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+Project Gutenberg EBook, The Bridal of Pennacook, by Whittier
+From Volume I., The Works of Whittier: Narrative and Legendary Poems
+#6 in our series by John Greenleaf Whittier
+
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+Title: Narrative and Legendary Poems: The Bridal of Pennacook
+       From Volume I., The Works of Whittier
+
+Author: John Greenleaf Whittier
+
+Release Date: Dec, 2005  [EBook #9561]
+[Yes, we are more than one year ahead of schedule]
+[This file was first posted on October 2, 2003]
+
+
+Edition: 10
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ASCII
+
+
+
+
+*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK, THE BRIDAL OF PENNACOOK ***
+
+
+
+
+This eBook was produced by David Widger
+
+
+
+
+
+                        NARRATIVE AND LEGENDARY
+
+                                 POEMS
+
+                                   BY
+                        JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER
+
+
+
+
+
+THE BRIDAL OF PENNACOOK
+     I.    THE MERRIMAC
+     II.   THE BASHABA
+     III.  THE DAUGHTER
+     IV.   THE WEDDING
+     V.    THE NEW HOME
+     VI.   AT PENNACOOK
+     VII.  THE DEPARTURE
+     VIII. SONG OF INDIAN WOMEN
+
+
+
+
+THE BRIDAL OF PENNACOOK.
+
+
+Winnepurkit, otherwise called George, Sachem of Saugus, married a
+daughter of Passaconaway, the great Pennacook chieftain, in 1662. The
+wedding took place at Pennacook (now Concord, N. H.), and the ceremonies
+closed with a great feast. According to the usages of the chiefs,
+Passaconaway ordered a select number of his men to accompany the
+newly-married couple to the dwelling of the husband, where in turn there
+was another great feast. Some time after, the wife of Winnepurkit
+expressing a desire to visit her father's house was permitted to go,
+accompanied by a brave escort of her husband's chief men. But when she
+wished to return, her father sent a messenger to Saugus, informing her
+husband, and asking him to come and take her away. He returned for
+answer that he had escorted his wife to her father's house in a style
+that became a chief, and that now if she wished to return, her father
+must send her back, in the same way. This Passaconaway refused to do,
+and it is said that here terminated the connection of his daughter with
+the Saugus chief.--Vide MORTON'S New Canaan.
+
+
+WE had been wandering for many days
+Through the rough northern country. We had seen
+The sunset, with its bars of purple cloud,
+Like a new heaven, shine upward from the lake
+Of Winnepiseogee; and had felt
+The sunrise breezes, midst the leafy isles
+Which stoop their summer beauty to the lips
+Of the bright waters. We had checked our steeds,
+Silent with wonder, where the mountain wall
+Is piled to heaven; and, through the narrow rift
+Of the vast rocks, against whose rugged feet
+Beats the mad torrent with perpetual roar,
+Where noonday is as twilight, and the wind
+Comes burdened with the everlasting moan
+Of forests and of far-off waterfalls,
+We had looked upward where the summer sky,
+Tasselled with clouds light-woven by the sun,
+Sprung its blue arch above the abutting crags
+O'er-roofing the vast portal of the land
+Beyond the wall of mountains. We had passed
+The high source of the Saco; and bewildered
+In the dwarf spruce-belts of the Crystal Hills,
+Had heard above us, like a voice in the cloud,
+The horn of Fabyan sounding; and atop
+Of old Agioochook had seen the mountains'
+Piled to the northward, shagged with wood, and thick
+As meadow mole-hills,--the far sea of Casco,
+A white gleam on the horizon of the east;
+Fair lakes, embosomed in the woods and hills;
+Moosehillock's mountain range, and Kearsarge
+Lifting his granite forehead to the sun!
+
+And we had rested underneath the oaks
+Shadowing the bank, whose grassy spires are shaken
+By the perpetual beating of the falls
+Of the wild Ammonoosuc. We had tracked
+The winding Pemigewasset, overhung
+By beechen shadows, whitening down its rocks,
+Or lazily gliding through its intervals,
+From waving rye-fields sending up the gleam
+Of sunlit waters. We had seen the moon
+Rising behind Umbagog's eastern pines,
+Like a great Indian camp-fire; and its beams
+At midnight spanning with a bridge of silver
+The Merrimac by Uncanoonuc's falls.
