The Myth Of The Hiawatha Part 10

And safe he slept in Tlalcol's[119] train, With all his genii by him, Through Atacama's pleasing reign, Ere Manco came a-nigh him.

That golden reign spread arts anew, O'er all his Andes mountains, And temples that his sires ne'er knew, Arose beside their fountains.

Pizarro's b.l.o.o.d.y day flew past, Nor shook his place of sleeping, Though, as with earthquakes, deep and vast, The land with ruins heaping.

Nor had the cherished ruler more, Broke the deep trance from under, But that a stronger, sterner power, Arose the charm to sunder.

No gentle genii more could wield, The wand of his dominion; No power of Indian guardian yield, Or wave her golden pinion.

It was the spirit of progress fell, And trade, and gain united, Who swore an oath, and kept it well, That Tlalcol's blessing blighted.

Deep dug they down in Chili's hills, Deep-deeper laid their levels, To drive those cars, whose screaming fills The ear, with sounds like devils.

And as they dug, they sang and dug, As digging for a treasure, That should, like dire Arabic drug, Rise, with unmeasured measure.

Old Indian arts, and Indian spells, And all their subtle seeming, Pa.s.sed quick away-as truth expels, The palsied power in dreaming.

Down rolled the cherished Indian corse, The sands no more could hold him, Nor rite-nor genii-art or force, Nor golden shroud enfold him.

WAUB OJEEG'S DEATH WHISPERINGS.

I go to the land where our heroes are gone, are gone, That land where our sages are gone; And I go with bright tone, to join hearts who are one, That drew the bold dart at my side, at my side, That drew the bold dart at my side.

Those lands in the bright beamy west, the west, Those lands in the bright beamy west, As our fathers foretold, are the plenty crowned fold, Where the world-weary warrior may rest, may rest, Where the war-honored hero may rest.

My life has been given to war, to war, My strength has been offered to war, And the foes of my land, ne'er before me could stand, But fled as base cowards in fear, in fear, They fled like base cowards in fear.

My warfare in life it is done, it is done, My warfare, my friends, it is done; I go to that Spirit, whose form in the sky, So oft we have seen in the cloud-garnished sun, So oft in dread lightning espy.

My friends, when my spirit is fled, is fled, My friends, when my spirit is fled, Ah, put me not bound, in the dark and cold ground, Where light shall no longer be shed, be shed, Where daylight no more shall be shed.

But lay me up scaffolded high, all high, Chiefs, lay me up scaffolded high, Where my tribe shall still say, as they point to my clay, He ne'er from the foe sought to fly, to fly, He ne'er from the foe sought to fly.

And children, who play on the sh.o.r.e, the sh.o.r.e, And children who play on the sh.o.r.e, As the war-dance they beat, my name shall repeat, And the fate of their chieftain deplore, deplore, And the fate of their chieftain deplore.

TO THE MISCODEED.[120].

Thy petals, tipped with red, declare The sanguinary rites of war; But when I view thy base of white, Thoughts of heaven's purity invite.

Symbols at once that hearts like thee Contain two powers, in which we see A pa.s.sion strong to war inclined, And a soft, pure, and tender mind.

Earliest of buds when snows decay From these wild northern fields away, Thou comest as a herald dear, To tell us that the spring is near; And shall with sweets and flowers relume Our hearts, for all the winter's gloom.

Soon the opeechee[121] comes to sing The pleasures of an early spring; Soon shall the swelling water's roar Tell us that winter is no more; The water-fowl set up their cry, Or hasten to more northern sky; And on the sandy sh.o.r.e shall stray, The plover, the twee-tweesh-ke-way.

Soon shall the budding trees expand, And genial skies pervade the land; The little garden hoes shall peck, And female hands the moss beds deck; The apple-tree refresh our sight, With its fair blows of pink and white; The cherry bloom, the strawberry run, And joy fill all the new Seegwun.[122]

THE STAR FAMILY.

Waupee found a deep-trod circle In the boundless prairie wide; In the gra.s.sy sea of prairies, Without trace of path beside.

To or fro, there was no token Man had ever trod the plain; And he gazed upon the wonder, Gazed the wonder to explain.

I will watch the place, quoth Waupee, And conceal myself awhile; This strange mystery to unravel, This new thing to reconcile.

