Legends of the Northwest Part 13

[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, [a]

in the midst of her dreams, she beheld him-- In his white-winged canoe, like a bird, to the land of Dakotas returning; 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!"

[a] Lake Superior,--The _Gitchee Gumee_ of the Chippewas.

But the moon waxed and waned. Nevermore will the eyes of Winona behold him.

Far away on the dark, rugged sh.o.r.e 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-doe widowed and waiting;

Ake u, ake u, ake u; Ma cante maseca.

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.

Down the broad Gitchee Seebee [a]

the band took their way to the Games at Keoza.

While the swift-footed hunters by land ran the sh.o.r.es for the elk and the bison.

Like magas [b] ride the birchen canoes on the breast of the dark Gitchee Seebee; By the willow-fringed islands they cruise by the gra.s.sy 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 loitered and camped on the sh.o.r.e of Remnica --the Lake of the Mountains. [c]

There the fleet hunters followed the deer, and the th.o.r.n.y _pahin_ [d] for the women.

[a] Chippewa name of the Mississippi

[b] Wild Geese

[c] Lake Pepin; by Hennepin called Lake of Tears--Called by the Dakotas Remnee-chah-Mday--Lake of the Mountains.

[d] Pah hin--the porcupine--the quill of which are greatly prized for ornamental work.

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.

But the man-wolf still followed his prey, and the step-mother ruled in the tepee; 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 tepee; 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 warblers 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 steps of the enemy nigh, --of the crafty and creeping 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 chant 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 soul 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 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 of my soul is gone,-- The light is gone and Winona dies.

Swift the strong hunters clomb 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 pa.s.s her sad story. [a]

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 sh.o.r.e 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.

[a] 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 worn away, or the water has receded, so that it does not reach the foot of the rock.

[Ill.u.s.tration: "DOWN THE RAGGED RAVINE OF THE MOUNTAINS." DALLES OF THE ST LOUIS.]