+
+There were five souls of us whom travel's chance
+Had thrown together in these wild north hills
+A city lawyer, for a month escaping
+From his dull office, where the weary eye
+Saw only hot brick walls and close thronged streets;
+Briefless as yet, but with an eye to see
+Life's sunniest side, and with a heart to take
+Its chances all as godsends; and his brother,
+Pale from long pulpit studies, yet retaining
+The warmth and freshness of a genial heart,
+Whose mirror of the beautiful and true,
+In Man and Nature, was as yet undimmed
+By dust of theologic strife, or breath
+Of sect, or cobwebs of scholastic lore;
+Like a clear crystal calm of water, taking
+The hue and image of o'erleaning flowers,
+Sweet human faces, white clouds of the noon,
+Slant starlight glimpses through the dewy leaves,
+And tenderest moonrise. 'T was, in truth, a study,
+To mark his spirit, alternating between
+A decent and professional gravity
+And an irreverent mirthfulness, which often
+Laughed in the face of his divinity,
+Plucked off the sacred ephod, quite unshrined
+The oracle, and for the pattern priest
+Left us the man. A shrewd, sagacious merchant,
+To whom the soiled sheet found in Crawford's inn,
+Giving the latest news of city stocks
+And sales of cotton, had a deeper meaning
+Than the great presence of the awful mountains
+Glorified by the sunset; and his daughter,
+A delicate flower on whom had blown too long
+Those evil winds, which, sweeping from the ice
+And winnowing the fogs of Labrador,
+Shed their cold blight round Massachusetts Bay,
+With the same breath which stirs Spring's opening leaves
+And lifts her half-formed flower-bell on its stem,
+Poisoning our seaside atmosphere.
+
+It chanced that as we turned upon our homeward way,
+A drear northeastern storm came howling up
+The valley of the Saco; and that girl
+Who had stood with us upon Mount Washington,
+Her brown locks ruffled by the wind which whirled
+In gusts around its sharp, cold pinnacle,
+Who had joined our gay trout-fishing in the streams
+Which lave that giant's feet; whose laugh was heard
+Like a bird's carol on the sunrise breeze
+Which swelled our sail amidst the lake's green islands,
+Shrank from its harsh, chill breath, and visibly drooped
+Like a flower in the frost. So, in that quiet inn
+Which looks from Conway on the mountains piled
+Heavily against the horizon of the north,
+Like summer thunder-clouds, we made our home
+And while the mist hung over dripping hills,
+And the cold wind-driven rain-drops all day long
+Beat their sad music upon roof and pane,
+We strove to cheer our gentle invalid.
+
+The lawyer in the pauses of the storm
+Went angling down the Saco, and, returning,
+Recounted his adventures and mishaps;
+Gave us the history of his scaly clients,
+Mingling with ludicrous yet apt citations
+Of barbarous law Latin, passages
+From Izaak Walton's Angler, sweet and fresh
+As the flower-skirted streams of Staffordshire,
+Where, under aged trees, the southwest wind
+Of soft June mornings fanned the thin, white hair
+Of the sage fisher. And, if truth be told,
+Our youthful candidate forsook his sermons,
+His commentaries, articles and creeds,
+For the fair page of human loveliness,
+The missal of young hearts, whose sacred text
+Is music, its illumining, sweet smiles.
+He sang the songs she loved; and in his low,
+Deep, earnest voice, recited many a page
+Of poetry, the holiest, tenderest lines
+Of the sad bard of Olney, the sweet songs,
+Simple and beautiful as Truth and Nature,
+Of him whose whitened locks on Rydal Mount
+Are lifted yet by morning breezes blowing
+From the green hills, immortal in his lays.
+And for myself, obedient to her wish,
+I searched our landlord's proffered library,--
+A well-thumbed Bunyan, with its nice wood pictures
+Of scaly fiends and angels not unlike them;
+Watts' unmelodious psalms; Astrology's
+Last home, a musty pile of almanacs,
+And an old chronicle of border wars
+And Indian history. And, as I read
+A story of the marriage of the Chief
+Of Saugus to the dusky Weetamoo,
+Daughter of Passaconaway, who dwelt
+In the old time upon the Merrimac,
+Our fair one, in the playful exercise
+Of her prerogative,--the right divine
+Of youth and beauty,--bade us versify
+The legend, and with ready pencil sketched
+Its plan and outlines, laughingly assigning
+To each his part, and barring our excuses
+With absolute will. So, like the cavaliers
+Whose voices still are heard in the Romance
+Of silver-tongued Boccaccio, on the banks
+Of Arno, with soft tales of love beguiling
+The ear of languid beauty, plague-exiled
+From stately Florence, we rehearsed our rhymes
+To their fair auditor, and shared by turns
+Her kind approval and her playful censure.