Tracks I know of deer and bison, Tracks of panther, lynx, or hind, Beasts and birds of every nature, But this beaten ring is blind.

Do the spirits here a.s.semble, War-dance light to trip and sing?

Gather Medas of the prairie, Here their magic charm to fling?

Waupee crept beneath the hushes, Near the wondrous magic ring; Close beneath the shrubs and gra.s.ses, To behold so rare a thing.

Soon he heard, high in the heavens, Issuing from the feathery clouds- Sounds of music, quick descending, As if angels came in crowds.

Louder, sweeter, was the music, Every moment that he stayed; Till a basket, with twelve sisters, Was with all its charms displayed.

Down they came, in air suspended, As if by thin silver cords; And within the circle landed, Gay and bright as beauteous birds.

Out they leaped with nimble gestures, Dancing softly round and round; Each a ball of silver chiming, With the most enchanting sound.

Beauteous were they all-but one so More than all the other eleven, Youngest she, he sighed to clasp her To his ardent, glowing breast.

Up he rose from his concealment, From his flower-encircled bed; But, as quick-eyed birds, they spied him, Stepped into the car and fled.

Fled into the starry heavens, While with open ear he stood, Drinking the receding music, As it left his solitude.

Now, indeed, was he a stranger, And a fugitive alone; For the peace that once he cherished, With the heavenly car had flown.

Touched his heart was by love's fervors, He no longer wished to rove; Lost the charm of war and hunting, Waupee was transfixed by love.

Ah! 'tis love that wins the savage From his wanderings, and can teach, Where the truth could never touch him, Where the gospel could not reach.

Long he mourned-and lingering, waited Round the charmed celestial ring; Day by day he lingered, hoping Once to hear those angels sing.

To deceive, the quick eyes glancing, An opossum's form he tries; And crouched low, beside the circle, Stooped, that he might win the prize.

Soon the sounds he heard descending, Soon they leaped within the ring; Joining hand in hand in dancing, Round and round-sweet revelling.

Up he rose, quick disenchanted, Rose and clasped his female star, While, as lightning, quick the eleven Leaped, and rose within their car.

vHome he took her to his wigwam, Sought each varied way to please; Gave her flowers and rarest presents, All to yield her joy and ease.

And a beauteous son rewarded Love so constant, true, and mild; Who renewed in every feature, Nature's lonely forest child.

But, as thoughts of youth will linger Long within the heart's fond core; So she nursed the pleasing pa.s.sion, Her star-home to see once more- Made an ark of wicker branches, All by secret arts and care; Sought the circle with her earth-boy, Fleeing to her Father star.

There, at length, the boy grew weary, Weary e'en of heavenly spheres, Longing for earth's cares and pleasures, Hunting, feasting, joys, and tears.

"Call thy husband," quoth the star chief, "Take the magic car and go; But bring with thee some fit emblems, Of the sounding chase below.

"Claw, or wing, or toe, or feathers, Scalp of bird or beast to tell; What he follows in the wood-chase, Arts the hunter knows so well."

Waupee searched the deepest forests, Prairies vast, or valleys low; All to find out the rarest species, That he might the star-world show.

Then he sought the ring of magic, With his forest stores so rare; And within the starry basket, Rose with all his emblems fair.

Joys of greeting-joys of seeing- Hand to hand, and eye to eye; These o'ercrowned with smiles and laughing, This lodge-meeting in the sky.

Then a glorious feast was ordered, To receive the forest guest; While the sweet reunion lighted, Joy in every beating breast.

Broad the feasting board was covered, The high starry group to bind; When the star chief rose to utter His congratulations kind.

"List, my guests-the Spirit wills it, Earth to earth, and sky to sky; Choose ye each a claw or pinion, Such as ye may wish to try."

Wondrous change! by arts' transformance, At the typic heavenly feast; Each who chose a wing a bird was, Each who chose a claw, a beast.

Off they ran on plains of silver, Squirrel, rabbit, elk, or deer; White Hawk chose a wing, descending Down again to forests here, Where the Waupees are still noted For their high essays of wing; And their n.o.ble deeds of bravery, In the forest, mount, and ring.

SONG OP THE WOLF-BROTHER.

