The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Feast Of The Virgins and Other Poems, by H.L. Gordon.

"I would not fawn upon the hand that smote;
I would not cringe beneath its cruel blow,
Nor even let her know I cared for it.
I kept aloof—as proud as Lucifer.
But when the church-bells chimed on Sabbath morn
To that proud monument of stone I went—
Her father's pride, since he had led the list
Of wealthy patrons who had builded it—
To hear the sermon—for methought Pauline
Would hear it too. Might I not see her face,
And she not know I cared to look upon it?
She came not, and the psalms and sermon fell
Upon me like an autumn-mist of rain.
I met her once by chance upon the street—
The day before the appointed wedding-day—
Her and her father—she upon his arm.
'Paul—O Paul!' she said and gave her hand.
I took it with a cold and careless air—
Begged pardon—had forgotten;—'Ah—Pauline?—
Yes, I remembered;—five long years ago—
And I had made so many later friends,
And she had lost so much of maiden bloom!'
Then turning met her father face to face,
Bowed with cold grace and haughtily passed on.
'This is revenge,' I muttered. Even then
My heart ached as I thought of her pale face,
Her pleading eyes, her trembling, clasping hand!
And then and there I would have turned about
To beg her pardon and an interview,
But pride—that serpent ever in my heart—
Hissed 'beggar,' and I cursed her with the lips
That oft had poured my love into her ears.
'She marries gold to-morrow—let her wed!
She will not wed a beggar, but I think
She'll wed a life-long sorrow—let her wed!
Aye—aye—I hope she'll live to curse the day
Whereon she broke her sacred promises.
And I forgive her?—yea, but not forget.
I'll take good care that she shall not forget;
I'll prick her memory with a bitter thorn
Through all her future. Let her marry gold!'
Thus ran my muttered words, but in my heart
There ran a counter-current; ere I slept
Its silent under-tow had mastered all—
'Forgive and be forgiven.' I resolved
That on the morning of her wedding-day
Would I go kindly and forgive Pauline,
And send her to the altar with my blessing.
That night I read a chapter in this book—
The first for many months, and fell asleep
Beseeching God to bless her.
Then I dreamed
That we were kneeling at my mother's bed—
Her death-bed, and the feeble, trembling hands
Of her who loved us rested on our heads,
And in a voice all tremulous with tears
My mother said: 'Dear children, love each other;
Bear and forbear, and come to me in heaven.'

"I wakened once—at midnight—a wild cry—
'Paul, O Paul!' rang through my dreams and broke
My slumber. I arose, but all was still,
And then I, slept again and dreamed till morn.
In all my dreams her dear, sweet face appeared—
Now radiant as a star, and now all pale—
Now glad with smiles and now all wet with tears.
Then came a dream that agonized my soul,
While every limb was bound as if in chains.
Methought I saw her in the silent night
Leaning o'er misty waters dark and deep:
A moan—a plash of waters—and, O Christ!—
Her agonized face upturned—imploring hands
Stretched out toward me, and a wailing cry—
'Paul, O Paul!' Then face and hands went down,
And o'er her closed the deep and dismal flood
Forever—but it could not drown the cry:
'Paul, O Paul!' was ringing in my ears;
'Paul, O Paul!' was throbbing in my heart;
And moaning, sobbing in my shuddering soul
Trembled the wail of anguish—'Paul, O Paul!'

"Then o'er the waters stole the silver dawn,
And lo a fairy boat with silken sail!
And in the boat an angel at the helm,
And at her feet the form of her I loved.
The white mists parted as the boat sped on
In silence, lessening far and far away.
And then the sunrise glimmered on the sail
A moment, and the angel turned her face:
My mother!—and I gave a joyful cry,
And stretched my hands, but lo the hovering mists
Closed in around them and the vision passed.

"The morning sun stole through the window-blinds
And fell upon my face and wakened me,
And I lay musing—thinking of Pauline.
Yes, she should know the depths of all my heart—
The love I bore her all those lonely years;
The hope that held me steadfast to my toil,
And feel the higher and the holier love
Her precious gift had wakened in my soul.
Yea, I would bless her for that precious gift—
I had not known its treasures but for her,
And O for that would I forgive her all,
And bless the hand that smote me to the soul.
That would be comfort to me all my days,
And if there came a bitter time to her,
'Twould pain her less to know that I forgave.