+
+It may be that these fragments owe alone
+To the fair setting of their circumstances,--
+The associations of time, scene, and audience,--
+Their place amid the pictures which fill up
+The chambers of my memory. Yet I trust
+That some, who sigh, while wandering in thought,
+Pilgrims of Romance o'er the olden world,
+That our broad land,--our sea-like lakes and mountains
+Piled to the clouds, our rivers overhung
+By forests which have known no other change
+For ages than the budding and the fall
+Of leaves, our valleys lovelier than those
+Which the old poets sang of,--should but figure
+On the apocryphal chart of speculation
+As pastures, wood-lots, mill-sites, with the privileges,
+Rights, and appurtenances, which make up
+A Yankee Paradise, unsung, unknown,
+To beautiful tradition; even their names,
+Whose melody yet lingers like the last
+Vibration of the red man's requiem,
+Exchanged for syllables significant,
+Of cotton-mill and rail-car, will look kindly
+Upon this effort to call up the ghost
+Of our dim Past, and listen with pleased ear
+To the responses of the questioned Shade.
+
+I. THE MERRIMAC.
+O child of that white-crested mountain whose
+springs
+Gush forth in the shade of the cliff-eagle's
+wings,
+Down whose slopes to the lowlands thy wild waters
+shine,
+Leaping gray walls of rock, flashing through the
+dwarf pine;
+From that cloud-curtained cradle so cold and so
+lone,
+From the arms of that wintry-locked mother of
+stone,
+By hills hung with forests, through vales wide and
+free,
+Thy mountain-born brightness glanced down to the
+sea.
+
+No bridge arched thy waters save that where the
+trees
+Stretched their long arms above thee and kissed in
+the breeze:
+No sound save the lapse of the waves on thy
+shores,
+The plunging of otters, the light dip of oars.
+
+Green-tufted, oak-shaded, by Amoskeag's fall
+Thy twin Uncanoonucs rose stately and tall,
+Thy Nashua meadows lay green and unshorn,
+And the hills of Pentucket were tasselled with
+corn.
+But thy Pennacook valley was fairer than these,
+And greener its grasses and taller its trees,
+Ere the sound of an axe in the forest had rung,
+Or the mower his scythe in the meadows had
+swung.
+
+In their sheltered repose looking out from the
+wood
+The bark-builded wigwams of Pennacook stood;
+There glided the corn-dance, the council-fire shone,
+And against the red war-post the hatchet was
+thrown.
+
+There the old smoked in silence their pipes, and
+the young
+To the pike and the white-perch their baited lines
+flung;
+There the boy shaped his arrows, and there the
+shy maid
+Wove her many-hued baskets and bright wampum
+braid.
+
+O Stream of the Mountains! if answer of thine
+Could rise from thy waters to question of mine,
+Methinks through the din of thy thronged banks
+a moan
+Of sorrow would swell for the days which have
+gone.
+
+Not for thee the dull jar of the loom and the wheel,
+The gliding of shuttles, the ringing of steel;
+But that old voice of waters, of bird and of breeze,
+The dip of the wild-fowl, the rustling of trees.
+
+
+II. THE BASHABA.
+Lift we the twilight curtains of the Past,
+And, turning from familiar sight and sound,
+Sadly and full of reverence let us cast
+A glance upon Tradition's shadowy ground,
+Led by the few pale lights which, glimmering round
+That dim, strange land of Eld, seem dying fast;
+And that which history gives not to the eye,
+The faded coloring of Time's tapestry,
+Let Fancy, with her dream-dipped brush, supply.
+
+Roof of bark and walls of pine,
+Through whose chinks the sunbeams shine,
+Tracing many a golden line
+On the ample floor within;
+Where, upon that earth-floor stark,
+Lay the gaudy mats of bark,
+With the bear's hide, rough and dark,
+And the red-deer's skin.
