrow of their bones!
+How hard it is for mortals to discern
+The truth that preaches from the silent stones,
+The silent hills, the silent universe,
+While Error cries in sanctimonious tones
+That all the light of life and God is hers!
+Lo in the midst we stand: we cannot see
+Either the dark beginning or the end,
+Or where our tottering footsteps turn or trend
+In the vast orbit of Eternity.
+Let Reason be our light--the only light
+That God hath given unto benighted man,
+Wherewith to see a glimpse of his vast plan
+And stars of hope that glimmer on our night.
+Lo all-pervading Unity is His;
+Lo all-pervading Unity is He:
+One mighty heart throbs in the earth and sea,
+In every star through heaven's immensity,
+And God in all things breathes, in all things is.
+God's perfect order rules the vast expanse,
+And Love is queen and all the realms are hers;
+But strike one planet from the Universe
+And all is chaos and unbridled chance.
+
+And is there life beyond this life below?
+Aye, is death death?--or but a happy change
+From night to light--on angel wings to range,
+And sing the songs of seraphs as we go?
+Alas, the more we know the less we know we know.
+
+God hath laid down the limits we cannot pass;
+And it is well he giveth us no glass
+Wherewith to see beyond the present glance,
+Else we might die a thousand deaths perchance
+Before we lay our bones beneath the grass.
+What is the soul, and whither will it fly?
+We only know that matter cannot die,
+But lives and lived through all eternity,
+And ever turns from hoary age to youth.
+And is the soul not worthier than the dust?
+So in His providence we put our trust;
+And so we humbly hope, for God is just--
+Father all-wise, unmoved by wrath or ruth:
+What then is certain--what eternal? Truth,
+Almighty God, Time, Space and Cosmic Dust.
+
+
+
+
+LOVE WILL FIND
+
+
+Seek ye the fairest lily of the field,
+  The fairest lotus that in lakelet lies,
+The fairest rose that ever morn revealed,
+And Love will find--from other eyes concealed--
+  A fairer flower in some fair woman's eyes.
+
+List ye the lark that warbles to the morn,
+  The sweetest note that linnet ever sung,
+Or trembling lute in tune with silver horn,
+And Love will list--and laugh your lute to scorn--
+  A sweeter lute in some fair woman's tongue.
+
+Seek ye the dewy perfume seaward blown
+  From flowering orange-groves to passing ships;
+Nay, sip the nectared dew of Helicon,
+And Love will find--and claim it all his own--
+  A sweeter dew on some fair woman's lips.
+
+Seek ye a couch of softest eider-down,
+  The silken floss that baby birdling warms,
+Or shaded moss with blushing roses strown,
+And Love will find--when they are all alone--
+  A softer couch in some fair woman's arms.
+
+
+
+
+AN OLD ENGLISH OAK
+
+
+Silence is the voice of mighty things.
+In silence dropped the acorn in the rain;
+In silence slept till sun-touched. Wondrous life
+Peeped from the mold and oped its eyes on morn.
+Up-grew in silence through a thousand years
+The Titan-armed, gnarl-jointed, rugged oak,
+Rock-rooted. Through his beard and shaggy locks
+Soft breezes sung and tempests roared: the rain
+A thousand summers trickled down his beard;
+A thousand winters whitened on his head;
+Yet spake he not. He, from his coigne of hills,
+Beheld the rise and fall of empire, saw
+The pageantry and perjury of kings,
+The feudal barons and the slavish churls,
+The peace of peasants; heard the merry song
+Of mowers singing to the swing of scythes,
+The solemn-voiced, low-wailing funeral dirge
+Winding slow-paced with death to humble graves;
+And heard the requiem sung for coffined kings.
+Saw castles rise and castles crumble down,
+Abbeys up-loom and clang their solemn bells,
+And heard the owl hoot ruin on their walls:
+Beheld a score of battle fields corpse-strewn--
+Blood-fertiled with ten thousand flattered fools
+Who, but to please the vanity of one,
+Marched on hurrahing to the doom of death--
+And spake not, neither sighed nor made a moan.
+Saw from the blood of heroes roses spring,
+And where the clangor of steel-sinewed War
+Roared o'er embattled rage, heard gentle Peace
+To bleating hills and vales of rustling gold
+Flute her glad notes from morn till even-tide.
+Grim with the grime of a thousand years he stood--
+Grand in his silence, mighty in his years.
+Under his shade the maid and lover wooed;
+Under his arms their children's children played
+And lambkins gamboled; at his feet by night
+The heart-sick wanderer laid him down and died,
+And he looked on in silence.
+
+Silent hours
+In ghostly pantomime on tip-toe tripped
+The stately minuet of the passing years,
+Until the horologe of Time struck _One_.
+Black Thunder growled and from his throne of gloom
+Fire-flashed the night with hissing bolt, and lo,
+Heart-split, the giant of a thousand years
+Uttered one voice and like a Titan fell,
+Crashing one hammer-clang, and passed away.
+
+
+
+
+THE LEGEND OF THE FALLS[CG]
+
+[CG] _An-pe-tu Sa-pa_--Clouded Day--was the name of the Dakota mother
+who committed suicide, as related in this legend, by plunging over the
+Falls of St. Anthony. Schoolcraft calls her "_Ampata Sapa_." _Ampata_ is
+not Dakota. There are several versions of this legend, all agreeing in
+the main points.
+
+[Read at the Celebration of the Old Settlers of Hennepin County, at the
+Academy of Music, Minneapolis, July 4, 1879.]
+
+[_The Numerals refer to Notes in Appendix._]
+
+
+On the Spirit-Island [CH] sitting under midnight's misty moon,
+Lo I see the spirits flitting o'er the waters one by one!
+Slumber wraps the silent city, and the droning mills are dumb;
+One lone whippowil's shrill ditty calls her mate that ne'er will   come.
+Sadly moans the mighty river, foaming down the fettered falls,
+Where of old he thundered ever o'er abrupt and lofty walls.
+Great _Unktehee_--god of waters--lifts no more his mighty head;
+Fled he with the timid otters?--lies he in the cavern dead?
+Hark!--the waters hush their sighing and the whippowil her call,
+Through the moon-lit mists are flying dusky shadows silent all.
+Lo from out the waters foaming--from the cavern deep and dread--
+Through the glamour and the gloaming comes a spirit of the dead.
+Sad she seems; her tresses raven on her tawny shoulders rest;
+Sorrow on her brow is graven, in her arms a babe is pressed.
+Hark!--she chants the solemn story--sings the legend sad and old,
+And the river wrapt in glory listens while the tale is told.
+Would you hear the legend olden hearken while I tell the tale--
+Shorn, alas, of many a golden, weird Dakota chant and wail.
+
+[CH] The small island of rock a few rods below the Falls, was called by
+the Dakotas _Wanagee We-ta_--Spirit-Island. They say the spirit of
+_Anpetu Sapa_ sits upon that island at night and pours forth her sorrow
+in song. They also say that from time out of mind, war-eagles nested on
+that island, until the advent of white men frightened them away. This
+seems to be true. See _Carver's Travels_ (London, 1778), p. 71.
+
+
+
+
+THE LEGEND
+
+
+Tall was young Wanata, stronger than _Heyoka's_ [16] giant form,--
+Laughed at flood and fire and hunger, faced the fiercest winter storm.
+When _Wakinyan_ [32] flashed and thundered, when Unktehee raved and roared,
+All but brave _Wanata_ wondered, and the gods with fear implored.
+When the war-whoop shrill resounded, calling friends to meet the foe,
+From the _teepee_ swift he bounded, armed with polished lance and bow.
+In the battle's din and clangor fast his fatal arrows flew,
+Flashed his fiery eyes with anger,--many a stealthy foe he slew.
+Hunter swift was he and cunning, caught the beaver, slew the bear,
+Overtook the roebuck running, dragged the panther from his lair.
+Loved was he by many a maiden; many a dark eye glanced in vain;
+Many a heart with sighs was laden for the love it could not gain.
+So they called the brave "_Ska Capa_;"[CI] but the fairest of the band--
+Moon-faced, meek Anpetu-Sapa--won the hunter's heart and hand.
+
+[CI] Or _Capa Ska_--White beaver. White beavers are very rare, very
+cunning and hard to catch.
+
+From the wars with triumph burning, from the chase of bison fleet,
+To his lodge the brave returning, spread his trophies at her feet.
+Love and joy sat in the _teepee_; him a black-eyed boy she bore;
+But alas, she lived to weep a love she lost forevermore.
+For the warriors chose Wanata first _Itancan_[CJ] of the band.
+At the council-fire he sat a leader brave, a chieftain grand.
+Proud was fair Anpetu-Sapa, and her eyes were glad with joy;
+Proud was she and very happy with her warrior and her boy.
+But alas, the fatal honor that her brave Wanata won,
+Brought a bitter woe upon her,--hid with clouds the summer sun.
+For among the brave Dakotas wives bring honor to the chief.
+On the vine-clad Minnesota's banks he met the Scarlet Leaf.
+
+[CJ] _E-tan-can_--Chief.
+
+Young and fair was Ape-duta[CK]--full of craft and very fair;
+Proud she walked a queen of beauty with her dark, abundant hair.
+In her net of hair she caught him--caught Wanata with her wiles;
+All in vain his wife besought him--begged in vain his wonted smiles.
+Ape-duta ruled the _teepee_--all Wanata's smiles were hers;
+When the lodge was wrapped in sleep a star[CL] beheld the mother's tears.
+Long she strove to do her duty for the black-eyed babe she bore;
+But the proud, imperious beauty made her sad forevermore.
+Still she dressed the skins of beaver, bore the burdens, spread the fare;
+Patient ever, murmuring never, though her cheeks were creased with care.
+In the moon _Maga-o kada_, [71] twice an hundred years ago--
+Ere the "Black Robe's"[CM] sacred shadow
+          stalked the prairies' pathless snow--
+Down the swollen, rushing river, in the sunset's golden hues,
+From the hunt of bear and beaver came the band in swift canoes.
+On the queen of fairy islands, on the _Wita Waste's_ [CN] shore
+Camped Wanata, on the highlands just above the cataract's roar.
+Many braves were with Wanata; Ape-duta, too, was there,
+And the sad Anpetu-sapa spread the lodge with wonted care.
+Then above the leafless prairie leaped the fat-faced, laughing moon,
+And the stars--the spirits fairy--walked the welkin one by one.
+Swift and silent in the gloaming on the waste of waters blue,
+Speeding downward to the foaming, shot Wanata's birch canoe.
+In it stood Anpetu-sapa--in her arms her sleeping child;
+Like a wailing Norse-land _drapa_ [CO] rose her death-song weird and wild:
+
+[CK] _A-pe_--leaf,--_duta_--Scarlet,--Scarlet leaf
+
+[CL] Stars, the Dakotas say, are the faces of the departed watching over
+their friends and relatives on earth.
+
+[CM] The Dakotas called the Jesuit priests "Black Robes," from the color
+of their vestments.
+
+[CN] _Wee-tah Wah-stay_--Beautiful Island,--the Dakota name for Nicollet
+Island, just above the Falls.
+
+[CO] _Drapa_, a Norse funeral wail in which the virtues of the deceased
+are recounted.
+
+[Illustration: ANPETU-SAPA]
+
+  _Mihihna_,[CP] _Mihihna_, my heart is stone;
+    The light is gone from my longing eyes;
+  The wounded loon in the lake alone
+    Her death-song sings to the moon and dies.
+
+  _Mihihna, Mihihna_, the path is long,
+    The burden is heavy and hard to bear;
+  I sink--I die, and my dying song
+    Is a song of joy to the false one's ear.
+
+  _Mihihna, Mihihna_, my young heart flew
+    Far away with my brave to the bison-chase;
+  To the battle it went with my warrior true,
+    And never returned till I saw his face.
+
+  _Mihihna, Mihihna_, my brave was glad
+    When he came from the chase of the roebuck fleet;
+  Sweet were the words that my hunter said
+    As his trophies he laid at Anpetu's feet.
+
+  _Mihihna, Mihihna_, the boy I bore--
+    When the robin sang and my brave was true,
+  I can bear to look on his face no more,
+    For he looks, _Mihihna_, so much like you.
+
+  _Mihihna, Mihihna_, the Scarlet Leaf
+    Has robbed my boy of his father's love;
+  He sleeps in my arms--he will find no grief
+    In the star-lit lodge in the land above.
+
+  _Mihihna, Mihihna_, my heart is stone;
+    The light is gone from my longing eyes;
+  The wounded loon in the lake alone
+    Her death-song sings to the moon and dies.
+
+[CP] _Mee-heen-yah_--My husband.
+
+Swiftly down the turbid torrent, as she sung her song she flew;
+Like a swan upon the current, dancing rode the light canoe.
+Hunters hurry in the gloaming; all in vain Wanata calls;
+Singing through the surges foaming, lo she plunges o'er the Falls.
+
+Long they searched the sullen river--searched for leagues along the shore,
+Bark or babe or mother never saw the sad Dakotas more;
+But at night or misty morning oft the hunters heard her song,
+Oft the maidens heard her warning in their mellow mother-tongue.
+On the bluffs they sat enchanted till the blush of beamy dawn;
+Spirit Isle, they say, is haunted, and they call the spot Wakan[CQ]
+Many summers on the highland in the full moon's golden glow--
+In the woods on Fairy Island,[CR] walked a snow-white fawn and doe--
+Spirits of the babe and mother sadly seeking evermore
+For a father's love another turned away with evil power.
+
+Sometimes still when moonbeams shimmer through the maples on the lawn,
+In the gloaming and the glimmer walk the silent doe and fawn;
+And on Spirit Isle or near it, under midnight's misty moon,
+Oft is seen the mother's spirit, oft is heard her mournful tune.
+
+[CQ] Pronounced Walk-on,--Sacred, inhabited by a spirit.
+
+[CR] Fairy Island,--_Wita-Waste_--Nicollet Island.
+
+
+
+
+CHICKADEE
+
+
+Chickadee, chickadee, chickadee-dee!
+That was the song that he sang to me--Sang
+from his perch in the willow tree--
+Chickadee, chickadee, chickadee-dee.
+  My little brown bird,
+  The song that I heard
+Was a happier song than the minstrels sing--
+A paean of joy and a carol of spring;
+And my heart leaped throbbing and sang with thee
+Chickadee, chickadee, chickadee-dee.
+
+  My birdie looked wise
+  With his little black eyes,
+As he peeked and peered from his perch at me
+With a throbbing throat and a flutter of glee,
+  As if he would say--
+  Sing trouble away,
+Chickadee, chickadee, chickadee-dee.
+
+  Only one note
+  From his silver throat;
+  Only one word
+  From my wise little bird;
+But a sweeter note or a wiser word
+From the tongue of mortal I never have heard,
+Than my little philosopher sang to me
+From his bending perch in the willow tree--
+Chickadee, chickadee, chickadee-dee.
+
+    Come foul or fair,
+    Come trouble and care--
+    No--never a sigh
+    Or a thought of despair!
+For my little bird sings in my heart to me,
+As he sang from his perch in the willow tree--
+Chickadee, chickadee, chickadee dee:
+Chickadee-dee, chickadee-dee;
+Chickadee, chickadee, chickadee-dee.
+
+
+
+
+ANTHEM
+
+[APRIL, 1861.]
+
+
+Spirit of Liberty,
+  Wake in the Land!
+Sons of our Forefathers,
+  Raise the strong hand!
+Burn in each heart anew
+  Liberty's fires;
+Wave the old Flag again,
+  Flag of our sires;
+Glow all thy stars again,
+  Banner of Light!
+Wave o'er us forever,
+  Emblem of might;
+God for our Banner!
+  God for the Right!
+
+Minions of Tyranny,
+  Tremble and kneel!
+The sons of the Pilgrims
+Are sharpening their steel.
+Pledge for our Land again
+  Honor and life;
+Wave the old Flag again;
+  On to the strife!
+Shades of our Forefathers,
+  Witness our fright!
+Wave o'er us forever,
+  Emblem of might;
+God for our Banner!
+  God for our Right!
+
+
+
+
+HURRAH FOR THE VOLUNTEERS
+
+[May, 1861.]
+
+
+Come then, brave men, from the Land of Lakes
+  With steady steps and cheers;
+Our country calls, as the battle breaks,
+  On the Northwest Pioneers.
+Let the eagle scream, and the bayonet gleam!
+  Hurrah for the Volunteers!
+
+
+
+
+CHARGE OF "THE BLACK-HORSE"
+
+[First battle of Bull Run.]
+
+
+Our columns are broken, defeated, and fled;
+We are gathered, a few from the flying and dead,
+Where the green flag is up and our wounded remain
+Imploring for water and groaning in pain.
+Lo the blood-spattered bosom, the shot-shattered limb,
+The hand-clutch of fear as the vision grows dim,
+The half-uttered prayer and the blood-fettered breath,
+The cold marble brow and the calm face of death.
+O proud were these forms at the dawning of morn,
+When they sprang to the call of the shrill bugle-horn:
+There are mothers and wives that await them afar;
+God help them!--Is this then the glory of war?
+But hark!--hear the cries from the field of despair;
+"The Black-Horse" are charging the fugitives there;
+They gallop the field o'er the dying and dead,
+And their blades with the blood of their victims are red.
+The cries of the fallen and flying are vain;
+They saber the wounded and trample the slain;
+And the plumes of the riders wave red in the sun,
+As they stoop for the stroke and the murder goes on.
+They halt for a moment--they form and they stand;
+Then with sabers aloft they ride down on our band
+Like the samiel that sweeps o'er Arabia's sand.
+"Halt!--down with your sabers!--the dying are here!
+Let the foeman respect while the friend sheds a tear."
