Legends of the Northwest Part 6

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 h.o.a.ry 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 s.h.i.+ning 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 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.

[Ill.u.s.tration]

WINONA.

[Ill.u.s.tration: 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.]

_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 rhythm of the song of Winona_.

(In p.r.o.nouncing 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"

the same as in English. The numerals 1-2 etc. refer to notes in the appendix).

Two hundred white Winters and more have fled from the face of the Summer, Since here on the oak shaded sh.o.r.e of the dark winding swift Mississippi, Where his foaming floods tumble and roar, on the falls and 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, Alternate with woodlands and lakes, and above them the blue vast of ether.

And here where the dark river breaks into spray and the roar of the Ha-Ha, [76]

Were gathered the bison-skin tees 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 G.o.ds of the nation.

On the islands and murmuring strands they danced to the G.o.d 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 fur and tobacco. [a]

And here to the Master of life --Anpe-tu-wee, [70] G.o.d of the heavens, Chief, warrior, and maiden, and wife, burned the sacred green sprigs of the cedar.

And here to the Searcher-of-hearts --fierce Ta-ku Skan-skan, [51] the avenger, Who dwells in the uttermost parts --in 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 pet.i.tions, 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 [b] arise --rus.h.i.+ng 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.

[a] See Hennepin's Description of Louisiana by Shea pp 243 and 256. Parkman's Discovery p. 246--and Carver's Travels, p. 67

[b] 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 [a] 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 twirls 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; [b]

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 steps 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.

[a] Ta te--Wind, Psin--Wild Rice,--wild rice wind.

[b] The 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, [a]

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 birchen canoes well laden with rice from the meadows, 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.

[a] 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.

Father Rene Menard [a]--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 mora.s.s, as they followed the red-deer they found him, In the midst of the mire and the gra.s.s, 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 G.o.d, 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.

[a] See the account of Father Menard, his mission and disappearance in the wilderness, etc. Neill's Hist. Minnesota, pp 104 to 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 wors.h.i.+p of stones [73] and the devil.

"Wakan-de!" [a] 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; [b]

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 Blackrobe" 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 Chippeway might be ambushed and slain in his forests.

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.

[a] It is wonderful.

[b] The morning.

In the lodge of the Stranger [a]

he sat awaiting the crown of a martyr; His sad face compa.s.sion 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 [b] 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 s.h.i.+ps on the sea and the teepees far over the ocean, Of the love and the sweet charity of the Christ and the beautiful Virgin.

[a] A lodge set apart for guests of the village.

[b] 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 [a] 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 Maza Wakan [b] ever walks, by their side like a spirit.