+
+Window-tracery, small and slight,
+Woven of the willow white,
+Lent a dimly checkered light;
+And the night-stars glimmered down,
+Where the lodge-fire's heavy smoke,
+Slowly through an opening broke,
+In the low roof, ribbed with oak,
+Sheathed with hemlock brown.
+
+Gloomed behind the changeless shade
+By the solemn pine-wood made;
+Through the rugged palisade,
+In the open foreground planted,
+Glimpses came of rowers rowing,
+Stir of leaves and wild-flowers blowing,
+Steel-like gleams of water flowing,
+In the sunlight slanted.
+
+Here the mighty Bashaba
+Held his long-unquestioned sway,
+From the White Hills, far away,
+To the great sea's sounding shore;
+Chief of chiefs, his regal word
+All the river Sachems heard,
+At his call the war-dance stirred,
+Or was still once more.
+
+There his spoils of chase and war,
+Jaw of wolf and black bear's paw,
+Panther's skin and eagle's claw,
+Lay beside his axe and bow;
+And, adown the roof-pole hung,
+Loosely on a snake-skin strung,
+In the smoke his scalp-locks swung
+Grimly to and fro.
+
+Nightly down the river going,
+Swifter was the hunter's rowing,
+When he saw that lodge-fire, glowing
+O'er the waters still and red;
+And the squaw's dark eye burned brighter,
+And she drew her blanket tighter,
+As, with quicker step and lighter,
+From that door she fled.
+
+For that chief had magic skill,
+And a Panisee's dark will,
+Over powers of good and ill,
+Powers which bless and powers which ban;
+Wizard lord of Pennacook,
+Chiefs upon their war-path shook,
+When they met the steady look
+Of that wise dark man.
+
+Tales of him the gray squaw told,
+When the winter night-wind cold
+Pierced her blanket's thickest fold,
+And her fire burned low and small,
+Till the very child abed,
+Drew its bear-skin over bead,
+Shrinking from the pale lights shed
+On the trembling wall.
+
+All the subtle spirits hiding
+Under earth or wave, abiding
+In the caverned rock, or riding
+Misty clouds or morning breeze;
+Every dark intelligence,
+Secret soul, and influence
+Of all things which outward sense
+Feels, or bears, or sees,--
+
+These the wizard's skill confessed,
+At his bidding banned or blessed,
+Stormful woke or lulled to rest
+Wind and cloud, and fire and flood;
+Burned for him the drifted snow,
+Bade through ice fresh lilies blow,
+And the leaves of summer grow
+Over winter's wood!
+
+Not untrue that tale of old!
+Now, as then, the wise and bold
+All the powers of Nature hold
+Subject to their kingly will;
+From the wondering crowds ashore,
+Treading life's wild waters o'er,
+As upon a marble floor,
+Moves the strong man still.
+
+Still, to such, life's elements
+With their sterner laws dispense,
+And the chain of consequence
+Broken in their pathway lies;
+Time and change their vassals making,
+Flowers from icy pillows waking,
+Tresses of the sunrise shaking
+Over midnight skies.
+Still, to th' earnest soul, the sun
+Rests on towered Gibeon,
+And the moon of Ajalon
+Lights the battle-grounds of life;
+To his aid the strong reverses
+Hidden powers and giant forces,
+And the high stars, in their courses,
+Mingle in his strife!
+
+
+III. THE DAUGHTER.
+The soot-black brows of men, the yell
+Of women thronging round the bed,
+The tinkling charm of ring and shell,
+The Powah whispering o'er the dead!
+
+All these the Sachem's home had known,
+When, on her journey long and wild
+To the dim World of Souls, alone,
+In her young beauty passed the mother of his child.
+
+Three bow-shots from the Sachem's dwelling
+They laid her in the walnut shade,
+Where a green hillock gently swelling
+Her fitting mound of burial made.
+There trailed the vine in summer hours,
+The tree-perched squirrel dropped his shell,--
+On velvet moss and pale-hued flowers,
+Woven with leaf and spray, the softened sunshine fell!
+
+The Indian's heart is hard and cold,
+It closes darkly o'er its care,
+And formed in Nature's sternest mould,
+Is slow to feel, and strong to bear.
+The war-paint on the Sachem's face,
+Unwet with tears, shone fierce and red,
+And still, in battle or in chase,
+Dry leaf and snow-rime crisped beneath his
+foremost tread.