+Nay; the merciless butchers were thirsting for blood,
+And mad for the murder still onward they rode.
+"_Stand firm and be ready_!"--Our brave, gallant few
+Have faced to the foe, and our rifles are true;
+Fire!--a score of grim riders go down in a breath
+At the flash of our guns--in the tempest of death!
+They wheel, and they clutch in despair at the mane!
+They reel in their saddles and fall to the plain!
+
+The riderless steeds, wild with wounds and with fear,
+Dash away o'er the field in unbridled career;
+Their stirrups swing loose and their manes are all gore
+From the mad cavaliers that shall ride them no more.
+Of the hundred so bold that rode down on us there
+But few rode away with the tale of despair;
+Their proud, plumed comrades so reckless, alas,
+Slept their long, dreamless sleep on the blood-spattered grass.
+
+
+
+
+ONLY A PRIVATE KILLED
+
+[The soldier was Louis Mitchell, of Co. 1, 1st Minn. Vols., killed in a
+skirmish, near Ball's Bluff, October 22, 1861.]
+
+
+"We've had a brush," the Captain said,
+ "And Rebel blood we've spilled;
+We came off victors with the loss
+  Of only a _private_ killed."
+"Ah," said the orderly--"it was hot,"--
+  Then he breathed a heavy breath--
+"Poor fellow!--he was badly shot,
+  Then bayoneted to death."
+
+And now was hushed the martial din;
+  The saucy foe had fled;
+They brought the private's body in;
+  I went to see the dead;
+For I could not think our Rebel foes--
+  So valiant in the van--
+So boastful of their chivalry--
+  Could kill a wounded man.
+
+A musket ball had pierced his thigh--
+  A frightful, crushing wound--
+And then with savage bayonets
+  They pinned him to the ground.
+One deadly thrust drove through the heart,
+  Another through the head;
+Three times they stabbed his pulseless breast
+  When he lay cold and dead.
+
+His hair was matted with his gore,
+  His hands were clinched with might,
+As if he still his musket bore
+  So firmly in the fight.
+He had grasped the foemen's bayonets
+  Their murderous thrusts to fend:
+They raised the coat-cape from his face,
+  And lo--it was my friend!
+
+Think what a shudder chilled my heart!
+  'Twas but the day before
+We laughed together merrily,
+  As we talked of days of yore.
+"How happy we shall be," he said,
+  "When the war is o'er, and when
+With victory's song and victory's tread
+  We all march home again."
+
+Ah little he dreamed--that soldier brave
+  So near his journey's goal--
+How soon a heavenly messenger
+  Would claim his Christian soul.
+But he fell like a hero--fighting,
+  And hearts with grief are filled;
+And honor is his,--tho' the Captain says
+  "Only a _private_ killed."
+
+I knew him well,--he was my friend;
+  He loved our land and laws,
+And he fell a blessed martyr
+  To our Country's holy cause;
+And I know a cottage in the West
+  Where eyes with tears are filled
+As they read the careless telegram--
+  "Only a _private_ killed."
+
+Comrades, bury him under the oak,
+  Wrapped in his army-blue;
+He is done with the battle's din and smoke,
+  With drill and the proud review.
+And the time will come ere long, perchance,
+  When our blood will thus be spilled,
+And what care we if the Captain say--
+  "Only a _private_ killed."
+
+For the glorious Old Flag beckons.
+  We have pledged her heart and hand,
+And we'll brave even death to rescue
+  Our dear old Fatherland.
+We ask not praise--nor honors,
+  Then--as each grave is filled--
+What care we if the Captain say--
+  "Only a _private_ killed."
+
+
+
+
+DO THEY THINK OF US?
+
+[October, 1861, after the Battle of Ball's Bluff.]
+
+
+Do they think of us, say--in the far distant West--
+On the Prairies of Peace, in the Valleys of Rest?
+On the long dusty march when the suntide is hot,
+O say, are their sons and their brothers forgot?
+Are our names on their lips, is our comfort their care
+When they kneel to the God of our fathers in prayer?
+When at night on their warm, downy pillows they lie,
+Wrapped in comfort and ease, do they think of us, say?
+When the rain patters down on the roof overhead,
+Do they think of the camps without shelter or bed?
+Ah many a night on the cold ground we've lain--
+Chilled, chilled to the heart by the merciless rain,
+And yet there stole o'er us the peace of the blest,
+For our spirits went back to our homes in the West.
+O we think of them, and it sharpens our steel,
+When the battle-smoke rolls and the grim cannon peal,
+When forward we rush at the shrill bugle's call
+To the hail-storm of conflict where many must fall.
+
+When night settles down on the slaughter-piled plain,
+And the dead are at rest and the wounded in pain,
+Do they think of us, say, in the far distant West--
+On the Prairies of Peace, in the Valleys of Rest?
+Aye, comrades, we know that our darlings are there
+With their hearts full of hope and their souls full of prayer,
+And it steadies our rifles--it steels every breast--
+The thought of our loved ones at home in the West--
+On the Prairies of Peace, in the Valleys of Rest.
+
+
+
+
+CHARGE OF FREMONT'S BODY-GUARD
+
+
+On they ride--on they ride--
+Only three hundred,--
+Ride the brave Body-Guard,
+From the "Prairie Scouts" sundered:
+Two thousand riflemen,
+Ambushed on either side,
+The signal of slaughter bide:
+Ho! has the farmer-guide
+Led them astray and lied?
+How can they pass the wood?
+On they ride--on they ride--
+  Fearlessly, readily,
+  Silently, steadily
+Ride the brave Body-Guard
+  Led by Zagonyi.
+
+Up leap the Southrons there;
+Loud breaks the battle-blare;
+Now swings his hat in air;
+Flashes his saber bare:
+"_Draw sabers;--follow me_!"
+Shouts the brave Captain:
+"_Union and Liberty_!"
+Thunders the Captain.
+Three hundred sabers flash;
+Three hundred Guardsmen dash
+On to the fierce attack;
+Into the _cul-de-sac_
+  Plunge the Three Hundred.
+Yell the mad ambushed pack--
+Two thousand rifles crack
+  At the Three Hundred.
+
+Dire is the death they deal,
+Gleams the steel--volleys peal--
+Horses plunge--riders reel;
+Sabers and bayonets clash;
+Guns in their faces flash;
+Blue coats are spattered red--
+Fifty brave Guards are dead--
+Zagonyi is still ahead,
+Swinging his hat in air,
+  Flashing his saber:
+"Steady men;--steady there;
+  Forward--Battalion!"
+
+On they plunge--on they dash
+Thro' the dread gantlet;
+Death gurgles in the gash
+Of furious-dealt saber-slash;
+Over them the volleys crash
+Thro' the trees like a whirlwind.
+They pass through the fire of death;
+Pant riders and steeds for breath;
+  "_Halt!_" cried the Captain
+Then he looked up the hill;
+There on the summit still
+  The "Third Company" paltered.
+Right through the fire of hell,
+Where fifty brave Guardsmen fell,
+Zagonyi had ridden well;
+Foley had faltered.
+
+Flashed like a flame of fire--
+Flashed with a menace dire--
+Flashed with a yell of ire
+  The sword of the Captain.
+Kennedy saw the flash,
+And ordered the "Third" to dash
+  Gallantly forward:
+"Come on, Boys, for Liberty!
+Forward, and follow me!
+  Remember Kentucky!"
+Into the hell they broke--
+Into the fire and smoke--
+Dealing swift saber-stroke--
+  The gallant Kentuckians.
+  Horses plunge,
+  Riders lunge
+  Heavily forward;
+Over the fallen they ride
+Down to Zagonyi's side,
+Mowing a swath of death
+Either side,--right and left
+  Piling the slaughtered!
+
+Under the storm of lead,
+Still hissing overhead,
+They re-formed the battle-line;
+Then the brave Captain said:
+"Guardsmen: avenge our dead!
+_Charge_!"--Up the hill they go,--
+Right into the swarming foe!
+Woe to the foemen--woe!
+See mad Zagonyi there;
+Streams on the wind his hair,
+Flashes his saber bare;
+  On they go--on they go;
+  Volleys flash,
+  Sabers clash,
+On they plunge, on they dash,
+Following Zagonyi
+  Into the hell again.
+
+Hand to hand fight and die
+  Infantry, cavalry;
+Grappled and mixed they lie--
+  Infantry, cavalry:
+Hurra!--the Rebels fly!
+Bravo!--Three Hundred!
+"Forward and follow me!"
+  Shouted the Captain;
+"Union and Liberty!"
+  All the Guards thundered.
+With mad hearts and sabers stout
+Into the Rebel-rout
+  Gallop the Guardsmen,
+Thundering their cry again,
+Cleaving their foes in twain,
+Piling the heaps of slain
+  Sabered and sundered.
+Three hundred foes they slayed,
+Glorious the charge they made,
+Victorious the charge they made--
+  The gallant Three Hundred!
+Let the Crown-Poet paid
+Sing of the "Light Brigade"
+And "The wild charge they made"
+  When "Some one had blundered;"
+Following the British Bard,
+I sing of the Body-Guard--
+The Heroes that fought so hard--
+  Where nobody blundered.
+Hail, brave Zagonyi--hail!
+All hail, the Body-Guard!--
+  The glorious--
+  The victorious--
+The invincible Three Hundred.
+
+
+
+
+A MILLION MORE
+
+[AUGUST, 1862.]
+
+
+The nation calls aloud again,
+For Freedom wounded writhes in pain.
+Gird on your armor, Northern men;
+Drop scythe and sickle, square and pen;
+A million bayonets gleam and flash;
+A thousand cannon peal and crash;
+Brothers and sons have gone before;
+A million more!--a million more!
+
+Fire and sword!--aye, sword and fire!
+Let war be fierce and grim and dire;
+Your path be marked by flame and smoke,
+And tyrant's bones and fetters broke:
+Stay not for foe's uplifted hand;
+Sheathe not the sword; quench not the brand
+Till Freedom reign from shore to shore,
+Or might 'mid ashes smoke and gore.
+
+If leader stay the vengeance-rod,
+Let him beware the wrath of God;
+The maddened millions long his trust
+Will crush his puny bones to dust,
+And all the law to guide their ire
+Will be the law of blood and fire.
+Come, then--the shattered ranks implore--
+A million more--a million more!
+
+Form and file and file and form;
+This war is but God's thunder-storm
+To purify our cankered land
+And strike the fetter from the hand.
+Forced by grim fate our Chief at last
+Shall blow dear Freedom's bugle-blast;
+And then shall rise from shore to shore
+Four millions more--four millions more.[CS]
+
+[CS] There were four millions of slaves in the South when the war began.
+
+
+
+
+
+ON READING PRESIDENT LINCOLN'S LETTER
+
+To Horace Greeley, of date Aug. 22, 1862--"If I could save the Union
+without freeing any slave, I would do it," etc.
+
+Perish the power that, bowed to dust,
+Still wields a tyrant's rod--
+That dares not even then be just,
+And leave the rest with God.
+
+
+
+
+
+THE DYING VETERAN
+
+All-day-long the crash of cannon
+  Shook the battle-covered plain;
+All-day-long the frenzied foemen
+  Dashed against our lines in vain;
+All the field was piled with slaughter;
+  Now the lurid setting sun
+Saw our foes in wild disorder,
+  And the bloody day was won.
+
+Foremost on our line of battle
+  All-day-long a veteran stood--
+Stalwart, brawny, grim and steady,
+  Black with powder, smeared with blood;
+Never flinched and never faltered
+  In the deadliest storm of lead,
+And before his steady rifle
+  Lay a score of foemen dead.
+
+Never flinched and never faltered
+  Till our shout of victory rose,
+Till he saw defeat, disaster,
+  Overwhelmed our flying foes;
+Then he trembled, then he tottered,
+  Gasped for breath and dropped his gun,
+Staggered from the ranks and prostrate
+  Fell to the earth. His work was done.
+
+Silent comrades gathered round him,
+  And his Captain sadly came,
+Bathed his quivering lips with water,
+  Took his hand and spoke his name;
+And his fellow soldiers softly
+  On his knapsack laid his head;
+Then his eyes were lit with luster,
+  And he raised his hand and said:
+
+"Good-bye, comrades; farewell, Captain!
+  I am glad the day is won;
+I am mustered out, I reckon--
+  Never mind-my part is done.
+We have marched and fought together
+  Till you seem like brothers all,
+But I hope again to meet you
+  At the final bugle-call.
+
+"Captain, write and tell my mother
+  That she must not mourn and cry,
+For I never flinched in battle,
+  And I do not fear to die.
+You may add a word for Mary;
+  Tell her I was ever true.
+Mary took a miff one Sunday,
+  And so I put on the "blue."
+
+"And I know she has repented,
+  But I never let her see
+How it cut--her crusty answer--
+  When she turned away from me.
+I was never good at coaxing,
+  So I didn't even try;
+But you tell her I forgive her,
+  And she must not mourn and cry,"
+
+Then he closed his eyes in slumber,
+  And his spirit passed away,
+And his comrades spread a blanket
+  O'er his cold and silent clay.
+At dawn of morn they buried him,
+  Wrapped in his army-blue.
+On the bloody field of Fair Oaks
+  Sleeps the soldier tried and true.
+
+
+
+
+GRIERSON'S RAID
+
+Mount to horse--mount to horse;
+  Forward, Battalion!
+Gallop the gallant force;
+  Down with Rebellion!
+Over hill, creek and plain
+  Clatter the fearless--
+Dash away--splash away--
+  Led by the Peerless.
+
+Carbines crack--foemen fly
+  Hither and thither;
+Under the death-fire
+  They falter and wither.
+Burn the bridge--tear the track--
+  Down with Rebellion!
+Cut the wires--cut the wires!
+  Forward, Battalion!
+Day and night--night and day,
+  Gallop the fearless--
+Swimming the rivers' floods--
+  Led by the Peerless;
+Depots and powder-trains
+  Blazing and thundering
+Masters and dusky slaves
+  Gazing and wondering.
+Eight hundred miles they ride--
+  Dauntless Battalion--
+Down through the Southern Land
+  Mad with Rebellion.
+Into our lines they dash--
+  Brave Cavaliers--
+Greeting our flag with
+  A thunder of cheers.
+
+
+
+
+
+THE OLD FLAG
+
+[Written July 4, 1863.]
+
+Have ye heard of Fort Donelson's desperate fight,
+Where the giant Northwest bared his arm for the right,
+Where thousands so bravely went down in the slaughter,
+And the blood of the West ran as freely as water;
+Where the Rebel Flag fell and our banner arose
+O'er an army of captured and suppliant foes?
+Lo--torn by the shot and begrimed by the powder,
+The Old Flag is waving there prouder and prouder.
+
+Heard ye of Shiloh, where fierce Beauregard
+O'erwhelmed us with numbers and pressed us so hard,
+Till our veteran supporters came up to our aid
+And the tide of defeat and disaster was staid--
+Where like grain-sheaves the slaughtered were piled on the plain
+And the brave rebel Johnston went down with the slain?
+Lo--torn by the shot and begrimed by the powder,
+The Old Flag is waving there prouder and prouder.
+
+Heard ye the cannon-roar down by Stone River?
+Saw ye the bleeding braves stagger and quiver?
+Heard ye the shout and the roar and the rattle?
+And saw ye the desperate surging of battle?
+Volley on volley and steel upon steel--
+Breast unto breast--how they lunge and they reel!
+Lo--torn by the shot and begrimed by the powder,
+The Old Flag is waving there prouder and prouder.
+
+Heard ye of Vicksburg--the Southern Gibraltar,
+Where the hands of our foemen built tyranny's altar,
+Where their hosts are walled in by a cordon of braves,
+And the pits they have dug for defense are their graves,
+Where the red bombs are bursting and hissing the shot,
+Where the nine thunders death and the charge follows hot?
+Lo--torn by the shot and begrimed by the powder,
+The Old Flag is waving there prouder and prouder.
+
+Heard ye from Gettysburg?--Glory to God!
+Bare your heads, O ye Freemen, and kneel on the sod!
+Praise the Lord!--praise the Lord!--it is done!--it is done!
+The battle is fought and the victory won!
+They first took the sword, and they fall by the sword;
+They are scattered and crushed by the hand of the Lord!
+Lo--torn by the shot and begrimed by the powder,
+The Old Flag is waving there prouder and prouder.
+
+
+
+
+GETTYSBURG: CHARGE OF THE FIRST MINNESOTA
+
+[Written for and read at the Camp Fire of the G.A.R. Department of
+Minnesota, National Encampment of the Grand Army of the Republic, at
+Minneapolis, June 22, 1884.]
+
+
+Ready and ripe for the harvest lay the acres of golden grain
+Waving on hillock and hillside and bending along the plain.
+Ready and ripe for the harvest two veteran armies lay
+Waiting the signal of battle on the Gettysburg hills that day.
+Sharp rang the blast of the bugles calling the foe to the fray,
+And shrill from the enemy's cannon the demon shells shrieked as they flew;
+Crashed and rumbled and roared our batteries ranged on the hill,
+Rumbled and roared at the front the bellowing guns of the foe
+Swelling the chorus of hell ever louder and deadlier still,
+And shrill o'er the roar of the cannon rose the yell of the rebels below,
+As they charged on our Third Corps advanced
+          and crushed in the lines at a blow.
+Leading his clamorous legions, flashing his saber in air,
+Forward rode furious Longstreet charging on Round Top there--
+Key to our left and center--key to the fate of the field--
+Leading his wild-mad Southrons on to the lions' lair.
+
+Red with the blood of our legions--red with the blood of our best,
+Waiting the fate of the battle the lurid sun stood in the west.
+Hid by the crest of the hills we lay at the right concealed,
+Prone on the earth that shuddered under us there as we lay.
