Indian Legends of Minnesota Part 11

But I have left them to come and live Among your race, young brave: To find a suitable home for me Go ask your sages grave.'

"'And pray what form shall I a.s.sume To be best loved by you?'

The youth awoke and stepped from his lodge The ominous star to view.

It shone with undimmed l.u.s.ter where It had stood for many a day: Yet he firmly believed it the visitor His waking had driven away.

"At early dawn the crier was sent Around the camp to call The warriors at once to the Council Lodge, And there before them all, The young brave told his dream so strange.

For love, they said, no doubt For love of man the star had come And wandered thereabout.

"To welcome her to earth next night Five n.o.ble braves were sent.

She took the pipe of peace, which herbs A sweet aroma lent.

Then with expanded wing she came And hovered near their homes, Like one who wished to be at rest But still unwilling roams.

"In dreams she asked the youth again: 'Pray tell where I shall live, And what form now must I a.s.sume To most enjoyment give?'

He could not decide, so she was told For herself 'twere best to choose.

The tribe might through their ignorance Her heavenly wisdom lose.

"On the mountains first in the pure white rose She dwelt; but all unseen By the tribe she loved: so next she went To be the prairie's queen.

She trembled with fear, with ceaseless dread, At the hoof of the buffalo; For safety then a rocky cliff She sought and glanced below.

"'I know where I will live,' she said, 'Where glides the swift canoe Of the race I most admire, and where, Dear children, always you My playmates can be. I will kiss your cheeks As you slumber by the lake.

Here with you all, my best beloved, My home I will ever make.'

"These words she spoke and alighted soon On the water's limpid breast.

Looked down at her image reflected there, At last she was at rest.

[Ill.u.s.tration: "THESE WORDS SHE SPAKE AND ALIGHTED SOON ON THE WATERS'

LIMPID BREAST."]

In the morning sun, as pure as heaven, A thousand lilies basked; For Wah-be-gwan-nee, water lily, The Indian children asked.

"In the southern sky this bright star lived; Her brethren can be seen Far off in the cold North, hunting the bear: Meanwhile, with ardor keen, Her sisters watch from East and West, And here, an exile lone, She sees her heavenly kindred fair In the home that was her own.

"My children, when the lilies pure You pluck from the placid lake, Hold them toward heaven, their rightful home, Abandoned for your sake.

So they may be happy here on earth As any sister star That, stationed in the summer sky, Gleams brightly from afar."

IDA s.e.xTON SEARLS.

The Trailing Arbutus.

EPIGaeA REPENS.

In the vast, primeval forest, unremembered moons ago, When the streams were dumb and palsied, all the earth was white with snow, When the eerie wind went chasing evil spirits through the wood, 'Neath the gaunt and leafless tree-tops, an old Indian teepee stood.

In it lived an old man only, with white locks and flowing beard, Clad in furs from head to foot-sole, like one to the north-land reared:

Weakly his scant fire resisted the dread storm-fiend's icy breath, And its deep, portentous rumblings spoke of swift approaching death.

Crouching there, "O Mannaboosho," cried he through the awful night, "Here behold me, thy brave warrior. I will conquer in thy might."

Then the lodge door softly opened and in stepped a beauteous form Clad in ferns and sweet spring gra.s.ses. When she breathed, the air grew warm.

Large her eyes were, glowing brightly, as at night, the l.u.s.trous fawn's.

Red her cheeks were like wild roses or bright carmine-tinted dawns.

Long her hair and black as raven's, trailing o'er the frozen ground, And her hands with p.u.s.s.y-willows, like close-fitting gloves were bound.

Fair wild-flowers crowned her tresses and her dainty little feet Were encased in two white lilies from the great lakes pure and sweet.

Said the old man, "Ah, my daughter, I am glad to see you here.

Though my lodge is cold and cheerless, it will s.h.i.+eld you, never fear; But pray tell me, fearless maiden, how these icy blasts you dare To confront in such strange clothing? Will you not the secret share?

I am old Kabibonokka, and my breath in ice congeals.

When I shake my locks, the snow falls. All the earth my power feels.

Hastily the birds fly southward and the squirrels safely hide."

"Ah how strange!" replied the maiden. "I spread beauty far and wide.

When I shake my raven tresses, soft, warm rain falls from the sky, All the birds come back a-building in the leafy tree-tops high."

Thus they talked, but soon the teepee grew like summer, strangely warm, And the old man's head dropped listless o'er a soundly-sleeping form.

High the sun rode in the heavens, and a bluebird, pert and trim, Called out, "Say-ee, I am thirsty;" and the rivers flowed for him.

As the old man slept, the maiden pa.s.sed her hand above his head, And he smaller grew and smaller, till, all mortal substance sped, But a ma.s.s of green leaves growing there remained upon the earth; And the fairy maiden stooping, with an air of quiet mirth, Took pink-tinted flowers and hid them all about beneath the leaves; And her sweet, fresh breath upon them, like a spell she softly breathes As she sings with clear, wild warblings, "of my graces, I give all; And who shall desire to pluck thee, on his bended knees shall fall."

Then as onward moved the maiden, through the woods and o'er the plains, All the jocund birds sang to her, o'er her fell the spring-time rains, And the arbutus in beauty, 'neath her fairy footsteps sprung.

Nowhere else in vale or woodland were the precious seedlets flung.

Still Northern Minnesota, near the great unsalted sea, Trace we will the maiden's footsteps where these self-same blossoms be.

ADELAIDE GEORGE BENNET.

[Ill.u.s.tration]

Nopa.

In the shelter of the forest, By the cataract's lonely brink, (Shadow Falls, we call them nowadays) Where the red deer came to drink, Lived old Chaska and his daughter Nopa, in their tepee small.

Handsome was this dusky maiden, Eyes like deer and form so tall.

"Seche-do--bad man," said Chaska, As the moccasin he laid down, Ready for the wampum finish; Nopa's skill his work must crown.

She had told him of an artist, Sunny-haired with hand of snow, Whose canoe was fastened daily, In the river just below.

"Talk not to the treacherous white man,"

Chaska said, in tones of wrath, "Harken, daughter, to my warning; Never must he cross my path!"

But poor Nopa little heeded Her old father's wise command; Watching close, each day and evening For the footsteps in the sand.

[Ill.u.s.tration: SHADOW FALLS.]

Weeks have pa.s.sed without his coming; Weeks like years, so full of pain To the Indian maiden thinking, "Will he never come again?"

Surely now she hears his footsteps Where the misty waters pour.

Falling headlong down the chasm: Nopa will return no more.

Chaska hears her calling wildly; Seeks to grasp the fleeing form Follows till the rus.h.i.+ng waters, Swollen with the autumn's storm, Cruel, cast his lifeless body 'Mong the rocks and caverns wild; Desolate, the lonely tepee Waits the hunter and his child.