+
+Yet when her name was heard no more,
+And when the robe her mother gave,
+And small, light moccasin she wore,
+Had slowly wasted on her grave,
+Unmarked of him the dark maids sped
+Their sunset dance and moonlit play;
+No other shared his lonely bed,
+No other fair young head upon his bosom lay.
+
+A lone, stern man. Yet, as sometimes
+The tempest-smitten tree receives
+From one small root the sap which climbs
+Its topmost spray and crowning leaves,
+So from his child the Sachem drew
+A life of Love and Hope, and felt
+His cold and rugged nature through
+The softness and the warmth of her young
+being melt.
+
+A laugh which in the woodland rang
+Bemocking April's gladdest bird,--
+A light and graceful form which sprang
+To meet him when his step was heard,--
+Eyes by his lodge-fire flashing dark,
+Small fingers stringing bead and shell
+Or weaving mats of bright-hued bark,--
+With these the household-god [3] had graced
+his wigwam well.
+
+Child of the forest! strong and free,
+Slight-robed, with loosely flowing hair,
+She swam the lake or climbed the tree,
+Or struck the flying bird in air.
+O'er the heaped drifts of winter's moon
+Her snow-shoes tracked the hunter's way;
+And dazzling in the summer noon
+The blade of her light oar threw off its shower
+of spray!
+
+Unknown to her the rigid rule,
+The dull restraint, the chiding frown,
+The weary torture of the school,
+The taming of wild nature down.
+Her only lore, the legends told
+Around the hunter's fire at night;
+Stars rose and set, and seasons rolled,
+Flowers bloomed and snow-flakes fell, unquestioned
+in her sight.
+
+Unknown to her the subtle skill
+With which the artist-eye can trace
+In rock and tree and lake and hill
+The outlines of divinest grace;
+Unknown the fine soul's keen unrest,
+Which sees, admires, yet yearns alway;
+Too closely on her mother's breast
+To note her smiles of love the child of Nature lay!
+
+It is enough for such to be
+Of common, natural things a part,
+To feel, with bird and stream and tree,
+The pulses of the same great heart;
+But we, from Nature long exiled,
+In our cold homes of Art and Thought
+Grieve like the stranger-tended child,
+Which seeks its mother's arms, and sees but feels
+them not.
+
+The garden rose may richly bloom
+In cultured soil and genial air,
+To cloud the light of Fashion's room
+Or droop in Beauty's midnight hair;
+In lonelier grace, to sun and dew
+The sweetbrier on the hillside shows
+Its single leaf and fainter hue,
+Untrained and wildly free, yet still a sister rose!
+
+Thus o'er the heart of Weetamoo
+Their mingling shades of joy and ill
+The instincts of her nature threw;
+The savage was a woman still.
+Midst outlines dim of maiden schemes,
+Heart-colored prophecies of life,
+Rose on the ground of her young dreams
+The light of a new home, the lover and the wife.
+
+
+IV. THE WEDDING.
+Cool and dark fell the autumn night,
+But the Bashaba's wigwam glowed with light,
+For down from its roof, by green withes hung,
+Flaring and smoking the pine-knots swung.
+
+And along the river great wood-fires
+Shot into the night their long, red spires,
+Showing behind the tall, dark wood,
+Flashing before on the sweeping flood.
+
+In the changeful wind, with shimmer and shade,
+Now high, now low, that firelight played,
+On tree-leaves wet with evening dews,
+On gliding water and still canoes.
+
+The trapper that night on Turee's brook,
+And the weary fisher on Contoocook,
+Saw over the marshes, and through the pine,
+And down on the river, the dance-lights shine.
+For the Saugus Sachem had come to woo
+The Bashaba's daughter Weetamoo,
+And laid at her father's feet that night
+His softest furs and wampum white.
+
+From the Crystal Hills to the far southeast
+The river Sagamores came to the feast;
+And chiefs whose homes the sea-winds shook
+Sat down on the mats of Pennacook.
+
+They came from Sunapee's shore of rock,
+From the snowy sources of Snooganock,
+And from rough Coos whose thick woods shake
+Their pine-cones in Umbagog Lake.
+
+From Ammonoosuc's mountain pass,
+Wild as his home, came Chepewass;
+And the Keenomps of the bills which throw
+Their shade on the Smile of Manito.