+Thunder of cheers on the left!--dashing down on his stalwart bay,
+Spurring his gallant charger till his foaming flanks ran blood,
+Hancock, the star of our legions, rode down where our officers stood:
+"_By the left flank, double-quick, march!_"--
+          We sprang to our feet and away,
+Like a fierce pack of hunger-mad wolves that pant
+          for the blood of the prey.
+"_Halt!_"--on our battery's flank we stood like a hedge-row of steel--
+Bearing the banner of Freedom on the Gettysburg hills that day.
+
+Down at the marge of the valley our broken ranks stagger and reel,
+Grimy with dust and with powder, wearied and panting for breath,
+Flinging their arms in panic, flying the hail-storm of death.
+Rumble of volley on volley of the enemy hard on the rear,
+Yelling their wild, mad triumph, thundering cheer upon cheer,
+Dotting the slope with slaughter and sweeping the field with fear.
+Drowned is the blare of the bugle, lost is the bray of the drum,
+Yelling, defiant, victorious, column on column they come.
+Only a handful are we, thrown into the gap of our lines,
+Holding the perilous breach where the fate of the battle inclines,
+Only a handful are we--column on column they come.
+
+Roared like the voice of a lion brave Hancock fierce for the fray:
+"Hurry the reserve battalions; bring every banner and gun:
+Charge on the enemy, Colvill, stay the advance of his lines:
+Here--by the God of our Fathers!--here shall the battle be won,
+Or we'll die for the banner of Freedom on the Gettysburg hills today."
+Shrill rang the voice of our Colonel, the bravest and best of the brave:
+"_Forward, the First Minnesota! Forward, and follow me, men!_"
+Gallantly forward he strode, the bravest and best of the brave.
+
+Two hundred and fifty and two--all that were left of us then--
+Two hundred and fifty and two fearless, unfaltering men
+Dashed at a run for the enemy, sprang to the charge with a yell.
+On us their batteries thundered solid shot, grape shot and shell;
+Never a man of us faltered, but many a comrade fell.
+"_Forward, the First Minnesota!_"--like tigers we sprang at our foes;
+Grim gaps of death in our ranks, but ever the brave ranks close:
+Down went our sergeant and colors--defiant our colors arose!
+"_Fire_!" At the flash of our rifles--grim gaps in the ranks of our foes!
+
+"_Forward, the First Minnesota!_" our brave Colonel cried as he fell
+Gashed and shattered and mangled--"_Forward_!" he cried as he fell.
+Over him mangled and bleeding frenzied we sprang to the fight,
+Over him mangled and bleeding we sprang to the jaws of hell.
+Flashed in our faces their rifles, roared on the left and the right,
+Swarming around us by thousands we fought them with desperate might.
+Five times our banner went down--five times our banner arose,
+Tattered and torn but defiant, and flapped in the face of our foes.
+Hold them? We held them at bay, as a bear holds the hounds on his track,
+Knee to knee, shoulder to shoulder, we met them and staggered them back.
+
+Desperate, frenzied, bewildered, blindly they fired on their own;
+Like reeds in the whirl of the cyclone columns and colors went down.
+Banner of stars on the right! Hurrah! gallant Gibbon is come!
+Thunder of guns on the left! Hurrah! 'tis our cannon that boom!
+Solid-shot, grape-shot and canister crash like the cracking of doom.
+Baffled, bewildered and broken the ranks of the enemy yield;
+Panic-struck, routed and shattered they fly from the fate of the field.
+Hold them? We held them at bay, as a bear holds the hounds on his track;
+Knee to knee, shoulder to shoulder, we met them and staggered them back;
+Two hundred and fifty and two, we held their mad thousands at bay,
+Met them and baffled and broke them, turning the tide of the day;
+Two hundred and fifty and two when the sun hung low in heaven,
+But ah! when the stars rode over we numbered but forty-seven:
+Dead on the field or wounded the rest of our regiment lay;
+Never a man of us faltered or flinched in the fire of the fray,
+For we bore the banner of Freedom on the Gettysburg hills that day.
+
+Tears for our fallen comrades--cover their graves with flowers,
+For they fought and fell like Spartans for this glorious land of ours.
+They fell, but they fell victorious, for the Rebel ranks were riven,
+And over our land united--one nation from sea to sea,
+Over the grave of Treason, over millions of men made free,
+Triumphant the flag of our fathers waves in the winds of heaven--
+Striped with the blood of her heroes she waves in the winds of heaven.
+Tears for our fallen comrades--cover their graves with flowers,
+For they fought and fell like Spartans for this glorious land of ours;
+And oft shall our children's children garland their graves and say:
+"They bore the banner of Freedom on the Gettysburg hills that day."
+
+
+
+
+ADDRESS TO THE FLAG
+
+[After the Battle of Gettysburg.]
+
+Float in the winds of heaven, O tattered Flag!
+Emblem of hope to all the misruled world:
+Thy field of golden stars is rent and red--
+Dyed in the blood of brothers madly spilled
+By brother-hands upon the mother-soil.
+O fatal Upas of the savage Nile,[CT]
+Transplanted hither--rooted--multiplied--
+Watered with bitter tears and sending forth
+Thy venom-vapors till the land is mad,
+Thy day is done. A million blades are swung
+To lay thy jungles open to the sun;
+A million torches fire thy blasted boles;
+A million hands shall drag thy fibers out
+And feed the fires till every root and branch
+Lie in dead ashes. From the blackened soil,
+Enriched and moistened with fraternal blood,
+Beside the palm shall spring the olive-tree,
+And every breeze shall waft the happy song
+Of Freedom crowned with olive-twigs and flowers.
+
+Yea, Patriot-Flag of our old patriot-sires,
+Honored--victorious on an hundred fields
+Where side by side for Freedom's mother-land
+Her Southern sons and Northern fighting fell,
+And side by side in glorious graves repose,
+
+[CT] African slavery.
+
+I see the dawn of glory grander still,
+When hand in hand upon this battle-field
+The blue-eyed maidens of the Merrimac
+With dewy roses from the Granite Hills,
+And dark-eyed daughters from the land of palms
+With orange-blossoms from the broad St. Johns,
+In solemn concert singing as they go,
+Shall strew the graves of these fraternal dead.
+The day of triumph comes, O blood-stained Flag!
+Washed clean and lustrous in the morning light
+Of a new era, thou shalt float again
+In more than pristine glory o'er the land
+Peace-blest and re-united. On the seas
+Thou shalt be honored to the farthest isle.
+The oppressed of foreign lands shall flock the shores
+To look upon and bless thee. Mothers shall lift
+Their infants to behold thee as a star
+New-born in heaven to light the darksome world.
+The children weeping round the desolate,
+Sore-stricken mother in the saddened home
+Whereto the father shall no more return,
+In future years will proudly boast the blood
+Of him who bravely fell defending thee.
+And these misguided brothers who would tear
+Thy starry field asunder and would trail
+Their own proud flag and history in the dust,
+Ere many years will bless thee, dear old Flag,
+That thou didst triumph even over them.
+Aye, even they with proudly swelling hearts
+Will see the glory thou shalt shortly wear,
+And new-born stars swing in upon thy field
+In lustrous clusters. Come, O glorious day
+Of Freedom crowned with Peace. God's will be done!
+God's will is peace on earth--good-will to men.
+The chains all broken and the bond all free,
+O may this nation learn to war no more;
+Yea, into plow-shares may these brothers beat
+Their swords and into pruning-hooks their spears,
+Clasp hands again, and plant these battle-fields
+With golden corn and purple-clustered vines,
+And side by side re-build the broken walls--
+Joined and cemented as one solid stone
+With patriot-love and Christ's sweet charity.
+
+
+
+
+
+NEW-YEARS ADDRESS--JANUARY 1, 1866
+
+[Written for the St. Paul Pioneer.]
+
+Good morning--good morning--a happy new year!
+We greet you, kind friends of the old _Pioneer_;
+Hope your coffee is good and your steak is well done,
+And you're happy as clams in the sand and the sun.
+The old year's a shadow--a shade of the past;
+It is gone with its toils and its triumphs so vast--
+With its joys and its tears--with its pleasure and pain--
+With its shouts of the brave and its heaps of the slain--
+Gone--and it cometh--no, never again.
+And as we look forth on the future so fair
+Let us brush from the picture the visage of care;
+The error, the folly, the frown and the tear--
+Drop them all at the grave of the silent old year.
+Has the heart been oppressed with a burden of woe?
+Has the spirit been cowed by a merciless blow?
+Has the tongue of the brave or the voice of the fair
+Prayed to God and received no response to its prayer?
+Look up!--'twas a shadow--the morning is here:
+A Happy New Year!--O, a Happy New Year!
+Yet stay for a moment. We cannot forget
+The fields where the true and the traitor have met;
+When the old year came in we were trembling with fear
+Lest Freedom should fall in her glorious career;
+And the roar of the conflict was loud o'er the land
+Where the traitor-flag waved in a rebel's red hand;
+But the God of the Just led the hosts of the Free,
+And Victory marched from the north to the sea.
+Behold--where the conflict was doubtful and dire--
+There--on house-top and hill-top, on fortress and spire--
+The Old Banner waves again higher and prouder,
+Though torn by the shot and begrimed by the powder.
+
+God bless the brave soldiers that followed that flag
+Through river and swamp, over mountain and crag--
+On the wild charge triumphant--the sullen retreat--
+On fields spread with victory or piled with defeat;
+God bless their true hearts for they stood like a wall,
+And saved us our Country and saved us our all.
+But many a mother and many a daughter
+Weep, alas, o'er the brave that went down in the slaughter.
+Pile the monuments high--not on hill-top and plain--
+To the glorious sons 'neath the old banner slain--
+But over the land from the sea to the sea--
+Pile their monuments high in the hearts of the Free.
+Heaven bless the brave souls that are spared to return
+Where the "lamp in the window" ceased never to burn--
+Where the vacant chair stood at the desolate hearth
+Since the son shouldered arms or the father went forth.
+"Peace!--Peace!"--was the shout;--at the jubilant word
+Wives and mothers went down on their knees to the Lord!
+
+Methinks I can see, through the vista of years--
+From the memories of old such a vision appears--
+A gray-haired old veteran in arm-chair at ease,
+With his grandchildren clustered intent at his knees,
+Recounting his deeds with an eloquent tongue,
+And a fire that enkindles the hearts of the young;
+How he followed the Flag from the first to the last--
+On the long, weary march, in the battle's hot blast;
+How he marched under Sherman from center to sea,
+Or fought under Grant in his battles with Lee;
+And the old fire comes back to his eye as of yore,
+And his iron hand clutches his musket once more,
+As of old on the battle-field ghastly and red,
+When he sprang to the charge o'er the dying and dead;
+And the eyes of his listeners are gleaming with fire,
+As he points to that Flag floating high on the spire.
+
+[Illustration: AND THE EYES OF HIS LISTENERS ARE GLEAMING WITH FIRE
+AS HE POINTS TO THAT FLAG FLOATING HIGH ON THE SPIRE.]
+
+Heaven bless the new year that is just ushered in;
+May the Rebels repent of their folly and sin,
+Depart from their idols, extend the right hand,
+And pledge that the Union forever shall stand.
+May they see that the rending of fetter and chain
+Is _their_ triumph as well--their unspeakable gain;
+That the Union dissevered and weltering in blood
+Could yield them no profit and bode them no good.
+'Tis human to err and divine to forgive;
+Let us walk after Christ--bid the poor sinners live,
+And come back to the fold of the Union once more,
+And we'll do as the prodigal's father of yore--
+Kill the well-fatted calf--(but we'll not do it twice)
+And invite them to dinner--and give them a slice.
+
+There's old Johnny Bull--what a terrible groan
+Escapes when he thinks of his big "Rebel Loan"--
+How the money went out with a nod and a grin,
+But the cotton--the cotton--it didn't come in.
+Then he thinks of diplomacy--Mason-Slidell,
+And he wishes that both had been warming in hell,
+For he got such a rap from our little Bill Seward
+That the red nose he blows is right hard to be cured;
+And then the steam pirates he built and equipped,
+And boasted, you know, that they couldn't be whipped;
+But alas for his boast--Johnny Bull "caught a Tartar,"
+And now like a calf he is bawling for quarter.
+Yes, bluff Johnny Bull will be tame as a yearling,
+Beg pardon and humbly "come down" with his sterling.
+
+There's Monsieur _l'Escamoteur_[CU] over in France;
+He has had a clear field and a gay country dance
+Down there in Mexico--playing his tricks
+While we had a family "discussion wid sticks";
+But the game is played out; don't you see it's so handy
+For Grant and his boys to march over the Grande.
+He twists his waxed moustache and looks very blue,
+And he says to himself, (what he wouldn't to you)
+"Py tam--dair's mon poor leetle chappie--Dutch Max!
+_Cornes du Diable_[CV]--'e'll 'ave to make tracks
+Or ve'll 'ave all dem tam Yankee poys on our packs."
+
+Monsieur l'Empereur, if your Max can get out
+With the hair of his head on--he'd better, no doubt.
+If you'll not take it hard, here's a bit of advice--
+It is dangerous for big pigs to dance on the ice;
+They sometimes slip up and they sometimes fall in,
+And the ice you are on is exceedingly thin.
+You're _au fait_, I'll admit, at a sharp game of chance,
+But the Devil himself couldn't always beat France.
+Remember the fate of your uncle of yore,
+Tread lightly, and keep very close to the shore.
+
+The Giant Republic--its future how vast!
+Now, freed from the follies and sins of the past,
+
+[CU] The Juggler.
+
+[CV] Horns of the Devil!--equivalent to the exclamation--The Devil!
+
+It will tower to the zenith; the ice-covered sea
+And Darien shall bound-mark the Land of the Free.
+Behold how the landless, the poor and oppressed,
+Flock in on our shores from the East and the West!
+Let them come--bid them come--we have plenty of room;
+Our forests shall echo, our prairies shall bloom;
+The iron horse, puffing his cloud-breath of steam,
+Shall course every valley and leap every stream;
+New cities shall rise with a magic untold,
+While our mines yield their treasures of silver and gold,
+And prosperous, united and happy, we'll climb
+Up the mountain of Fame till the end of Old Time--
+Which, as I figure up, is a century hence:
+Then we'll all go abroad without any expense;
+We'll capture a comet--the smart Yankee race
+Will ride on his tail through the kingdom of Space,
+Tack their telegraph wires to Uranus and Mars;
+Yea, carry their arts to the ultimate stars,
+And flaunt the Old Flag at the suns as they pass,
+And astonish the Devil himself with--their brass.
+
+And now, "Gentle Readers," I'll bid you farewell;
+I hope this fine poem will please you--and _sell_.
+You'll ne'er lack a friend if you ne'er lack a dime;
+May you never grow old till the end of Old Time;
+May you never be cursed with an itching for rhyme;
+For in spite of your physic, in spite of your plaster,
+The rash will break out till you go to disaster--
+Which you plainly can see is the case with my Muse,
+For she scratches away though she's said her adieus.
+
+Dear Ladies, though last to receive my oblation,
+And last in the list of Mosaic creation,
+The last is the best, and the last shall be first.
+Through Eve, sayeth Moses, old Adam was cursed;
+But I cannot agree with you, Moses, that Adam
+Sinned and fell through the gentle persuasion of madam.
+The victim, no doubt, of Egyptian flirtation,
+You mistook your chagrin for divine inspiration,
+And condemned all the sex without proof or probation,
+As we rhymsters mistake the moonbeams that elate us
+For flashes of wit or the holy afflatus,
+And imagine we hear the applause of a nation,--
+But all honest men who are married and blest
+Will agree that the last work of God is the best.
+
+And now to you all--whether married or single--
+Whether sheltered by slate, or by "shake," or by shingle--
+God bless you with peace and with bountiful cheer,
+Happy houses, happy hearts--and a happy New Year!
+
+P.S.--If you wish all these blessings, 'tis clear
+You should send in your "stamps" for the old _Pioneer_.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+MY FATHER-LAND
+
+[From the German of Theodor Korner.]
+
+Where is the minstrel's Father-land?
+  Where the sparks of noble spirits flew,
+  Where flowery wreaths for beauty grew,
+  Where strong hearts glowed so glad and true
+  For all things sacred, good and grand:
+There was my Father-land.
+
+How named the minstrel's Father-land?
+  O'er slaughtered son--'neath tyrants' yokes,
+  She weepeth now--and foreign strokes;
+  They called her once the Land of Oaks--
+  Land of the Free--the German Land:
+Thus was called my Father-land.
+Why weeps the minstrel's Father-land?
+  Because while tyrant's tempest hailed
+  The people's chosen princes quailed,
+  And all their sacred pledges failed;
+  Because she could no ear command,
+Alas must weep my Father-land.
+
+Whom calls the minstrel's Father-land?
+  She calls on heaven with wild alarm--
+  With desperation's thunder-storm--
+  On Liberty to bare her arm,
+  On Retribution's vengeful hand:
+On these she calls--my Father-land.
+
+What would the minstrel's Father-land?
+  She would strike the base slaves to the ground
+  Chase from her soil the tyrant hound,
+  And free her sons in shackles bound,
+  Or lay them free beneath her sand:
+That would my Father-land.
+
+And hopes the minstrel's Father-land?
+  She hopes for holy Freedom's sake,
+  Hopes that her true sons will awake,
+  Hopes that just God will vengeance take,
+  And ne'er mistakes the Avenger's hand:
+Thereon relies my Father-land.
+
+
+
+
+MY HEART'S ON THE RHINE
+
+[From the German of Wolfgang Muller.]
+
+My heart's on the Rhine--in the old Father-land;
+Where my cradle was rocked by a dear mother's hand,
+My youth and my friends--they are there yet, I know,
+And my love dreams of me with her cheeks all aglow;
+O there where I reveled in song and in wine!
