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diff --git a/15205.txt b/15205.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..de94722 --- /dev/null +++ b/15205.txt @@ -0,0 +1,13821 @@ +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 + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE FEAST OF THE VIRGINS *** + +***** This file should be named 15205.txt or 15205.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/1/5/2/0/15205/ + +Produced by Eric Eldred, Susan Skinner and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team. 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