+
+With pipes of peace and bows unstrung,
+Glowing with paint came old and young,
+In wampum and furs and feathers arrayed,
+To the dance and feast the Bashaba made.
+
+Bird of the air and beast of the field,
+All which the woods and the waters yield,
+On dishes of birch and hemlock piled,
+Garnished and graced that banquet wild.
+
+Steaks of the brown bear fat and large
+From the rocky slopes of the Kearsarge;
+Delicate trout from Babboosuck brook,
+And salmon speared in the Contoocook;
+
+Squirrels which fed where nuts fell thick
+in the gravelly bed of the Otternic;
+And small wild-hens in reed-snares caught
+from the banks of Sondagardee brought;
+
+Pike and perch from the Suncook taken,
+Nuts from the trees of the Black Hills shaken,
+Cranberries picked in the Squamscot bog,
+And grapes from the vines of Piscataquog:
+
+And, drawn from that great stone vase which stands
+In the river scooped by a spirit's hands,[4]
+Garnished with spoons of shell and horn,
+Stood the birchen dishes of smoking corn.
+
+Thus bird of the air and beast of the field,
+All which the woods and the waters yield,
+Furnished in that olden day
+The bridal feast of the Bashaba.
+
+And merrily when that feast was done
+On the fire-lit green the dance begun,
+With squaws' shrill stave, and deeper hum
+Of old men beating the Indian drum.
+
+Painted and plumed, with scalp-locks flowing,
+And red arms tossing and black eyes glowing,
+Now in the light and now in the shade
+Around the fires the dancers played.
+
+The step was quicker, the song more shrill,
+And the beat of the small drums louder still
+Whenever within the circle drew
+The Saugus Sachem and Weetamoo.
+
+The moons of forty winters had shed
+Their snow upon that chieftain's head,
+And toil and care and battle's chance
+Had seamed his hard, dark countenance.
+
+A fawn beside the bison grim,--
+Why turns the bride's fond eye on him,
+In whose cold look is naught beside
+The triumph of a sullen pride?
+
+Ask why the graceful grape entwines
+The rough oak with her arm of vines;
+And why the gray rock's rugged cheek
+The soft lips of the mosses seek.
+
+Why, with wise instinct, Nature seems
+To harmonize her wide extremes,
+Linking the stronger with the weak,
+The haughty with the soft and meek!
+
+
+V. THE NEW HOME.
+A wild and broken landscape, spiked with firs,
+Roughening the bleak horizon's northern edge;
+Steep, cavernous hillsides, where black hemlock
+spurs
+And sharp, gray splinters of the wind-swept
+ledge
+Pierced the thin-glazed ice, or bristling rose,
+Where the cold rim of the sky sunk down upon
+the snows.
+
+And eastward cold, wide marshes stretched away,
+Dull, dreary flats without a bush or tree,
+O'er-crossed by icy creeks, where twice a day
+Gurgled the waters of the moon-struck sea;
+And faint with distance came the stifled roar,
+The melancholy lapse of waves on that low shore.
+
+No cheerful village with its mingling smokes,
+No laugh of children wrestling in the snow,
+No camp-fire blazing through the hillside oaks,
+No fishers kneeling on the ice below;
+Yet midst all desolate things of sound and view,
+Through the long winter moons smiled dark-eyed
+Weetamoo.
+
+Her heart had found a home; and freshly all
+Its beautiful affections overgrew
+Their rugged prop. As o'er some granite wall
+Soft vine-leaves open to the moistening dew
+And warm bright sun, the love of that young wife
+Found on a hard cold breast the dew and warmth
+of life.
+
+The steep, bleak hills, the melancholy shore,
+The long, dead level of the marsh between,
+A coloring of unreal beauty wore
+Through the soft golden mist of young love seen.
+For o'er those hills and from that dreary plain,
+Nightly she welcomed home her hunter chief again.
+
+No warmth of heart, no passionate burst of feeling,
+Repaid her welcoming smile and parting kiss,
+No fond and playful dalliance half concealing,
+Under the guise of mirth, its tenderness;
+
+But, in their stead, the warrior's settled pride,
+And vanity's pleased smile with homage satisfied.
+
+Enough for Weetamoo, that she alone
+Sat on his mat and slumbered at his side;
+That he whose fame to her young ear had flown
+Now looked upon her proudly as his bride;
+That he whose name the Mohawk trembling heard
+Vouchsafed to her at times a kindly look or word.