+Wherever I wander my heart's on the Rhine.
+
+I hail thee, thou broad-breasted, golden-green stream;
+Ye cities and churches and castles that gleam;
+Ye grain-fields of gold in the valley so blue;
+Ye vineyards that glow in the sun-shimmered dew;
+Ye forests and caverns and cliffs that were mine!
+Wherever I wander my heart's on the Rhine.
+
+I hail thee, O life of the soul-stirring song,
+Of waltz and of wine, with a yearning so strong,
+Hail, ye stout race of heroes, so brave and so true.
+Ye blue-eyed, gay maidens, a greeting to you!
+Your life and your aims and your efforts be mine;
+Wherever I wander my heart's on the Rhine.
+
+My heart's on the Rhine--in the old Father-land,
+Where my cradle was rocked by a dear mother's hand;
+My youth and my friends--they are there yet, I know,
+And my love dreams of me with her cheeks all aglow:
+Be thou ever the same to me, Land of the Vine!
+Wherever I wander my heart's on the Rhine.
+
+
+
+
+THE MINSTREL
+
+[From the German of Goethe]
+
+[_Wilhelm Meister's Apprenticeship, Book 2, Chap. 2._]
+
+"What hear I at the gateway ringing?
+What bard upon the drawbridge singing?
+Go bid him to repeat his song
+Here, in the hall amid the throng,"
+The monarch cried;
+The little page hied;
+As back he sped,
+The monarch said--
+"Bring in the gray-haired minstrel."
+
+"I greet you, noble lords and peers;
+I greet you, lovely dames.
+O heaven begemmed with golden spheres!
+Who knows your noble names?
+In hall of splendor so sublime,
+Close ye, mine eyes--'tis not the time
+To gaze in idle wonder."
+
+The gray-haired minstrel closed his eyes;
+He struck his wildest air;
+Brave faces glowed like sunset skies;
+Cast down their eyes the fair.
+The king well pleased with the minstrel's song,
+Sent the little page through the wondering throng
+A chain of gold to bear him.
+
+"O give not me the chain of gold;
+Award it to thy braves,
+Before whose faces fierce and bold
+Quail foes when battle raves;
+Or give it thy chancellor of state,
+And let him wear its golden weight
+With his official burdens.
+
+"I sing, I sing as the wild birds sing
+That in the forest dwell;
+The songs that from my bosom spring
+Alone reward me well:
+But may I ask that page of thine
+To bring me one good cup of wine
+In golden goblet sparkling?"
+
+He took the cup; he drank it all:
+"O soothing nectar thine!
+Thrice bless'd the highly favored hall
+Where flows such glorious wine:
+If thou farest well, then think of me,
+And thank thy God, as I thank thee
+For this inspiring goblet."
+
+
+
+
+HOPE
+
+[From the German of Schiller.]
+
+Men talk and dream of better days--
+  Of a golden time to come;
+Toward a happy and shining goal
+  They run with a ceaseless hum.
+The world grows old and grows young again,
+Still hope of the better is bright to men.
+
+Hope leads us in at the gate of life;
+  She crowns the boyish head;
+Her bright lamp lures the stalwart youth,
+  Nor burns out with the gray-haired dead;
+For the grave closes over his trouble and care,
+But see--on the grave--Hope is planted there!
+
+'Tis not an empty and flattering deceit,
+  Begot in a foolish brain;
+For the heart speaks loud with its ceaseless throbs,
+  "We are not born in vain";
+And the words that out of the heart-throbs roll,
+They cannot deceive the hoping soul.
+
+
+
+
+MRS. MCNAIR
+
+_Misce stultitiam consiliis brevem.--Horace._
+
+    Mrs. McNair
+    Was tall and fair;
+  Mrs. McNair was slim;
+She had flashing black eyes and raven hair;
+But a very remarkably modest air;
+And her only care was for Mr. McNair;
+  She was exceedingly fond of him.
+
+    He sold "notions" and lace
+    With wonderful grace,
+And kept everything neatly displayed in its place:
+The red, curly hair on his head and his face
+    He always persisted
+    Should be oiled and twisted;
+He was the sleekest young husband that ever existed.
+
+    Precisely at four
+    He would leave his store;
+And Mr. McNair with his modest bride
+Seated snugly and lovingly by his side,
+    On the rural Broadway,
+    Every pleasant day,
+In his spick-span carriage would rattle away.
+
+    Though it must be allowed
+    The lady was proud,
+She'd have no maid about her the dear lady vowed:
+    So for Mr. McNair
+    The wear and the fare
+She made it a care of her own to prepare.
+I think I may guess, being married myself,
+That the cause was not solely the saving of pelf.
+
+    As for her, I'll declare,
+    Though raven her hair,
+Though her eyes were so dark and her body so slim,
+She hadn't a thought for a man but him.
+
+    From three to nine,
+    Invited to dine,
+Oft met at the house of the pair divine:
+Her husband--and who, by the way, was well able--
+Did all the "agreeable" done at the table;
+While she--most remarkably loving bride--
+Sat snugly and modestly down by his side.
+    And when they went out
+    It was whispered about,
+"She's the lovingest wife in the town beyond doubt;"
+And every one swore, from pastor to clown,
+They were the most affectionate couple in town.
+
+    Yes; Mrs McNair
+    Was modest and fair;
+She never fell into a pout or a fret;
+    And Mr. McNair
+    Was her only care
+  And indeed her only pet.
+The few short hours he spent at his store
+She spent sewing or reading the romancers' lore;
+    And whoever came
+   It was always the same
+With the modest lady that opened the door.
+
+But there came to town
+    One Captain Brown
+    To spend a month or more.
+    Now this same Captain Brown
+    Was a man of renown,
+And a dashing blue coat he wore;
+    And a bright, brass star.
+    And a visible scar
+On his brow--that he said he had got in the war
+    As he led the van:
+    (He never ran!)
+In short, he was the "General's" right-hand man,
+And had written his name on the pages of fame.
+    He was smooth as an eel,
+    And rode so genteel
+That in less than a week every old maid and dame
+Was constantly lisping the bold Captain's name.
+
+    Now Mr. McNair,
+    As well as the fair,
+Had a "bump of reverence" as big as a pear,
+    And whoever like Brown
+    Had a little renown,
+And happened to visit that rural town,
+Was invited of course by McNair--to "go down."
+
+    So merely by chance,
+    The son of the lance
+Became the bold hero of quite a romance:
+For Mrs. McNair thought him wonderful fair,
+And that none but her husband could with him compare.
+Half her timidity vanished in air
+The first time he dined with herself and McNair.
+    Now the Captain was arch
+    In whiskers and starch
+And preferred, now and then, a gay waltz to a march.
+A man, too, he was of uncommon good taste;
+Always "at home" and never in haste,
+And his manners and speech were remarkably chaste.
+    To tell you in short
+    His daily resort
+He made at the house of "his good friend McNair,"
+Who ('twas really too bad) was so frequently out
+When the Captain called in "just to see _him_" (no doubt)
+But Mrs. McNair was so lonely--too bad;
+So he chatted and chattered and made her look glad.
+    And many a view
+    Of his coat of blue,
+All studded with buttons gilt, spangled and new,
+    The dear lady took
+    Half askance from her book,
+As she modestly sat in the opposite nook.
+    Familiarly he
+    And modestly she
+Talked nonsense and sense so strangely commingled,
+That the dear lady's heart was delighted and tingled.
+    A man of sobriety
+    Renown and variety
+It could not be wrong to enjoy his society:
+    O was it a sin
+    For him to "drop in,"
+And sometimes to pat her in sport on the chin?
+
+    Dear Ladies, beware;
+    Dear Ladies, take care--
+How you play with a lion asleep in his lair:
+"Mere trifling flirtations"--these arts you employ?
+Flirtations once led to the siege of old Troy;
+    And a woman was in
+For the sorrow and sin
+And slaughter that fell when the Greeks tumbled in;
+Nor is there a doubt, my dears, under the sun,
+But they've led to the sack of more cities than one.
+    I would we were all
+    As pure as Saint Paul
+That we touched not the goblet whose lees are but gall;
+But if so we must know where a flirtation leads;
+Beware of the fair and look out for our heads.
+    Remember the odious,
+    Frail woman, Herodias
+Sent old Baptist John to a place incommodious,
+And prevailed on her husband to cut off his head
+For an indiscreet thing the old Nazarite said.
+
+    Day in and day out
+    The blue coat was about;
+And the dear little lady was glad when he came
+And began to be talkative, tender and tame.
+Then he gave her a ring, begged a curl of her hair,
+And smilingly whispered her--"don't tell McNair."
+    She dropped her dark eyes
+    And with two little sighs
+Sent the bold Captain's heart fluttering up to the skies.
+
+    Then alas--
+    What a pass!
+He fell at the feet of the lady so sweet,
+And swore that he loved her beyond his control--
+With all his humanity--body and soul!
+    The lady so frail
+    Turned suddenly pale,
+Then--sighed that his love was of little avail;
+For alas, the dear Captain--he must have forgot--
+She was tied to McNair with a conjugal knot.
+  But indeed
+  She agreed--
+Were she only a maid he alone could succeed;
+But she prayed him by all that is sacred and fair,
+Not to rouse the suspicion of Mr. McNair.
+
+  'Twas really too bad,
+  For the lady was sad:
+And a terrible night o't the poor lady had,
+While Mr. McNair wondered what was the matter,
+And endeavored to coax, to console and to flatter.
+  Many tears she shed
+  That night while in bed
+For she had such a terrible pain in her head!
+"My dear little pet, where's the camphor?" he said;
+"I'll go for the doctor--you'll have to be bled;
+I declare, my dear wife, you are just about dead."
+
+  "O no, my dear;
+  I pray you don't fear,
+Though the pain, I'll admit, is exceeding severe.
+I know what it is--I have had it before--
+It's only neuralgia: please go to the store
+And bring me a bottle of 'Davis's Pain-
+Killer,' and I shall be better again."
+  He sprang out of bed
+  And away he sped
+In his gown for the cordial to cure her head,
+Not dreaming that Cupid had played her a trick--
+The blind little rogue with a sharpened stick.
+  I confess on my knees
+  I have had the disease;
+It is worse than the bites of a thousand fleas;
+And the only cure I have found for these ills
+Is a double dose of "Purgative Pills."
+  He rubbed her head--
+  And eased it, she said;
+And he shrugged and shivered and got into bed.
+He slept and he snored, but the poor lady's pain,
+When her lord slept soundly, came on again.
+  It wore away
+  However by day
+And when Brown called again she was smiling and gay;
+But alas, he must say--to the lady's dismay--
+In the town of his heart he had staid out his stay,
+And must leave for his regiment with little delay.
+
+  Now Mrs. McNair
+  Was tall and fair,
+Mrs. McNair was slim,
+But the like of Brown was so wonderful rare
+  That she could not part with him.
+Indeed you can see it was truly a pity,
+For her husband was just going down to the city,
+  And Captain Brown--
+  The man of renown--
+Could console her indeed were he only in town.
+So McNair to the city the next Monday hied,
+And left bold Captain Brown with his modest young bride.
+
+  As the serpent did Eve
+  Most sorely deceive--
+Causing old father Adam to sorrow and grieve,
+And us, his frail children, tho' punished and chidden,
+To hanker for things that are sweet but forbidden--
+  The Captain so fair,
+  With his genius so rare,
+Wound the web of enchantment round Mrs. McNair;
+And alas, fickle Helen, ere three days were over,
+She had sworn to elope with her brass-buttoned lover.
+  Like Helen, the Greek,
+  She was modest and meek,
+And as fair as a rose, but a trifle too weak.
+When a maid she had suitors as proud as Ulysses,
+But she ne'er bent her neck to their arms or their kisses,
+  Till McNair he came in
+  With a brush on his chin--
+It was love at first sight--but a trifle too thin;
+For, married, the dreams of her girlhood fell short all,
+And she found that her husband was only a mortal.
+
+  Dear ladies, betray us--
+  Fast and loose play us--
+We'll follow you still like bereaved Menelaus,
+Till the little blind god with his cruel shafts slay us.
+  Cold-blooded as I am,
+  If a son of old Priam
+Should break the Mosaic commands and defy 'em,
+And elope with my "pet," and moreover my riches,
+I would follow the rogue if I went upon crutches
+To the plains of old Troy without jacket or breeches.
+  But then I'm so funny
+  If he'd give up the money,
+He might go to the dogs with himself and his "Honey."
+
+  The lovers agreed
+  That the hazardous deed
+Should be done in the dark and with very great speed,
+For Mr. McNair--when the fellow came back--
+Might go crazy and foolishly follow their track.
+  So at midnight should wait
+  At her garden-gate
+A carriage to carry the dear, precious freight
+Of Mrs. McNair who should meet Captain Brown
+At the Globe Hotel in a neighboring town.
+  A man should be hired
+  To convey the admired.
+And keep mum as a mouse, and do what was desired.
+
+Wearily, wearily half the night
+  The lady watched away;
+At times in a spirit of sadness quite,
+But fully resolved on her amorous flight,
+  She longed to be under way;
+Yet with sad heaving heart and a tear, I declare,
+As she sorrowfully thought of poor Mr. McNair.
+
+  "Poor fellow," she sighed,
+  "I wish he had died
+Last spring when he had his complaint in the side
+For I know--I am sure--it will terribly grieve him
+To have me elope with the Captain and leave him.
+  But the Captain--dear me!
+  I hardly can see
+Why I love the brave Captain to such a degree:
+But see--there's the carriage, I vow, at the gate!
+I must go--'tis the law of inveterate fate."
+  So a parting look
+  At her home she took,
+While a terrible conflict her timid soul shook;
+Then turned to the carriage heart-stricken and sore,
+Stepped hastily in and closed up the door.
+  "Crack!" went the whip;
+  She bit her white lip,
+And away she flew on her desperate trip.
+She thought of dear Brown; and poor Mr. McNair--
+She knew he would hang himself straight in despair.
+
+She sighed
+  And she cried
+  All during the ride,
+And endeavored--alas, but she could not decide.
+  Three times she prayed;
+  Three times she essayed
+To call to the driver for pity and aid--
+  To drive her straight
+  To her garden-gate,
+And break the spell of her terrible fate.
+  But her tongue was tied--
+  She couldn't decide,
+And she only moaned at a wonderful rate.
+
+  No mortal can tell
+  "What might have befell,"
+Had it been a mile more to the Globe Hotel;
+But as they approached it she broke from her spell.
+  A single hair
+  For Mr. McNair
+She vowed to herself that she did not care;
+  But the Captain so true
+  In his coat of blue--
+To his loving arms in her fancy she flew.
+  In a moment or more
+  They drove up to the door,
+And she felt that her trials and troubles were o'er.
+The landlord came hastily out in his slippers,
+For late he had sat with some smokers and sippers.
+  As the lady stepped down
+  With a fret and a frown,
+She sighed half aloud, "Where is dear Captain Brown?"
+"This way, my dear madam," politely he said,
+And straightway to the parlor the lady he led.
+
+Now the light was dim
+  Where she followed him,
+And the dingy old parlor looked gloomy and grim.
+As she entered, behold, in contemplative mood,
+In the farther corner the bold Captain stood
+  In his coat of blue:
+  To his arms she flew;
+She buried her face in his bosom so true:
+"Dear Captain!--my Darling!" sighed Mrs. McNair;
+Then she raised her dark eyes and--Good Heavens'
+  I declare!---
+Instead of the Captain 'twas--_Mr. McNair!_
+She threw up her arms--she screamed--and she fainted;
+Such a scene!--Ah the like of it never was painted.
+
+Of repentance and pardon I need not tell;
+Her vows I will not relate,
+For every man must guess them well
+Who knows much of the "married state."
+Of the sad mischance suffice it to say
+That McNair had suspected the Captain's "foul play;"
+  So he laid a snare
+  For the bold and the fair,
+But he captured, alas, only Mrs. McNair;
+And the brass-buttoned lover--bold Captain Brown--
+Was nevermore seen in that rural town.
+
+  Mrs. McNair
+  Is tall and fair;
+  Mrs. McNair is slim;
+And her husband again is her only care--
+She is wonderfully fond of him;
+For now he is all the dear lady can wish--he
+Is a captain himself--in the State militia.
+
+  1859.
+
+
+
+
+THE DRAFT
+
+[January, 1865.]
+
+Old Father Abe has issued his "Call"
+ For Three Hundred Thousand more!
+By Jupiter, boys, he is after you all--
+Lamed and maimed--tall and small--
+With his drag-net spread for a general haul
+  Of the "suckers" uncaught before.
+
+I am sorry to see such a woeful change
+  In the health of the hardiest;
+It is wonderful odd--it is "passing strange"--
+As over the country you travel and range,
+To behold such a sudden, lamentable change
+  All over the East and the West.
+
+"Blades" tough and hearty a week ago,
+  Who tippled and danced and laughed,
+Are "suddenly taken," and some quite low
+With an epidemical illness, you know:
+"What!--Zounds!--the cholera?" you quiz;--no--no--
+  The doctors call it the "Draft."
+
+What a blessed thing it were to be old--
+  A little past "forty-five;"
+'Twere better indeed than a purse of gold
+At a premium yet unwritten, untold,
+For what poor devil that's now "enrolled"
+  Expects to get off alive?
+
+There's a miracle wrought in the Democrats;
+  They swore it was murder and sin
+To put in the "Niggers," like Kilkenny cats,
+To clear the ship of the rebel rats,
+But now I notice they swing their hats
+  And shout to the "Niggers"--"_Go in!_"
+
+
+
+
+THE DEVIL AND THE MONK
+
+Once Satan and a monk went on a "drunk,"
+And Satan struck a bargain with the monk,
+Whereby the Devil's crew was much increased
+By penceless poor and now and then a priest
+Who, lacking cunning or good common sense,
+Got caught _in flagrante_ and out of pence.