Nesia, my elder brother, Bones have been my forest meal, Shared with wolves the long, long winter, And their nature now I feel.

Nesia, my elder brother, Now my fate is near its close; Soon my state shall cease to press me, Soon shall cease my day of woes.

Left by friends I loved the dearest, All who knew and loved me most; Woes the darkest and severest, Bide me on this barren coast.

Pity! ah, that manly feeling, Fled from hearts where once it grew, Now in wolfish forms revealing, Glows more warmly than in you.

Stony hearts! that saw me languish, Deaf to all a father said, Deaf to all a mother's anguish, All a brother's feelings fled.

Ah, ye wolves, in all your ranging, I have found you kind and true; More than man-and now I'm changing, And will soon be one of you.

Lodge of kindred once respected, Now my heart abhors your plan; Hated, shunned, disowned, neglected, Wolves are truer far than man.

And like them, I'll be a rover, With an honesty of bite That feigns not to be a lover, When the heart o'erflows with spite.

Go, ye traitors, to my lodge-fire; Go, ye serpents, swift to flee, War with kinds that have your natures, I am disenthrall'd and free.

ABBINOCHI.

A MOTHER'S CHANT TO HER SICK INFANT.

Abbinochi,[123] baby dear, Leave me not-ah, leave me not; I have nursed with love sincere, Nursed thee in my forest cot- Tied thee in thy cradle trim Kind adjusting every limb; With the fairest beads and bands Deck'd thy cradle with my hands, And with sweetest corn panad From my little kettle fed, Oft with miscodeed[124] roots shred, Fed thee in thy baby bed.

Abbinochi, droop not so, Leave me not-away to go To strange lands-thy little feet Are not grown the path to greet Or find out, with none to show Where the flowers of grave-land grow.

Stay, my dear one, stay till grown, I will lead thee to that zone Where the stars like silver shine, And the scenes are all divine, And the happy, happy stray, And, like Abbinochi, play.

TO PAUGUK.

(This is the impersonation of death in Indian mythology. He is represented with a bow and arrows.) Pauguk! 'tis a scene of woe, This world of troubles; let me go Arm'd to show forth the Master's will, Strike on thy purpose to fulfil.

I fear not death-my only fear Is ills and woes that press me here.

Want stares me in the face, or woe, Where'er I dwell-where'er I go; Fishing and hunting only give The pinching means to let me live; And if, at night, I lay me down, In dreams and sleep my rest to crown, Ere day awakes its slumbering eyes, I start to hear the foe's mad cries, Louder and louder, as I clutch My club, or lance, or bow and dart, And, springing with a panther's touch, Display the red man's b.l.o.o.d.y art.

Nay, I am sick of life and blood, That drowns my country like a flood, Pouring o'er hill, and vale, and lea, Lodge, ville, and council, like a sea, Where one must gasp and gasp for breath To live-and stay the power of death.

Ah! life's good things are all too poor, Its daily hardships to endure.

My fathers told me, there's a land Where peace and joy abound in hand, And plenty smiles, and sweetest scenes Expand in lakes, and groves, and greens.

No pain or hunger there is known, And pleasure reigns throughout alone- I would go there, and taste and see A life so beauteous, bless'd and free, Where man has no more power to kill, And the Great Spirit all things fills.

Blanch not, Pauguk, I have no fear, And would not longer linger here; But bend thy bow and aim thy dart, Behold an honest hunter's heart: Thereby a dart, a boon may give, A happy life on high to live.

'Tis all the same, in countries here, Or where Pacific billows roar, We roved in want, and woe and fear Along the Mississippi sh.o.r.e.

And where Missouri's waters rush, To tell to man that G.o.d is strong, We shrank as from a tiger's touch, To hear the white man's shout or song.

O not for us is peace and joy Arising from the race that spread, Their purpose only's to destroy- Our only peace is with the dead.

Think not my heart is pale with fear, But strike, Pauguk-strike boldly here.

FOOTNOTES.

1.

If Edwards the younger, to whom the Mohican was familiar from his childhood, could say, that he doubted whether there were any true adjectives in that language, it can easily be imagined that the subtlety of the transitive principle had not been sufficiently a.n.a.lyzed; but the remark is here quoted in relation to the paucity of adjectives.

2.