+
+For she had learned the maxims of her race,
+Which teach the woman to become a slave,
+And feel herself the pardonless disgrace
+Of love's fond weakness in the wise and brave,--
+The scandal and the shame which they incur,
+Who give to woman all which man requires of her.
+
+So passed the winter moons. The sun at last
+Broke link by link the frost chain of the rills,
+And the warm breathings of the southwest passed
+Over the hoar rime of the Saugus hills;
+The gray and desolate marsh grew green once more,
+And the birch-tree's tremulous shade fell round the
+Sachem's door.
+
+Then from far Pennacook swift runners came,
+With gift and greeting for the Saugus chief;
+Beseeching him in the great Sachem's name,
+That, with the coming of the flower and leaf,
+The song of birds, the warm breeze and the rain,
+Young Weetamoo might greet her lonely sire again.
+
+And Winnepurkit called his chiefs together,
+And a grave council in his wigwam met,
+Solemn and brief in words, considering whether
+The rigid rules of forest etiquette
+Permitted Weetamoo once more to look
+Upon her father's face and green-banked
+Pennacook.
+
+With interludes of pipe-smoke and strong water,
+The forest sages pondered, and at length,
+Concluded in a body to escort her
+Up to her father's home of pride and strength,
+Impressing thus on Pennacook a sense
+Of Winnepurkit's power and regal consequence.
+
+So through old woods which Aukeetamit's[5] hand,
+A soft and many-shaded greenness lent,
+Over high breezy hills, and meadow land
+Yellow with flowers, the wild procession went,
+Till, rolling down its wooded banks between,
+A broad, clear, mountain stream, the Merrimac
+was seen.
+
+The hunter leaning on his bow undrawn,
+The fisher lounging on the pebbled shores,
+Squaws in the clearing dropping the seed-corn,
+Young children peering through the wigwam doors,
+Saw with delight, surrounded by her train
+Of painted Saugus braves, their Weetamoo again.
+
+
+VI. AT PENNACOOK.
+The hills are dearest which our childish feet
+Have climbed the earliest; and the streams most sweet
+Are ever those at which our young lips drank,
+Stooped to their waters o'er the grassy bank.
+
+Midst the cold dreary sea-watch, Home's hearth-light
+Shines round the helmsman plunging through the night;
+And still, with inward eye, the traveller sees
+In close, dark, stranger streets his native trees.
+
+The home-sick dreamer's brow is nightly fanned
+By breezes whispering of his native land,
+And on the stranger's dim and dying eye
+The soft, sweet pictures of his childhood lie.
+
+Joy then for Weetamoo, to sit once more
+A child upon her father's wigwam floor!
+Once more with her old fondness to beguile
+From his cold eye the strange light of a smile.
+
+The long, bright days of summer swiftly passed,
+The dry leaves whirled in autumn's rising blast,
+And evening cloud and whitening sunrise rime
+Told of the coming of the winter-time.
+
+But vainly looked, the while, young Weetamoo,
+Down the dark river for her chief's canoe;
+No dusky messenger from Saugus brought
+The grateful tidings which the young wife sought.
+
+At length a runner from her father sent,
+To Winnepurkit's sea-cooled wigwam went
+"Eagle of Saugus,--in the woods the dove
+Mourns for the shelter of thy wings of love."
+
+But the dark chief of Saugus turned aside
+In the grim anger of hard-hearted pride;
+I bore her as became a chieftain's daughter,
+Up to her home beside the gliding water.
+
+If now no more a mat for her is found
+Of all which line her father's wigwam round,
+Let Pennacook call out his warrior train,
+And send her back with wampum gifts again."
+
+The baffled runner turned upon his track,
+Bearing the words of Winnepurkit back.
+"Dog of the Marsh," cried Pennacook, "no more
+Shall child of mine sit on his wigwam floor.
+
+"Go, let him seek some meaner squaw to spread
+The stolen bear-skin of his beggar's bed;
+Son of a fish-hawk! let him dig his clams
+For some vile daughter of the Agawams,
+
+"Or coward Nipmucks! may his scalp dry black
+In Mohawk smoke, before I send her back."
+He shook his clenched hand towards the ocean wave,
+While hoarse assent his listening council gave.