+Then in high glee the Devil filled a cup
+And drank a brimming bumper to the pope:
+Then--"Here's to you," he said, "sober or drunk,
+In cowl or corsets, every monk's a punk.
+Whate'er they preach unto the common breed,
+At heart the priests and I are well agreed.
+Justice is blind we see, and deaf and old,
+But in her scales can hear the clink of gold.
+The convent is a harem in disguise,
+And virtue is a fig-leaf for the wise
+To hide the naked truth of lust and lecheries.
+
+"And still the toilers feed the pious breed,
+And pin their faith upon the bishop's sleeve;
+Hungry for hope they gulp a moldy creed
+And dine on faith. 'Tis easier to believe
+An old-time fiction than to wear a tooth
+In gnawing bones to reach the marrow truth.
+Priests murder Truth and with her gory ghost
+They frighten fools and give the rogues a roast
+Until without or pounds or pence or price--
+Free as the fabled wine of paradise--
+They furnish priestly plates with buttered toast.
+Your priests of superstition stalk the land
+With Jacob's winning voice and Esau's hand;
+Sinners to hell and saints to heaven they call,
+And eat the fattest fodder in the stall.
+They, versed in dead rituals in dead language deep,
+Talk Greek to th' _grex_ and Latin to their sheep,
+And feed their flocks a flood of cant and college
+For every drop of sense or useful knowledge."
+
+"I beg your pardon," softly said the monk,
+"I fear your Majesty is raving drunk.
+I would be courteous."
+                      But the Devil laughed
+And slyly winked and sagely shook his head.
+"My fawning dog," the sage satanic said,
+"Wags not his tail for me but for my bread.
+Brains rule to day as they have ruled for aye,
+And craft grown craftier in this modern day
+Still rides the fools, but in a craftier way;
+And priestcraft lingers and survives its use;
+What was a blessing once is now abuse:
+Grown fat and arrogant on power and pelf,
+The old-time shepherd has become a wolf
+And only feeds his flocks to feast himself.
+To clink of coin the pious juggler jumps,
+For still he thinks, as in the days of old,
+The key to holy heaven is made of gold,
+That in the game of mortals money is trumps,
+That golden darts will pierce e'en Virtue's shield,
+And by the salve of gold all sins are healed.
+So old Saint Peter stands outside the fence
+With hand outstretched for toll of Peter-pence,
+And sinners' souls must groan in Purgatory
+Until they pay the admission-fee to glory.
+
+"There was an honest poet once on earth
+Who beat all other bardies at a canter;
+Rob' Burns his mother called him at his birth.
+Though handicapped by rum and much a ranter,
+He won the madcap race in _Tam O'Shanter_.
+He drove a spanking span from Scottish heather,
+Strong-limbed, but light of foot as flea or feather--
+Rhyme and Reason, matched and yoked together,
+And reined them with light hand and limber leather.
+He wrote to me once on a time--I mind it--
+A bold epistle and the poet signed it.
+He thought to cheat "Auld Nickie" of his dues,
+But who outruns the Devil casts his shoes;
+And so at last from frolicking and drinkin',
+'Some luckless hour' sent him to Hell 'alinkin'![CW]
+Times had been rather dull in my dominion,
+And all my imps like lubbers lay a snoring,
+But Burns began to rhyme us his opinion,
+And in ten minutes had all Hell aroaring.
+Then Robbie pulled his book of poems out
+And read us sundry satires from the book;
+'_Death and Doctor Hornbook_' raised a shout
+Till all the roof-tin on the rafters shook;
+And when his '_Unco Guid_' the bardie read
+The crew all clapped their hands and yelled like mad;
+But '_Holy Willie's Prayer_' 'brought down the house'.
+So I was glad to give the bard a pass
+And a few pence for toll at Peter's gate;
+For if the roof of Hell were made of brass
+Bob Burns would shake it off as sure as fate.
+I mind it well--that poem on a louse!
+'O wad some pow'r the giftie gie us,' Monk,
+'To see oursels as others see us'--drunk;
+'It wad frae monie a blunder free us'--list!--
+'And foolish notion.' Abbot, bishop, priest,
+'What airs in dress an' gait wad lea'e' you all,
+'And ev'n devotion.' Cowls and robes would fall,
+And sometimes leave a bishop but a beast,
+And show a leper sore where erst they made a priest."
+
+[CW] Tripping. See Burns' "_Address to the Deil_"
+
+Not to be beat the jolly monk filled up
+His silver mug with rare old Burgundy;
+"Here's to your health," he said, "your Majesty"--
+And drained the brimming goblet at a gulp--
+"'For when the Devil was sick the Devil a monk would be;
+But when the Devil got well a devil a monk was he.'
+_In vino veritas_ is true, no doubt--
+When wine goes in teetotal truth comes out.
+To shake a little Shakespeare in the wine:
+'Some rise by sin and some by virtue fall';
+But in the realm of Fate, as I opine,
+A devil a virtue is or sin at all.
+'The Devil be damned' is what we preach, you know it--
+At mass and vespers, holy-bread and dinner:
+From priest to pope, from pedagogue to poet,
+We sanctify the sin and damn the sinner.
+This poet Shakespeare, whom I read with pleasure,
+Wrote once--I think, in taking his own 'Measure':--
+'They say best men are molded out of faults,
+And, for the most, become much more the better
+For being a little bad.' The reason halts:
+If read between the lines--not by the letter--
+'Tis plain enough that Shakespeare was atrimmin'
+His own unruly ship and furling sail
+To meet a British tempest or a gale,
+And keep cold water from his wine and women.
+Now I'll admit, when he's a little mellow,
+The Devil himself's a devilish clever fellow,
+And, though his cheeks and paunch are somewhat shrunk,
+He only lacks a cowl to make a monk.
+Time is the mother of twins _et hic et nunc;_
+Come, hood your horns and fill the mug abrimmin',
+For we are cheek by jowl on wit and wine and women."
+
+And so the monk and Devil filled the mug,
+And quaffed and chaffed and laughed the night away;
+And when the "wee sma" hours of night had come,
+The monk slipped out and stole the abbot's rum;
+And when the abbot came at break of day,
+There cheek by jowl--horns, hoofs, and hood--they lay,
+With open missal and an empty jug,
+And broken beads and badly battered mug--
+In fond embrace--dead drunk upon the rug.
+
+Think not, wise reader, that the bard hath drunk
+The wine that fumed these vagaries from the monk;
+Nor, in the devil ethics thou hast read,
+There spake the poet in the Devil's stead.
+Let Virtue be our helmet and our shield,
+And Truth our weapon--weapon sharp and strong
+And deadly to all error and all wrong.
+Yea, armed with Truth, though rogues and rascals throng
+The citadel of Virtue shall not yield,
+For God's right arm of Truth prevails in every field.
+
+[Illustration: THE DEVIL AND THE MONK]
+
+
+
+
+THE TARIFF ON TIN
+
+Monarch of Hannah's rocking-chair,
+With unclipped beard and unkempt hair,
+Sitting at ease by the kitchen fire,
+  Nor heeding the wind and the driving sleet,
+Jo Lumpkin perused the _Daily Liar_--
+  A leading and stanch Democratic sheet,
+While Hannah, his wife, in her calico,
+Sat knitting a pair of mittens for Jo.
+
+"Hanner," he said, and he raised his eyes
+And looked exceedingly grave and wise,
+"The kentry's agoin, I guess, tu the dogs:
+Them durned Republikins, they air hogs:
+A dev'lish purty fix we air in;
+They've gone un riz the teriff on tin."
+
+"How's thet?" said Hannah, and turned her eyes
+With a look of wonder and vague surprise.
+
+"Why them confoundered Congriss chaps
+Hez knocked the prices out uv our craps:
+We can't sell butter ner beans no more
+Tu enny furren ship er shore,
+Becuz them durned Republikins
+Hez gone un riz the teriff on tins."
+
+Hannah dropped her knitting-work on her knees,
+And looked very solemn and ill-at-ease:
+  She gazed profoundly into the fire,
+Then hitched her chair a little bit nigher,
+  And said as she glanced at the _Daily Liar_
+With a sad, wan look in her buttermilk eyes:
+"I vum thet's a tax on punkin-pies,
+Fer they know we allers bakes 'em in
+Pans un platters un plates uv tin."
+
+"I wouldn't agrumbled a bit," said Jo,
+"Et a tax on sugar un salt un sich;
+  But I swow it's a morul political sin
+Tu drive the farmer intu the ditch
+  With thet pesky teriff on tin.
+Ef they'd a put a teriff on irn un coal
+  Un hides un taller un hemlock bark,
+Why thet might a helped us out uv a hole
+  By buildin uv mills un givin uv work,
+Un gladd'nin many a farmer's soul
+  By raisin the price of pertaters un pork:
+But durn their eyes, it's a morul sin--
+They've gone un riz the teriff on tin.
+I wouldn't wonder a bit ef Blaine
+Hed diskivered a tin mine over in Maine;
+Er else he hez foundered a combinashin
+Tu gobble the tin uv the hull creashin.
+I'll bet Jay Gould is intu the'trust,'
+Un they've gone in tergether tu make er bust;
+Un tu keep the British frum crowdin in
+They've gone un riz the teriff on tin.
+What'll we du fer pans un pails
+When the cow comes in un the old uns fails?
+Tu borrer a word frum Scripter, Hanner,
+Un du it, tu, in pious manner,
+You'll hev tu go down in yer sock fer a ducat,
+Er milk old Roan in a wooden bucket:
+Fer them Republikins--durn their skin--
+Hez riz sich a turrible teriff on tin.
+Tu cents a pound on British tin-plate!
+Why, Hanner, you see, at thet air rate,
+Accordin tu this ere newspaper-print--
+Un it mus be so er it wouldn't' be in't--
+It's a dollar un a half on one tin pan,
+Un about six shillin on a coffee-can,
+Un ten shillin, Hanner, on a dinner-pail!
+Gol! won't it make the workin men squeal--
+Thet durned Republikin tax un steal!
+They call it Protecshin, but blast my skin
+Ef it aint a morul political sin--
+Thet durned Republikin teriff on tin.
+
+"Un then they hev put a teriff on silk
+Un satin un velvit un thet air ilk,
+Un broadcloth un brandy un Havanny cigars,
+Un them slick silk hats thet our preacher wears;
+Un he'll hev tu wear humspun un drink skim milk.
+Un, Hanner, you see we'll hev tu be savin,
+Un whittle our store-bill down tu a shavin;
+You can't go tu meetin in silks; I vum
+You'll hev tu wear ging-um er stay tu hum."
+But Hannah said sharply--"I won't though, I swum!"
+And Hannah gazed wistfully on her Jo
+As he rocked himself mournfully to and fro,
+And then she looked thoughtfully into the fire,
+While the sleet fell faster and the wind blew higher,
+And Jo took a turn at the _Daily Liar_.
+
+1890.
+
+[Illustration: "THE KENTRY'S AGOIN', I GUESS, TO THE DOGS"]
+
+
+
+
+PAT AND THE PIG
+
+Old Deutchland's the country for sauerkraut and beer,
+Old England's the land of roast beef and good cheer,
+Auld Scotland's the mother of gristle and grit,
+But Ireland, my boy, is the mother of wit.
+Once Pat was indicted for stealing a pig,
+And brought into court to the man in the wig.
+The indictment was long and so lumbered with Latin
+That Pat hardly knew what a pickle was Pat in;
+But at last it was read to the end, and the wig
+Said: "Pat, are you guilty of stealing the pig?"
+Pat looked very wise, though a trifle forlorn,
+And he asked of milord that the witness be sworn.
+"Bless yer sowl," stammered Pat, "an' the day ye was born!
+Faith how in the divil d'ye think Oi can tell
+Till Oi hear the ividince?"
+                           Pat reckoned well;
+For the witness was sworn and the facts he revealed--
+How Pat stole the piggy and how the pig squealed,
+Whose piggy the pig was and what he was worth,
+And the slits in his ears and his tail and--so forth;
+But he never once said, 'in the county of Meath,'[CX]
+So Pat he escaped by the skin of his teeth.
+
+[CX] In criminal cases it is necessary to prove that the crime was
+committed in the county where the venue is laid.
+
+
+
+
+NOTES
+
+[1] Called in the Dakota tongue "_Hok-see-win-na-pee
+Wo-han-pee_"--Virgins' Dance (or Feast).
+
+[2] One of the favorite and most exciting games of the Dakotas is
+ball-playing. A smooth place on the prairie, or in winter, on a frozen
+lake or river, is chosen. Each player has a sort of bat, called
+"_Ta-kee-cha-pse-cha_," about thirty-two inches long, with a hoop at the
+lower end four or five inches in diameter, interlaced with thongs of
+deer-skin, forming a sort of pocket. With these bats they catch and
+throw the ball. Stakes are set as bounds at a considerable distance from
+the center on either side. Two parties are then formed and each chooses
+a leader or chief. The ball (_Tapa_) is then thrown up half way between
+the bounds, and the game begins, the contestants contending with their
+bats for the ball as it falls. When one succeeds in getting it fairly
+into the pocket of his bat he swings it aloft and throws it as far as he
+can toward the bound to which his party is working, taking care to send
+it if possible where some of his own side will take it up. Thus the ball
+is thrown and contended for till one party succeeds in casting it beyond
+the bounds of the opposite party. A hundred players on a side are
+sometimes engaged in this exciting game. Betting on the result often
+runs high. Moccasins, pipes, knives, hatchets, blankets, robes and guns
+are hung on the prize-pole. Not unfrequently horses are staked on the
+issue and sometimes even women. Old men and mothers are among the
+spectators, praising their swift-footed sons, and young wives and
+maidens are there to stimulate their husbands and lovers. This game is
+not confined to the warriors but is also a favorite amusement of the
+Dakota maidens, who generally play for prizes offered by the chief or
+warriors. (See _Neill's Hist. Minn._, pp 74-5; _Riggs' Takoo Wakan_, pp
+44-5, and _Mrs. Eastman's Dacotah_, p 55.)
+
+[3] Pronounced _Wah-zee-yah_--the god of the North, or Winter. A fabled
+spirit who dwells in the frozen North, in a great _teepee_ of ice and
+snow. From his mouth and nostrils he blows the cold blasts of winter. He
+and _I-to-ka-ga Wi cas-ta_--the spirit or god of the South (literally
+the "South Man") are inveterate enemies, and always on the war-path
+against each other. In winter _Wa-zi-ya_ advances southward and drives
+_I-to-ka-ga Wi-cas-ta_ before him to the Summer-Islands. But in spring
+the god of the South having renewed his youth and strength in the "Happy
+Hunting Grounds," is able to drive _Wa-zi-ya_ back again to his icy
+wigwam in the North. Some Dakotas say that the numerous granite
+boulders scattered over the prairies of Minnesota and Dakota, were
+hurled in battle by _Wa-zi-ya_ from his home in the North at _I-to-ka-ga
+Wi-cas-ta_. The _Wa-zi-ya_ of the Dakotas is substantially the same as
+"_Ka be-bon-ik-ka_"--the "Winter-maker" of the Ojibways.
+
+[4] Mendota--(meeting of the waters) at the confluence of the Mississippi
+and Minnesota rivers. The true Dakota word is _Mdo-te_--applied to the
+mouth of a river flowing into another, also to the outlet of a lake.
+
+[5] Pronounced _Wee-wah-stay_; literally--a beautiful virgin or woman.
+
+[6] _Cetan-wa-ka-wa-mani_--"He who shoots pigeon-hawks walking"--was the
+full Dakota name of the grandfather of the celebrated "Little Crow"
+(_Ta-o-ya-te-du-ta_--His Red People) who led his warriors in the
+terrible outbreak in Minnesota in 1862-3. The Chippeways called the
+grandfather _Ka-ka-ge_--crow or raven--from his war-badge, a crow-skin;
+and hence the French traders and _courriers du bois_ called him "_Petit
+Corbeau_"--Little Crow. This sobriquet, of which he was proud, descended
+to his son, _Wakinyan Tanka_--Big Thunder, who succeeded him as chief;
+and from Big Thunder to his son _Ta-o-ya-te-du-ta_, who became chief on
+the death of _Wakinyan Tanka_. These several "Little Crows" were
+successively Chiefs of the Light-foot, or _Kapoza_ band of Dakotas.
+_Kapoza_, the principal village of this band, was originally located on
+the east bank of the Mississippi near the site of the city of St. Paul.
+_Col. Minn. Hist. Soc._, 1864, p. 29. It was in later years moved to the
+west bank. The grandfather whom I, for short, call _Wakawa_, died the
+death of a brave in battle against the Ojibways (commonly called
+Chippeways)--the hereditary enemies of the Dakotas. _Wakinyan
+Tanka_--Big Thunder, was killed by the accidental discharge of his own
+gun. They were both buried with their kindred near the "_Wakan Teepee_,"
+the sacred Cave--(Carver's Cave). _Ta-o-ya-te-du-ta_, the last of the
+Little Crows, was killed July 3, 1863, during the outbreak, near
+Hutchinson, Minnesota, by the Lampsons--father and son, and his bones
+were duly "done up" for the Historical Society of Minnesota. See
+_Heard's Hist. Sioux War_, and _Neill's Hist. Minnesota_, Third Edition.
