The Feast of the Virgins and Other Poems Part 25

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 G.o.d of the South[3] as he flies from _Waziya_, the G.o.d 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 compa.s.sion, "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 c.o.o.n-Moon[71] enough and to spare; and if then the white warrior return not, Winona will follow the bear and the c.o.o.n 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 c.o.o.ns make their trails in the forest[BM]

Grew colder and colder. The c.o.o.n, 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 pa.s.s 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."