+
+Alas poor bride! can thy grim sire impart
+His iron hardness to thy woman's heart?
+Or cold self-torturing pride like his atone
+For love denied and life's warm beauty flown?
+
+On Autumn's gray and mournful grave the snow
+Hung its white wreaths; with stifled voice and low
+The river crept, by one vast bridge o'er-crossed,
+Built by the boar-locked artisan of Frost.
+
+And many a moon in beauty newly born
+Pierced the red sunset with her silver horn,
+Or, from the east, across her azure field
+Rolled the wide brightness of her full-orbed shield.
+
+Yet Winnepurkit came not,--on the mat
+Of the scorned wife her dusky rival sat;
+And he, the while, in Western woods afar,
+Urged the long chase, or trod the path of war.
+
+Dry up thy tears, young daughter of a chief!
+Waste not on him the sacredness of grief;
+Be the fierce spirit of thy sire thine own,
+His lips of scorning, and his heart of stone.
+
+What heeds the warrior of a hundred fights,
+The storm-worn watcher through long hunting nights,
+Cold, crafty, proud of woman's weak distress,
+Her home-bound grief and pining loneliness?
+
+
+VII. THE DEPARTURE.
+The wild March rains had fallen fast and long
+The snowy mountains of the North among,
+Making each vale a watercourse, each hill
+Bright with the cascade of some new-made rill.
+
+Gnawed by the sunbeams, softened by the rain,
+Heaved underneath by the swollen current's strain,
+The ice-bridge yielded, and the Merrimac
+Bore the huge ruin crashing down its track.
+
+On that strong turbid water, a small boat
+Guided by one weak hand was seen to float;
+Evil the fate which loosed it from the shore,
+Too early voyager with too frail an oar!
+
+Down the vexed centre of that rushing tide,
+The thick huge ice-blocks threatening either side,
+The foam-white rocks of Amoskeag in view,
+With arrowy swiftness sped that light canoe.
+
+The trapper, moistening his moose's meat
+On the wet bank by Uncanoonuc's feet,
+Saw the swift boat flash down the troubled stream;
+Slept he, or waked he? was it truth or dream?
+
+The straining eye bent fearfully before,
+The small hand clenching on the useless oar,
+The bead-wrought blanket trailing o'er the water--
+He knew them all--woe for the Sachem's daughter!
+
+Sick and aweary of her lonely life,
+Heedless of peril, the still faithful wife
+Had left her mother's grave, her father's door,
+To seek the wigwam of her chief once more.
+
+Down the white rapids like a sear leaf whirled,
+On the sharp rocks and piled-up ices hurled,
+Empty and broken, circled the canoe
+In the vexed pool below--but where was Weetamoo.
+
+
+VIII. SONG OF INDIAN WOMEN.
+The Dark eye has left us,
+The Spring-bird has flown;
+On the pathway of spirits
+She wanders alone.
+The song of the wood-dove has died on our shore
+Mat wonck kunna-monee![6] We hear it no more!
+
+O dark water Spirit
+We cast on thy wave
+These furs which may never
+Hang over her grave;
+Bear down to the lost one the robes that she wore
+Mat wonck kunna-monee! We see her no more!
+
+Of the strange land she walks in
+No Powah has told:
+It may burn with the sunshine,
+Or freeze with the cold.
+Let us give to our lost one the robes that she wore:
+Mat wonck kunna-monee! We see her no more!
+
+The path she is treading
+Shall soon be our own;
+Each gliding in shadow
+Unseen and alone!
+In vain shall we call on the souls gone before:
+Mat wonck kunna-monee! They hear us no more!
+
+O mighty Sowanna![7]
+Thy gateways unfold,
+From thy wigwam of sunset
+Lift curtains of gold!
+
+Take home the poor Spirit whose journey is o'er
+Mat wonck kunna-monee! We see her no more!
+
+So sang the Children of the Leaves beside
+The broad, dark river's coldly flowing tide;
+Now low, now harsh, with sob-like pause and swell,
+On the high wind their voices rose and fell.
+Nature's wild music,--sounds of wind-swept trees,
+The scream of birds, the wailing of the breeze,
+The roar of waters, steady, deep, and strong,--
+Mingled and murmured in that farewell song.
+
+1844.
+
+
+
+
+
+*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK, THE BRIDAL OF PENNACOOK ***
+By John Greenleaf Whittier
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