+
+[Illustration: LITTLE CROW. _From an original photograph in the author's
+possession_]
+
+Little Crow's sixteen-year-old son, _Wa-wi-na-pe_--(One who appears
+--like the spirit of his forefather) was with him at the time he was
+killed; but escaped, and after much hardship and suffering, was at last
+captured at _Mini Wakan_ (Devil's Lake, in North Dakota). From him
+personally I obtained much information in regard to Little Crow's
+participation in the "Sioux War," and minutely the speech that Little
+Crow made to his braves when he finally consented to lead them on the
+war-path against the whites. A literal translation of that speech will
+be found further on in this note.
+
+I knew _Ta-o-ya-te-du-ta_, and from his own lips, in 1859-60 and 61,
+obtained much interesting information in regard to the history,
+tradition, customs, superstitions and habits of the Dakotas, of whom he
+was the recognized Head-Chief. He was a remarkable Indian--a philosopher
+and a brave and generous man. "Untutored savage" that he was, he was a
+prince among his own people, and the peer in natural ability of the
+ablest white men in the Northwest in his time. He had largely adopted
+the dress and habits of civilized man, and he urged his people to
+abandon their savage ways, build houses, cultivate fields, and learn to
+live like the white people. He clearly forsaw the ultimate extinction of
+his people as a distinct race. He well knew and realized the numbers and
+power of the whites then rapidly taking possession of the
+hunting-grounds of the Dakotas, and the folly of armed opposition on the
+part of his people. He said to me once: "No more Dakotas by and by;
+Indians all white men. No more buffaloes by and by; all cows, all oxen."
+But his braves were restless. They smarted under years of wrong and
+robbery, to which, indeed, the most stinging insults were often added by
+the traders and officials among them. If the true, unvarnished history
+of the cause and inception of the "Sioux Outbreak" in Minnesota is ever
+written and published, it will bring the blush of shame to the cheeks of
+every honest man who reads it.
+
+Against his judgment and repeated protests, Little Crow was at last,
+after the depredations had begun, forced into the war on the whites by
+his hot-headed and uncontrollable "young men."
+
+Goaded to desperation, a party of Little Crow's young "bucks," in
+August, 1862, began their depredations and spilled white blood at Acton.
+Returning to their chief's camp near the agency, they told their fellow
+braves what they had done. The hot-headed young warriors immediately
+demanded of Little Crow that he put on the "war-paint" and lead them
+against the white men. The chief severely rebuked the "young men" who
+had committed the murders, blackened his face (a sign of mourning),
+retired to his _teepee_ and covered his head in sorrow.
+
+His braves surrounded his tent and cut it into strips with their knives.
+They threatened to depose him from the chiefship unless he immediately
+put on the "war-paint" and led them against the whites. They knew that
+the Civil War was then in progress, that the white men were fighting
+among themselves, and they declared that now was the time to regain
+their lost hunting-grounds; that now was the time to avenge the thievery
+and insults of the Agents who had for years systematically cheated them
+out of the greater part of their promised annuities, for which they had
+been induced to part with their lands; that now was the time to avenge
+the debauchery of their wives and daughters by the dissolute hangers-on
+who, as employees of the Indian Agents and licensed traders, had for
+years hovered around them like buzzards around the carcasses of
+slaughtered buffaloes.
+
+But Little Crow was unmoved by the appeals and threats of his warriors.
+It is said that once for a moment he uncovered his head; that his face
+was haggard and great beads of sweat stood out on his forehead. But at
+last one of his enraged braves, bolder than the rest, cried out:
+
+"_Ta-o-ya-te-du-ta_ is a coward!"
+
+Instantly Little Crow sprang from his _teepee_, snatched the
+eagle-feathers from the head of his insulter and flung them on the
+ground. Then, stretching himself to his full height, his eyes flashing
+fire, and in a voice tremulous with rage, he exclaimed:
+
+"_Ta-o-ya-te-du-ta_ is not a coward, and he is not a fool! When did he
+run away from his enemies? When did he leave his braves behind him on
+the war-path and turn back to his _teepees_? When he ran away from your
+enemies, he walked behind on your trail with his face to the Ojibways
+and covered your backs as a she-bear covers her cubs! Is
+_Ta-o-ya-te-du-ta_ without scalps? Look at his war-feathers! Behold the
+scalp-locks of your enemies hanging there on his lodge-poles! Do they
+call him a coward? _Ta-o-ya-te-du-ta_ is not a coward, and he is not a
+fool. Braves, you are like little children; you know not what you are
+doing.
+
+"You are full of the white man's _devil-water_" (rum). "You are like
+dogs in the Hot Moon when they run mad and snap at their own shadows. We
+are only little herds of buffaloes left scattered; the great herds that
+once covered the prairies are no more. See!--the white men are like the
+locusts when they fly so thick that the whole sky is a snow-storm. You
+may kill one--two--ten; yes, as many as the leaves in the forest
+yonder, and their brothers will not miss them. Kill one--two--ten, and
+ten times ten will come to kill you. Count your fingers all day long and
+white men with guns in their hands will come faster than you can count.
+
+"Yes; they fight among themselves--away off. Do you hear the thunder of
+their big guns? No; it would take you two moons to run down to where
+they are fighting, and all the way your path would be among white
+soldiers as thick as tamaracks in the swamps of the Ojibways. Yes; they
+fight among themselves, but if you strike at them they will all turn on
+you and devour you and your women and little children just as the
+locusts in their time fall on the trees and devour all the leaves in one
+day. You are fools. You cannot see the face of your chief; your eyes are
+full of smoke. You cannot hear his voice; your ears are full of roaring
+waters. Braves, you are little children--you are fools. You will die
+like the rabbits when the hungry wolves hunt them in the Hard Moon
+(January). _Ta-o-ya-te du-ta_ is not a coward: he will die with you."
+
+[7] _Harps-te-nah_. The first-born daughter of a Dakota is called
+_Winona_; the second, _Harpen_; the third, _Harpstina_; the fourth,
+_Waska_; the fifth, _Weharka_. The first-born son is called _Chaske_;
+the second, _Harpam_; the third, _Hapeda_; the fourth, _Chatun_; the
+fifth, _Harka_. They retain these names till others are given them on
+account of some action, peculiarity, etc. The females often retain their
+child-names through life.
+
+[8] _Wah-pah-sah_ was the hereditary name of a long and illustrious line
+of Dakota chiefs. Wabashaw is a corrupt pronunciation. The name is a
+contraction of _Wa-pa-ha-sa_, which is from _Wa-ha-pa_, the standard or
+pole used in the Dakota dances and upon which feathers of various colors
+are tied, and not from _Wa-pa_--leaf, as has been generally supposed.
+Therefore _Wapasa_ means the Standard--and not the "Leaf-Shaker," as
+many writers have it. The principal village of these hereditary chiefs
+was _Ke-uk-sa_, or _Ke-o-sa_,--where now stands the fair city of Winona.
+_Ke-uk-sa_ signifies--The village of law-breakers; so called because
+this band broke the law or custom of the Dakotas against marrying blood
+relatives of any degree. I get this information from Rev. Stephen R.
+Riggs, author of the Dakota Grammar and Dictionary, "_Takoo Wakan_,"
+etc. _Wapasa_, grandfather of the last chief of that name, and a
+contemporary of _Cetan-Wa-ka-wa-mani_, was a noted chief, and a friend
+of the British in the war of the Revolution. _Neill's Hist. Minn._, pp.
+225-9.
+
+[9] _E-ho, E-to_--Exclamations of surprise and delight.
+
+[10] _Mah-gah_--The wild-goose.
+
+[11] _Tee-pee_--A lodge or wigwam, often contracted to "_tee_."
+
+[12] Pronounced _Mahr-pee-yah-doo-tah_--literally, Cloud Red.
+
+[13] Pronounced _Wahnmdee_--The War Eagle. Each feather worn by a warrior
+represents an enemy slain or captured--man, woman or child; but the
+Dakotas, before they became desperate under the cruel warfare of their
+enemies, usually spared the lives of their captives, and never killed
+women or infants, except in rare instances under the _lex talionis_.
+_Neill's Hist. Minn._, p. 112.
+
+[14] _Mah-to_--The polar bear--_ursus maritimus_. The Dakotas say that in
+olden times white bears were often found about Rainy Lake and the Lake
+of the Woods in winter, and sometimes as far south as the mouth of the
+Minnesota. They say one was once killed at White Bear Lake (but a few
+miles from St. Paul and Minneapolis), and they therefore named the lake
+Mede Mato--White Bear Lake, literally--Lake White Bear.
+
+[15] The _Ho-he_ (Ho-hay) are the Assiniboins or "Stone-roasters." Their
+home is the region of the Assiniboin River in Manitoba. They speak the
+Dakota tongue, and originally were a band of that nation. Tradition says
+a Dakota "Helen" was the cause of the separation and a bloody feud that
+lasted for many years. The _Hohes_ are called "Stone-roasters," because,
+until recently at least, they used _wa-ta-pe_ kettles and vessels made
+of birch bark in which they cooked their food. They boiled water in
+these vessels by heating stones and putting them in the water. The
+_wa-ta-pe_ kettle is made of the fibrous roots of the white cedar
+interlaced and tightly woven. When the vessel is soaked it becomes
+water-tight. [_Snelling's_] _Tales of the North-west_, p 21,
+_Mackenzie's Travels._
+
+[16] _Hey-o-ka_ is one of the principal Dakota deities. He is a giant, but
+can change himself into a buffalo, a bear, a fish or a bird. He is
+called the Anti-natural God or Spirit. In summer he shivers with cold,
+in winter he suffers from heat; he cries when he laughs and he laughs
+when he cries, etc. He is the reverse of nature in all things. _Heyoka_
+is universally feared and reverenced by the Dakotas, but so severe is
+the ordeal that the _Heyoka Wacipee_ (the dance to _Heyoka_) is now
+rarely celebrated. It is said that the "Medicine-men" use a secret
+preparation which enables them to handle fire and dip their hands in
+boiling water without injury and thereby gain great _eclat_ from the
+uninitiated. The chiefs and the leading warriors usually belong to the
+secret order of "Medicine-men" or "Sons of _Unktehee_"--the Spirit of
+the Waters.
+
+[17] The Dakota name for the moon is _Han-ye-tu-wee_--literally,
+Night-Sun. He is the twin brother of _An-pe-tu-wee_--the Day Sun. See
+note 70.
+
+[18] The Dakotas believe that the stars are the spirits of their departed
+friends.
+
+[19] _Tee_--Contracted from _teepee_, lodge or wigwam, and means the same.
+
+[20] For all their sacred feasts the Dakotas kindle a new fire called "The
+Virgin Fire." This is done with flint and steel, or by rubbing together
+pieces of wood till friction produces fire. It must be done by a virgin,
+nor must any woman, except a virgin, ever touch the "sacred armor" of a
+Dakota warrior. White cedar is "_Wakan_"--sacred. See note 50. _Riggs'
+Tahkoo Wakan_, p. 84.
+
+[21] All Northern Indians consider the East a mysterious and sacred land
+whence comes the sun. The Dakota name for the East is
+_Wee-yo-hee-yan-pa_--the sunrise. The Ojibways call it _Waub-o-nong_
+--the white land or land of light, and they have many myths, legends and
+traditions relating thereto. Barbarous peoples of all times have
+regarded the East with superstitious reverence simply because the sun
+rises in that quarter.
+
+[22] See _Mrs. Eastman's Dacotah_, pp. 225-8, describing the feast to
+_Heyoka_.
+
+[23] This stone from which the Dakotas have made their pipes for ages, is
+esteemed _wakan_--sacred. They call it _I-yan-ska_, probably from _iya_,
+to speak, and _ska_, white, truthful, peaceful,--hence, peace-pipe,
+herald of peace, pledge of truth, etc. In the cabinet at Albany, N.Y.,
+there is a very ancient pipe of this material which the Iroquois
+obtained from the Dakotas. Charlevoix speaks of this pipe-stone in his
+_History of New France_. LeSueur refers to the Yanktons as the village
+of the Dakotas at the Red-Stone Quarry. See _Neill's Hist. Minn._, p.
+514.
+
+[24] "_Ho_" is an exclamation of approval--yea, yes, bravo.
+
+[25] Buying is the honorable way of taking a wife among the Dakotas. The
+proposed husband usually gives a horse or its value in other articles to
+the father or natural guardian of the woman selected--sometimes against
+her will. See note 75.
+
+[26] The Dakotas believe that the _Aurora Borealis_ is an evil omen and
+the threatening of an evil spirit (perhaps _Waziya_, the
+Winter-god--some say a witch, or a very ugly old woman). When the lights
+appear danger threatens, and the warriors shoot at, and often slay, the
+evil spirit, but it rises from the dead again.
+
+[27] _Se-so-kah_--The Robin.
+
+[28] The spirit of _Anpetu-sapa_ that haunts the Falls of St. Anthony with
+her dead babe in her arms. See the Legend in _Neill's Hist. Minn._, or
+my _Legend of the Falls._
+
+[29] _Mee-coonk-shee_--My daughter.
+
+[30] The Dakotas call the meteor, "_Wakan-denda_" (sacred fire) and
+_Wakan-wohlpa_ (sacred gift). Meteors are messages from the Land of
+Spirits warning of impending danger. It is a curious fact that the
+"sacred stone" of the Mohammedans, in the Kaaba at Mecca, is a meteoric
+stone, and obtains its sacred character from the fact that it fell from
+heaven.
+
+[31] _Kah-no-te-dahn_,--the little, mysterious dweller in the woods. This
+spirit lives in the forest, in hollow trees. _Mrs. Eastman's Dacotah_,
+Pre. Rem. xxxi. "The Dakota god of the woods--an unknown animal said to
+resemble a man, which the Dakotas worship: perhaps, the
+monkey."--_Riggs' Dakota Dic. Tit--Canotidan_.
+
+[32] The Dakotas believe that thunder is produced by the flapping of the
+wings of an immense bird which they call _Wakinyan_--the Thunder-bird.
+Near the source of the Minnesota River is a place called
+"Thunder-Tracks" where the foot-prints of a "Thunder-bird" are seen on
+the rocks twenty-five miles apart. _Mrs. Eastman's Dacotah_, p. 71.
+There are many Thunder-birds. The father of all the
+Thunder-birds--"_Wakinyan Tanka_"--or "Big Thunder," has his _teepee_ on
+a lofty mountain in the far West. His _teepee_ has four openings, at
+each of which is a sentinel; at the east, a butterfly; at the west, a
+bear; at the south, a red deer; at the north, a caribou. He has a bitter
+enmity against _Unktehee_ (god of waters) and often shoots his fiery
+arrows at him, and hits the earth, trees, rocks, and sometimes men.
+_Wakinyan_ created wild-rice, the bow and arrow, the tomahawk and the
+spear. He is a great war-spirit, and _Wanmdee_ (the war-eagle) is his
+messenger. A Thunder-bird (say the Dakotas) was once killed near Kapoza
+by the son of Cetan-Wakawa-mani and he thereupon took the name of
+"_Wakinyan Tanka_"--"Big Thunder."
+
+[33] Pronounced _Tah-tahn-kah_--Bison or Buffalo.
+
+[34] _Enah_--An exclamation of wonder. _Eho_--Behold! see there!
+
+[35] The Crees are the Knisteneaux of Alexander Mackenzie. See his account
+of them, _Mackenzie's Travels_, (London, 1801) p. xci to cvii.
+
+[36] Lake Superior. The only names the Dakotas have for Lake Superior are
+_Mede Tanka_ or _Tanka Mede_--Great Lake, and _Me-ne-ya-ta_--literally,
+_At-the-Water_.
+
+[37] April--Literally, the moon when the geese lay eggs. See note 71.
+
+[38] Carver's Cave at St. Paul was called by the Dakotas _Wakan_
+_Teepee_--sacred lodge. In the days that are no more they lighted their
+council-fires in this cave and buried their dead near it. See _Neill's
+Hist. Minn_., p. 207. Capt. Carver in his _Travels_, London, 1778, p.
+63, et. seq., describes this cave as follows: "It is a remarkable cave
+of an amazing depth. The Indians term it Wakonteebe, that is, the
+Dwelling of the Great Spirit. The entrance into it is about ten feet
+wide, the height of it five feet, the arch within is near fifteen feet
+high and about thirty feet broad. The bottom of it consists of fine
+clear sand. About twenty feet from the entrance begins a lake, the water
+of which is transparent, and extends to an unsearchable distance; for
+the darkness of the cave prevents all attempts to acquire a knowledge of
+it. I threw a small pebble toward the interior parts of it with my
+utmost strength. I could hear that it fell into the water, and
+notwithstanding it was of so small a size it caused an astonishing and
+horrible noise that reverberated through all those gloomy regions. I
+found in this cave many Indian hieroglyphics which appeared very
+ancient, for time had nearly covered them with moss so that it was with
+difficulty I could trace them. They were cut in a rude manner upon the
+inside of the walls, which were composed of a stone so extremely soft
+that it might be easily penetrated with a knife: a stone everywhere to
+be found near the Mississippi. This cave is only accessible by ascending
+a narrow, steep passage that lies near the brink of the river. At a
+little distance from this dreary cavern is the burying-place of several
+bands of the Naudowessie (Dakota) Indians," Many years ago the roof fell
+in but the cave has been partly restored and is now used as a beer
+cellar.
+
+[39] _Wah-kahn-dee_--The lightning.
+
+[40] The Bloody River--the Red River was so called on account of the
+numerous Indian battles that have been fought on its banks. The Ojibways
+say that its waters were colored red by the blood of many warriors slain
+on its banks in the fierce wars between themselves and the Dakotas.
+
+[41] _Tah_--The Moose. This is the root-word for all ruminating animals:
+_Ta-tanka_, buffalo--Ta-toka, mountain antelope--Ta-hinca, the red
+deer--Ta-mdoka, the buck-deer--Ta-hinca-ska, white deer (sheep).
+
+[42] _Hogahn_--Fish. Red Hogan, the trout.
+
+[43] _Tipsanna_ (often called _tipsinna_) is a wild prairie-turnip used
+for food by the Dakotas. It grows on high, dry land, and increases from
+year to year. It is eaten both cooked and raw.
+
+[44] _Rio Tajo_ (or Tagus), a river of Spain and Portugal.
+
+[45]
+  * * * * "Bees of Trebizond--
+  Which from the sunniest flowers that glad
+  With their pure smile the gardens round,
+  Draw venom forth that drives men mad."
+
+_--Thomas Moore_.
+
+[46] _Skee-skah_--The Wood-duck.
+
+[47] The Crocus. I have seen the prairies in Minnesota spangled with these
+beautiful flowers in various colors before the ground was free from
+frost. The Dakotas call them "frost-flowers."
+
+[48] The "Sacred Ring" around the Feast of the Virgins is formed by armed
+warriors sitting, and none but a virgin must enter this ring. The
+warrior who knows is bound on honor, and by old and sacred custom, to
+expose and publicly denounce any tarnished maiden who dares to enter
+this ring, and his word cannot be questioned--even by the chief. See
+_Mrs. Eastman's Dacotah_, p. 64.
+
+[49] Prairie's Pride.--This annual shrub, which abounds on many of the
+sandy prairies in Minnesota, is sometimes called "tea-plant,"
+"sage-plant," and "red-root willow." I doubt if it has any botanic name.
+Its long plumes of purple and gold are truly the "pride of the
+prairies."
+
+[50] The Dakotas consider white cedar "_Wakan_," (sacred). They use
+sprigs of it at their feasts, and often burn it to destroy the power of
+evil spirits. _Mrs. Eastman's Dacotah_, p. 210.
+
+[51] _Tahkoo-skahng-skahng_. This deity is supposed to be invisible, yet
+everywhere present; he is an avenger and a searcher of hearts. (_Neill's
+Hist. Minn_., p. 57). I suspect he was the chief spirit of the Dakotas
+before the missionaries imported "_Wakan-Tanka_" (Great Spirit).
+
+[52] The Dakotas believe in "were-wolves" as firmly as did our Saxon
+ancestors, and for similar reasons--the howl of the wolf being often
+imitated as a decoy or signal by their enemies the Ojibways.
+
+[53] _Shee-sho-kah_--The Robin.
+
+[54] The Dakotas call the Evening Star the "_Virgin Star_," and believe it
+to be the spirit of the virgin wronged at the feast.
+
+[55] Mille Lacs. This lake was discovered by Du Luth, and by him named Lac
+Buade in honor of Governor Frontenac of Canada, whose family name was
+Buade. The Dakota name for it is _Mde Wakan_--Spirit Lake.
+
+[56] The Ojibways imitate the hoot of the owl and the howl of the wolf to
+perfection, and often use these cries as signals to each other in war
+and the chase.
+
+[57] The Dakotas called the Ojibways the "Snakes of the Forest" on account
+of their lying in ambush for their enemies.
+
+[58] Strawberries.
+
+[59] _See-yo_--The prairie-hen.
+
+[60] _Mahgah_--The wild-goose. _Fox-pups_. I could never see the propriety
+of calling the young of foxes _kits_ or _kittens_, which mean _little
+cats_. The fox belongs to the _canis_ or dog family, and not the _felis_
+or cat family. If it is proper to call the young of dogs and wolves
+_pups_, it is equally proper to so call the young of foxes.
+
+[61] When a Dakota is sick he thinks the spirit of an enemy or some animal
+has entered into his body, and the principal business of the
+"medicine-man"--_Wicasta Wakan_--is to cast out the "unclean spirit,"
+with incantations and charms. See _Neill's Hist. Minn_., pp. 66-8. The
+Jews entertained a similar belief in the days of Jesus of Nazareth.
+
+[62] _Wah-zee-yah's_ star--The North-star. See note 3.
+
+[63] The Dakotas, like our forefathers and all other barbarians, believe
+in witches and witchcraft.
+
+[64] The _Medo_ is a wild potato; it resembles the sweet-potato in top and
+taste. It grows in bottom-lands, and is much prized by the Dakotas for
+food. The "_Dakota Friend_," for December, 1850. (Minn. Hist. Col.)
+
+[65] The meteor--_Wakan-denda_--Sacred fire.
+
+[66] _Me-ta-win_--My bride.
+
+[68] The _Via Lactea_ or Milky Way. The Dakotas call it _Wanagee
+Tach-anku_--The pathway of the spirits; and believe that over this path
+the spirits of the dead pass to the Spirit-land. See _Riggs' Tah-koo
+Wah-kan_, p. 101.
+
+[69] _Oonk-tay-he_. There are many _Unktehees_, children of the _Great
+Unktehee_, who created the earth and man, and who formerly dwelt in a
+vast cavern under the Falls of St. Anthony. The _Unktehee_ sometimes
+reveals himself in the form of a huge buffalo-bull. From him proceed
+invisible influences. The _Great Unktehee_ created the earth.
+"Assembling in grand conclave all the aquatic tribes he ordered them to
+bring up dirt from beneath the waters, and proclaimed death to the
+disobedient. The beaver and otter forfeited their lives. At last the
+muskrat went beneath the waters, and, after a long time, appeared at the
+surface, nearly exhausted, with some dirt. From this _Unktehee_
+fashioned the earth into a large circular plain. The earth being
+finished he took a deity, one of his own offspring, and, grinding him to
+powder, sprinkled it upon the earth, and this produced many worms. The
+worms were then collected and scattered again. They matured into infants
+and these were then collected and scattered and became full-grown
+Dakotas. The bones of the mastodon, the Dakotas think, are the bones of
+_Unktehees_, and they preserve them with the greatest care in the
+medicine-bag." _Neill's Hist. Minn_., p. 55. The _Unktehees_ and the
+Thunder-birds are perpetually at war. There are various accounts of the
+creation of man. Some say that at the bidding of the _Great Unktehee_,
+men sprang full grown from the caverns of the earth. See _Riggs' "Tahkoo
+Wahkan"_, and _Mrs. Eastman's Dacotah_. The _Great Unktehee_ and the
+Great Thunder-bird had a terrible battle in the bowels of the earth to
+determine which should be the ruler of the world. See description in
+_Winona_.
+
+[70] Pronounced _Ahng-pay-too-wee_--The Sun; literally the Day-Sun, thus
+distinguishing him from _Han-ye-tuwee_ (Hahng-yay-too-wee) the Night Sun
+(the moon). They are twin brothers, but _Anpetuwee_ is the more
+powerful. _Han-ye-tuwee_ receives his power from his brother and obeys
+him. He watches over the earth while the sun sleeps. The Dakotas believe
+the sun is the father of life. Unlike the most of their other gods, he
+is beneficent and kind; yet they worshiped him (in the sun-dance) in the
+most dreadful manner. See _Riggs' Tahkoo Wakan_, pp. 81-2, and Catlin's
+_Okeepa_. The moon is worshiped as the representative of the sun; and in
+the great Sun-dance, which is usually held in the full of the moon, when
+the moon rises the dancers turn their eyes on her (or him). _Anpetuwee_
+issues every morning from the lodge of _Han-nan-na_ (the Morning) and
+begins his journey over the sky to his lodge in the land of shadows.
+Sometimes he walks over on the Bridge (or path) of the Spirits--_Wanage
+Ta-chan-ku_,--and sometimes he sails over the sea of the skies in his
+shining canoe; but _somehow_, and the Dakotas do not explain how, he
+gets back again to the lodge of _Hannanna_ in time to take a nap and eat
+his breakfast before starting anew on his journey. The Dakotas swear by
+the sun, "_As Anpetuwee hears me, this is true!_" They call him Father
+and pray to him--"_Wakan! Ate, on-she-ma-da_"--"Sacred Spirit,--Father,
+have mercy on me." As the Sun is the father, so they believe the Earth
+is the mother, of life. Truly there is much philosophy in the Dakota
+mythology. The Algonkins call the earth "_Me-suk-kum-mik-o-kwa_"--the
+great-grandmother of all. _Narrative of John Tanner_, p. 193.
+
+[71] The Dakotas reckon their months by _moons_. They name their moons
+from natural circumstances. They correspond very nearly with our months,
+as follows:
+
+January--_Wee-te-rhee_--The Hard Moon; i.e.--the cold moon.
+
+February--_Wee-ca-ta-wee_--The Coon Moon--(the moon when the coons come
+out of their hollow trees).
+
+March--_Ista-wee-ca-ya-zang-wee_--the sore-eyes moon (from snow
+blindness).
+
+April--Maga-oka-da-wee--the moon when the geese lay eggs; also called
+Woka da-wee--egg-moon; and sometimes Wato-papee-wee, the canoe-moon, or
+moon when the streams become free from ice.
+
+May--Wo-zu-pee-wee--the planting moon.
+
+June--Wazu-ste-ca-sa-wee--the strawberry moon.
+
+July--Wa-sun-pa-wee--the moon when the geese shed their feathers, also
+called Chang-pa-sapa-wee--Choke-Cherry moon, and
+sometimes--Mna-rcha-rcha-wee--"The moon of the red-blooming lilies,"
+literally, the red-lily moon.
+
+August--Wasu-ton-wee--the ripe moon, i.e., Harvest Moon.
+
+September--Psin-na-ke-tu-wee--the ripe rice moon. (When the wild rice is
+ripe.)
+
+October--Wa-zu-pee-wee or Wee-wa-zu-pee--the moon when wild rice is
+gathered and laid up for winter.
+
+November--Ta-kee-yu-hra-wee--the deer-rutting moon.
+
+December--Ta-he-cha-psung-wee--the moon when deer shed their horns.
+
+[72] Oonk-to-mee--is a bad spirit in the form of a monstrous black spider.
+He inhabits fens and marshes and lies in wait for his prey. At night he
+often lights a torch (evidently the ignis fatuus or Jack-o' lantern) and
+swings it on the marshes to decoy the unwary into his toils.
+
+[73] The Dakotas have their stone-idol, or god, called Toon-kan--or Inyan.
+This god dwells in stone or rocks and is, they say, the oldest god of
+all--he is grandfather of all living things. I think, however, that the
+stone is merely the symbol of the everlasting, all-pervading, invisible
+Ta-ku Wa-kan--the essence of all life,--pervading all nature, animate
+and inanimate. The Rev. S.R. Riggs, who for forty years has been a
+student of Dakota customs, superstitions, etc., says, Tahkoo Wahkan, p.
+55, et seq.: "The religious faith of the Dakota is not in his gods as
+such. It is in an intangible, mysterious something of which they are
+only the embodiment, and that in such measure and degree as may accord
+with the individual fancy of the worshiper. Each one will worship some
+of these divinities, and neglect or despise others, but the great object
+of all their worship, whatever its chosen medium, is the _Ta-koo
+Wa-kan_, which is the supernatural and mysterious. No one term can
+express the full meaning of the Dakota's _Wakan_. It comprehends all
+mystery, secret power and divinity. Awe and reverence are its due, and
+it is as unlimited in manifestation as it is in idea. All life is
+_Wakan_; so also is everything which exhibits power, whether in action,
+as the winds and drifting clouds; or in passive endurance, as the
+boulder by the wayside. For even the commonest sticks and stones have a
+spiritual essence which must be reverenced as a manifestation of the
+all-pervading, mysterious power that fills the universe."
+
+[74] _Wazi-kute_--Wah-ze-koo-tay; literally--Pine-shooter,--he that shoots
+among the pines. When Father Hennepin was at Mille Lacs in 1679-80,
+_Wazi-kute_ was the head chief (_Itancan_) of the band of Isantees.
+Hennepin writes the name Ouasicoude, and translates it--the "Pierced
+Pine." See Shea's _Hennepin_, p. 234, _Minn. Hist. Coll_. vol. i, p.
+316.
+
+[75] When a Dakota brave wishes to "propose" to a "dusky maid," he visits
+her _teepee_ at night after she has retired, or rather, laid down in her
+robe to sleep. He lights a splinter of wood and holds it to her face. If
+she blows out the light, he is accepted; if she covers her head and
+leaves it burning he is rejected. The rejection however is not
+considered final till it has been thrice repeated. Even then the maiden
+is often bought of her parents or guardian, and forced to become the
+wife of the rejected suitor. If she accepts the proposal, still the
+suitor must buy her of her parents with suitable gifts.
+
+[76] The Dakotas called the falls of St. Anthony the _Ha-Ha_--the _loud
+laughing_, or _roaring_. The Mississippi River they called _Ha-Ha
+Wa-kpa_ River of the Falls. The Ojibway name for the Falls of St.
+Anthony is _Ka-ka-bik-kung_. Minnehaha is a combination of two Dakota
+words--_Mini_--water and _Ha-Ha_, Falls; but it is not the name by which
+the Dakotas designated that cataract. Some authorities say they called
+it _I-ha-ha_--pronounced E-rhah-rhah--lightly laughing. Rev. S.W. Pond,
+whose long residence as a missionary among the Dakotas in this immediate
+vicinity makes him an authority that can hardly be questioned, says they
+called the Falls of Minnehaha "_Mini-i-hrpa-ya-dan_," and it had no
+other name in Dakota. "It means Little Falls and nothing else." Letter
+to the author.
+
+[77] The game of the Plum-stones is one of the favorite games of the
+Dakotas. Hennepin was the first to describe this game, in his
+_Description de la Louisiane_, Paris, 1683, and he describes it very
+accurately. See Shea's translation p. 301. The Dakotas call this game
+_Kan-soo Koo-tay-pe_--shooting plum-stones. Each stone is painted black
+on one side and red on the other; on one side they grave certain figures
+which make the stones _Wakan_. They are placed in a dish and thrown up
+like dice. Indeed, the game is virtually a game of dice. Hennepin says:
+"There are some so given to this game that they will gamble away even
+their great coat. Those who conduct the game cry at the top of their
+voices when they rattle the platter, and they strike their shoulders so
+hard as to leave them all black with the blows."
+
+[78] _Wa-tanka_--contraction of _Wa-kan Tanka_--Great Spirit. The Dakotas
+had no _Wakan Tanka_ or _Wakan-peta_--fire spirit--till white men
+imported them. There being no name for the Supreme Being in the Dakota
+tongue (except _Taku Skan-skan_.--See note 51)--and all their gods and
+spirits being _Wakan_--the missionaries named God in Dakota--"_Wakan
+Tanka_"--which means _Big Spirit_, or _The Big Mysterious_.
+
+[79] The Dakotas called Lake Calhoun, at Minneapolis,
+Minn.--_Mde-mdo-za_--Loon Lake. They also called it _Re-ya-ta-mde_--the
+lake back from the river. They called Lake Harriet--_Mde-unma_--the
+other lake--or (perhaps) _Mde-uma_--Hazel-nut Lake. The lake nearest
+Calhoun on the north--Lake of the Isles--they called _Wi-ta
+Mde_--Island-Lake. Lake Minnetonka they called _Me-ne-a-tan-ka_--_Broad
+Water_.
+
+[80] The animal called by the French _voyageurs_ the _cabri_ (the kid) is
+found only on the prairies. It is of the goat kind, smaller than a deer
+and so swift that neither horse nor dog can overtake it. (Snelling's
+"_Tales of the Northwest_," p. 286, note 15.) It is the gazelle, or
+prairie antelope, called by the Dakotas _Ta-toka-dan_--little antelope.
+It is the _Pish-tah-te-koosh_ of the Algonkin tribes, "reckoned the
+fleetest animal in the prairie country about the Assiniboin." _Captivity
+and Adventures of John Tanner_, p. 301.
+
+[81] The _Wicastapi Wakanpi_ (literally, _men supernatural_) are the
+"Medicine-men" or Magicians of the Dakotas. They call themselves the
+sons or disciples of _Unktehee_. In their rites, ceremonies, tricks and
+pretensions they closely resemble the _Dactyli, Idae_, and _Curetes_ of
+the ancient Greeks and Romans, the _Magi_ of the Persians and the Druids
+of Britain. Their pretended intercourse with spirits, their powers of
+magic and divination, and their rites are substantially the same, and
+point unmistakably to a common origin. The Dakota "Medicine-Man" can do
+the "rope trick" of the Hindoo magician to perfection. The _teepee_ used
+for the _Wakan Wacipee_--or Sacred Dance--is called the _Wakan
+Teepee_--the Sacred Teepee. Carvers Cave at St. Paul was also called
+_Wakan Teepee_ because the Medicine-men or magicians often held their
+dances and feasts in it. For a full account of the rites, etc., see
+Riggs' _Tahkoo Wahkan_, Chapter VI. The _Ta-sha-ke_--literally,
+"Deer-hoofs"--is a rattle made by hanging the hard segments of
+deer-hoofs to a wooden rod a foot long--about an inch in diameter at the
+handle end, and tapering to a point at the other. The clashing of these
+horny bits makes a sharp, shrill sound something like distant
+sleigh-bells. In their incantations over the sick they sometimes use the
+gourd shell rattle.
+
+The _Chan-che-ga_--is a drum or "Wooden Kettle." The hoop of the drum is
+from a foot to eighteen inches in diameter, and from three to ten inches
+deep. The skin covering is stretched over one end, making a drum with
+one end only. The magical drum-sticks are ornamented with down, and
+heads of birds or animals are carved on them. This makes them _Wakan_.
+
+The flute called _Cho-tanka_ (big pith) is of two varieties--one made of
+sumac, the pith of which is punched out. The second variety is made of
+the long bone of the wing or thigh of the swan or crane. They call the
+first the _bubbling chotanka_ from the tremulous note it gives when
+blown with all the holes stopped. Riggs' _Tahkoo Wahkan_, p. 476, et
+seq.
+
+_E-ne-pee_--vapor-bath, is used as a purification preparatory to the
+sacred feasts. The vapor-bath is taken in this way: "A number of poles,
+the size of hoop-poles or less, are taken, and their larger ends being
+set in the ground in a circle, the flexible tops are bent over and tied
+in the center. This frame-work is then covered with robes and blankets,
+a small hole being left on one side for an entrance. Before the door a
+fire is built, and round stones about the size of a man's head, are
+heated in it. When hot they are rolled within, and the door being closed
+steam is made by pouring water on them. The devotee, stripped to the
+skin, sits within this steam-tight dome, sweating profusely at every
+pore, until he is nearly suffocated. Sometimes a number engage in it
+together and unite their prayers and songs." _Tahkoo Wakan_, p. 83.
+Father Hennepin was subjected to the vapor-bath at Mille Lacs by Chief
+_Aqui-pa-que-tin_, two hundred years ago. After describing the method,
+Hennepin says: "When he had made me sweat thus three times in a week, I
+felt as strong as ever." Shea's Hennepin, p. 228. For a very full and
+accurate account of the Medicine-men of the Dakotas, and their rites,
+etc., see Chap. II, Neill's Hist. Minnesota.
+
+[82] The sacred _O-zu-ha_--or Medicine sack must be made of the skin of
+the otter, the coon, the weasel, the squirrel, the loon, a certain kind
+of fish or the skins of serpents. It must contain four kinds of medicine
+(or magic) representing birds, beasts, herbs and trees, viz.: The down
+of the female swan colored red, the roots of certain grasses, bark from
+the roots of cedar trees, and hair of the buffalo. "From this
+combination proceeds a Wakan influence so powerful that no human being,
+unassisted, can resist it." Wonderful indeed must be the magic power of
+these Dakota Druids to lead such a man as the Rev. S.R. Riggs to say of
+them: "By great shrewdness, untiring industry, and more or less of
+_actual demoniacal possession_, they convince great numbers of their
+fellows, and in the process are convinced themselves of their sacred
+character and office." _Tahkoo Wakan_, pp. 88-9.
+
+[83] _Gah-ma-na-tek-wahk--the river of many falls_--is the Ojibway name of
+the river commonly called Kaministiguia, near the mouth of which is
+situated Fort William. The view on Thunder-Bay is one of the grandest in
+America. Thunder-Cap, with its sleeping stone-giant, looms up into the
+heavens. Here _Ka-be-bon-ikka_--the Ojibway's god of storms--flaps his
+huge wings and makes the Thunder. From this mountain he sends forth the
+rain, the snow, the hail, the lightning and the tempest. A vast giant,
+turned to stone by his magic, lies asleep at his feet. The island called
+by the Ojibways the _Mak-i-nak_ (the turtle) from its tortoise-like
+shape, lifts its huge form in the distance. Some "down-east Yankee"
+called it "Pie-island," from its fancied resemblance to a pumpkin pie,
+and the name, like all bad names, _sticks_. McKay's Mountain on the
+mainland, a perpendicular rock more than a thousand feet high, upheaved
+by the throes of some vast volcano, and numerous other bold and
+precipitous headlands, and rock-built islands, around which roll the
+sapphire-blue waters of the fathomless bay, present some of the most
+magnificent views to be found on either continent.
+
+[84] The Mission of the Holy Ghost--at La Pointe, on the isle
+_Wauga-ba-me_--(winding view) in the beautiful bay of Cha-quam-egon
+--was founded by the Jesuits about the year 1660. Father Rene Menard was
+probably the first priest at this point. After he was lost in the
+wilderness, Father Glaude Allouez permanently established the mission in
+1665. The famous Father Marquette, who took Allouez's place, Sept. 13,
+1669, writing to his superior, thus describes the Dakotas: "The
+Nadouessi are the Iroquois of this country, beyond La Pointe, _but less
+faithless, and never attack till attacked._ Their language is entirely
+different from the Huron and Algonquin. They have many villages but are
+widely scattered. They have very extraordinary customs. They principally
+use the calumet. They do not speak at great feasts, and when a stranger
+arrives give him to eat of a wooden fork, as we would a child. All the
+lake tribes make war on them, but with small success. They have false
+oats (wild rice,) use little canoes, _and keep their word strictly_."
+_Neill's Hist. Minn._, p. III.
+
+[85] _Michabo_ or _Manni-bozo_--the Good Spirit of the Algonkins. In
+autumn, in the moon of the falling leaf, ere he composes himself to his
+winter's sleep, he fills his great pipe and takes a god-like smoke. The
+balmy clouds from his pipe float over the hills and woodland, filling
+the air with the haze of "Indian Summer." _Brinton's Myths of the New
+World_, p. 163.
+
+[86] Pronounced _Kah-thah-gah_--literally, _the place of waves and foam_.
+This was the principal village of the _Isantee_ band of Dakotas two
+hundred years ago, and was located at the Falls of St. Anthony, which
+the Dakotas called the _Ha-ha_,--pronounced _Rhah-rhah_,--the
+_loud-laughing waters_. The Dakotas believed that the Falls were in the
+center of the earth. Here dwelt the _Great Unktehee_, the creator of the
+earth and man: and from this place a path led to the Spirit-land. DuLuth
+undoubtedly visited Kathaga in the year 1679. In his "Memoir" (Archives
+of the Ministry of the Marine) addressed to Seignelay, 1685, he says:
+"On the 2nd of July, 1679, I had the honor to plant his Majesty's arms
+in the great village of the Nadouecioux called Izatys, where never had a
+Frenchman been, etc." _Izatys_ is here used not as the name of the
+village, but as the name of the band--the _Isantees_. _Nadouecioux_ was
+a name given the Dakotas generally by the early French traders and the
+Ojibways. See _Shea's Hennepin's Description of Louisiana_, pp. 203 and
+375. The villages of the Dakotas were not permanent towns. They were
+hardly more than camping grounds, occupied at intervals and for longer
+or shorter periods, as suited the convenience of the hunters; yet there
+were certain places, like Mille Lacs, the Falls of St. Anthony, _Kapoza_
+(near St. Paul), _Remnica_ (where the city of Red Wing now stands), and
+_Keuxa_ (or _Keoza_) on the site of the city of Winona, so frequently
+occupied by several of the bands as to be considered their chief
+villages respectively.
+
+Mr. Neill, usually very accurate and painstaking, has fallen into an
+error in his prefatory notes to the last edition of his valuable
+_History of Minnesota_. Speaking of DuLuth, he says:
+
+"He appears to have entered Minnesota by way of the Pigeon or St. Louis
+River, and to have explored where no Frenchman had been, and on July 2,
+1679, was at _Kathio_ (_Kathaga_) perhaps on Red Lake or Lake of the
+Woods, which was called 'the great village of the Wadouessioux,' one
+hundred and twenty leagues from the _Songaskicons_ and _Houetepons_ who
+were dwellers _in the Mille Lac region_."
+
+Now _Kathaga_ (Mr. Neill's _Kathio_) was located at the Falls of St.
+Anthony on the Mississippi as the whole current of Dakota traditions
+clearly shows and DuLuth's dispatches clearly indicate. Besides, the
+_Songaskicons_ and _Houetepons_ were _not_ and never were "dwellers in
+the Mille Lac region." The Songaskicons (Sissetons) were at that time
+located on the Des Moines river (in Iowa), and the Houetabons
+(Ouadebatons) at and around Big Stone Lake. The Isantees occupied the
+region lying between the mouth of the Minnesota River and Spirit Lake
+(Mille Lacs) with their principal village--_Kathaga_--where the city of
+Minneapolis now stands. These facts account for the "one hundred and
+twenty leagues" as distances were roughly reckoned by the early French
+explorers.
+
+September 1, 1678, Daniel Greysolon DuLuth, a native of Lyons, France,
+left Quebec to explore the country of the Dakotas. "The next year (1679)
+on the 2nd day of July, he caused the king's arms to be planted in the
+great village of the Nadouessioux (Dakotas) called Kathio" (_Kathaga_)
+"where no Frenchman had ever been, also at the Songaskicons and
+Houetabons, one hundred and twenty leagues distant from the former. * *
+* * On this tour he visited Mille Lacs, which he called Lake Buade, the
+family name of Frontenac, governor of Canada." _Neill''s History of
+Minnesota_, p. 122. This is correct, except the name of the
+village--_Kathio_, which is a misprint or perhaps an error of a copyist.
+It should be _Kathaga_. DuLuth was again at the Falls of St. Anthony in
+1680 and returned to Lake Superior via the Mississippi, Rum River and
+Mille Lacs, according to his own dispatches.
+
+Franquelin's "_Carte de la Louisiane_" printed at Paris A.D. 1684, from
+information derived from DuLuth, who visited France in 1682-3, and
+conferred with the minister of the Colonies and the minister of
+Marine--shows the inaccuracy, as to points of compass at least, of the
+early French explorers. According to this map, Lake Buade (Mille Lacs)
+lies north-west of Lake Superior and Lake Pepin lies due west of it.
+
+DuLuth was afterward appointed to the command of Fort Frontenac near
+Niagara Falls, and died there in 1710. The official dispatch from the
+Governor of Canada to the French Government is, as regards the great
+explorer, brief and expressive--"Captain DuLuth is dead. He was an
+honest man."
+
+To Daniel Greysolon DuLuth, and not to Father Hennepin, whom he rescued
+from his captors at Mille Lacs, belongs the credit of the first
+exploration of Minnesota by white men.
+
+Father Hennepin was a self-conceited and self-convicted liar. Daniel
+Greysolon DuLuth "was an honest man."
+
+
+
+
+NOTES TO THE SEA-GULL
+
+
+[1] _Kay-oshk_ is the Ojibway name for the sea-gull.
+
+[2] _Gitchee_--great,--_Gumee_--sea or lake,--Lake Superior; also often
+called _Ochipwe Gitchee Gumee_, Great lake (or sea) of the Ojibways.
+
+[3] _Ne-me-Shomis_--my grandfather. "In the days of my grandfather" is
+the Ojibway's preface to all his traditions and legends.
+
+[4] _Waub_--white--_O-jeeg_--fisher, (a furred animal). White Fisher was
+the name of a noted Ojibway chief who lived on the south shore of Lake
+Superior many years ago. Schoolcraft married one of his descendants.
+
+[5] _Ma-kwa_ or _mush-kwa_--the bear.
+
+[6] The _Te-ke-nah-gun_ is a board upon one side of which a sort of basket
+is fastened or woven with thongs of skin or strips of cloth. In this the
+babe is placed and the mother carries it on her back. In the wigwam the
+_tekenagun_ is often suspended by a cord to the lodge-poles and the
+mother swings her babe in it.
+
+[7] _Wabose_ (or _Wabos_)-the rabbit. _Penay_, the pheasant. At certain
+seasons the pheasant drums with his wings.
+
+[8] _Kaug_, the porcupine. _Kenew_, the war-eagle.
+
+[9] _Ka-be-bon-ik-ka_ is the god of storms, thunder, lightning, etc. His
+home is on Thunder-Cap at Thunder-Bay, Lake Superior. By his magic the
+giant that lies on the mountain was turned to stone. He always sends
+warnings before he finally sends the severe cold of winter, in order to
+give all creatures time to prepare for it.
+
+[10] _Kewaydin_ or _Kewaytin_, is the North wind or North-west wind.
+
+[11] _Algonkin_ is the general name applied to all tribes that speak the
+Ojibway language or dialects of it.
+
+[12] This is the favorite "love-broth" of the Ojibway squaws. The warrior
+who drinks it immediately falls desperately in love with the woman who
+gives it to him. Various tricks are devised to conceal the nature of the
+"medicine" and to induce the warrior to drink it; but when it is mixed
+with a liberal quantity of "fire-water" it is considered irresistible.
+
+[13] Translation:
+
+  Woe-is-me! Woe-is-me!
+  Great Spirit, behold me!
+  Look, Father; have pity upon me!
+  Woe-is-me! Woe-is-me!
+
+[14] Snow-storms from the North-west.
+
+[15] The Ojibways, like the Dakotas, call the _Via Lactea_ (Milky Way) the
+Pathway of the Spirits.
+
+[16] _Shinge-bis_, the diver, is the only water-fowl that remains about
+Lake Superior all winter.
+
+[17] _Waub-ese_--the white swan.
+
+[18] _Pe-boan_, Winter, is represented as an old man with long white hair
+and beard.
+
+[19] _Segun_ is Spring (or Summer). This beautiful allegory has been "done
+into verse" by Longfellow in _Hiawatha_. Longfellow evidently took his
+version from Schoolcraft. I took mine originally from the lips of
+_Pah-go-nay-gie-shiek_--"Hole-in-the-day"--(the elder) in his day
+head-chief of the Ojibways. I afterward submitted it to _Gitche
+Shabash-Konk_, head-chief of the _Misse-sah-ga-e-gun_--(Mille Lacs band
+of Ojibways), who pronounced it correct.
+
+"Hole-in-the-day," although sanctioned by years of unchallenged use, is
+a bad translation of _Pah-go-nay-gie-shiek_, which means a _clear spot
+in the sky_.
+
+[Illustration: HOLE-IN-THE-DAY. _From an original photograph in the
+author's possession._]
+
+He was a very intelligent man; had been in Washington several times on
+business connected with his people, and was always shrewd enough to
+look out for himself in all his treaties and transactions with the
+Government. He stood six feet two inches in his moccasins, was
+well-proportioned, and had a remarkably fine face. He had a
+nickname--_Que-we-zanc_--(Little Boy) by which he was familiarly called
+by his people.
+
+The Pillagers--_Nah-kand-tway-we-nin-ni-wak_--who live about Leech Lake
+(_Kah-sah-gah-squah-g-me-cock_) were opposed to _Pa-go-nay-gie-shiek_,
+but he compelled them through fear to recognize him as Head-Chief. At
+the time of the "Sioux outbreak" in 1862 "Hole-in-the-day" for a time
+apparently meditated an alliance with the _Po-ah-nuck_ (Dakotas) and war
+upon the whites. The Pillagers and some other bands urged him strongly
+to this course, and his supremacy as head-chief was threatened unless he
+complied. Messengers from the Dakotas were undoubtedly received by him,
+and he, for a time at least, led the Dakotas to believe that their
+hereditary enemies, the Ojibways, would bury the hatchet and join them
+in a war of extermination against the whites. "Hole-in-the-day," with a
+band of his warriors, appeared opposite Fort Ripley (situated on the
+west bank of the Mississippi River between Little Falls and Crow Wing),
+and assumed a threatening attitude toward the fort, then garrisoned by
+volunteer troops. The soldiers were drawn up on the right bank and
+"Hole-in-the-day" and his warriors on the left. A little speech-making
+settled the matter for the time being and very soon thereafter a new
+treaty was made with "Hole-in-the-day" and his head men, by which their
+friendship and allegiance were secured to the whites. It was claimed by
+the Pillagers that "Hole-in-the-day" seized the occasion to profit
+personally in his negotiations with the agents of the Government.
+
+In 1867 "Hole-in-the-day" took "another wife." He married Helen McCarty,
+a white woman, in Washington, D.C., and took her to his home at Gull
+Lake (_Ka-ga-ya-skunc-cock_) literally, _plenty of little gulls_.
+
+She bore him a son who is known as Joseph H. Woodbury, and now (1891)
+resides in the city of Minneapolis. His marriage with a white woman
+increased the hatred of the Pillagers, and they shot him from ambush and
+killed him near _Ninge-ta-we-de-gua-yonk_--Crow Wing--on the 27th day of
+June, 1868.
+
+At the time of his death, "Hole-in-the-day" was only thirty-seven years
+old but had been recognized as Head-Chief for a long time. He could
+speak some English, and was far above the average of white men in
+native shrewdness and intelligence. He was thoroughly posted in the
+traditions and legends of his people.
+
+The Ojibways have for many years been cursed by contact with the worst
+elements of the whites, and seem to have adopted the vices rather than
+the virtues of civilization. I once spoke of this to "Hole-in-the-day."
+His reply was terse and truthful--"_Madge tche-mo-ko-mon, madge
+a-nische-nabe: menoge tche-mo-ko-mon, meno a-nische-nabe_.--Bad white
+men, bad Indians: good white men, good Indians."
+
+[20] _Nah_--look, see. _Nashke_--behold.
+
+[21] _Kee-zis_--the sun,--the father of life. _Waubunong_--or
+_Waub-o-nong_--is the White Land or Land of Light,--the Sun-rise, the
+East.
+
+[22] The Bridge of Stars spans the vast sea of the skies, and the sun and
+moon walk over on it.
+
+[23] The _Miscodeed_ is a small white flower with a pink border. It is the
+earliest blooming wild flower on the shores of Lake Superior, and
+belongs to the crocus family.
+
+[24] The _Ne-be-naw-baigs_, are Water-spirits; they dwell in caverns in
+the depths of the lake, and in some respects resemble the _Unktehee_ of
+the Dakotas.
+
+[25] _Ogema_, Chief,--_Oge-ma-kwa_--female Chief. Among the Algonkin
+tribes women are sometimes made chiefs. _Net-no-kwa_, who adopted Tanner
+as her son, was _Oge-ma-kwa_ of a band of Ottawas. See _John Tanner's
+Narrative_, p. 36.
+
+[26] The "Bridge of Souls" leads from the earth over dark and stormy
+waters to the spirit-land. The "Dark River" seems to have been a part of
+the superstitions of all nations.
+
+[27] The _Jossakeeds_ of the Ojibways are soothsayers who are able, by the
+aid of spirits, to read the past as well as the future.
+
+FINIS
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Feast of the Virgins and Other
+Poems, by H. L. Gordon
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