"A hasty rapping at my chamber-door;
In came my school-boy friend whose guest I was,
And said:
'Come, Paul, the town is all ablaze!
A sad—a strange—a marvelous suicide!
Pauline, who was to be a bride to-day,
Was missed at dawn and after sunrise found—
Traced by her robe and bonnet on the bridge,
Whence she had thrown herself and made an end—'

"And he went on, but I could hear no more;
It fell upon me like a flash from heaven.
As one with sudden terror dumb, I turned
And in my pillow buried up my face.
Tears came at last, and then my friend passed out
In silence. O the agony of that hour!
O doubts and fears and half-read mysteries
That tore my heart and tortured all my soul!

"I arose. About the town the wildest tales
And rumors ran; dame Gossip was agog.
Some said she had been ill and lost her mind,
Some whispered hints, and others shook their heads
But none could fathom the marvelous mystery.
Bearing a bitter anguish in my heart,
Half-crazed with dread and doubt and boding fears,
Hour after hour alone, disconsolate,
Among the scenes where we had wandered oft
I wandered, sat where once the stately pines
Domed the fair temple where we learned to love.
O spot of sacred memories—how changed!
Yet chiefly wanting one dear, blushing face
That, in those happy days, made every place
Wherever we might wander—hill or dale—
Garden of love and peace and happiness.
So heavy-hearted I returned. My friend
Had brought for me a letter with his mail.
I knew the hand upon the envelope—
With throbbing heart I hastened to my room;
With trembling hands I broke the seal and read.
One sheet inclosed another—one was writ
At midnight by my loved and lost Pauline.
Inclosed within, a letter false and forged,
Signed with my name—such perfect counterfeit,
At sight I would have sworn it was my own.
And thus her letter ran:

"'Beloved Paul,
May God forgive you as my heart forgives.
Even as a vine that winds about an oak,
Rot-struck and hollow-hearted, for support,
Clasping the sapless branches as it climbs
With tender tendrils and undoubting faith,
I leaned upon your troth; nay, all my hopes—
My love, my life, my very hope of heaven—
I staked upon your solemn promises.
I learned to love you better than my God;
My God hath sent me bitter punishment.
O broken pledges! what have I to live
And suffer for? Half mad in my distress,
Yielding at last to father's oft request,
I pledged my hand to one whose very love
Would be a curse upon me all my days.
To-morrow is the promised wedding day;
To morrow!—but to-morrow shall not come!
Come gladlier, death, and make an end of all!
How many weary days and patiently
I waited for a letter, and at last
It came—a message crueler than death.
O take it back!—and if you have a heart
Yet warm to pity her you swore to love,
Read it—and think of those dear promises—
O sacred as the Savior's promises—
You whispered in my ear that solemn night
Beneath the pines, and kissed away my tears.
And know that I forgive, belovèd Paul:
Meet me in heaven. God will not frown upon
The sin that saves me from a greater sin,
And sends my soul to Him. Farewell—Farewell.'"

Here he broke down. Unto his pallid lips
I held a flask of wine. He sipped the wine
And closed his eyes in silence for a time,
Resuming thus:

"You see the wicked plot.
We both were victims of a crafty scheme
To break our hearts asunder. Forgery
Had done its work and pride had aided it.
The spurious letter was a cruel one—
Casting her off with utter heartlessness,
And boasting of a later, dearer love,
And begging her to burn the billets-doux
A moon-struck boy had sent her ere he found
That pretty girls were plenty in the world.

"Think you my soul was roiled with anger?—No;—
God's hand was on my head. A keen remorse
Gnawed at my heart. O false and fatal pride
That blinded me, else I had seen the plot
Ere all was lost—else I had saved a life
To me most precious of all lives on earth—
Yea, dearer then than any soul in heaven!
False pride—the ruin of unnumbered souls—
Thou art the serpent ever tempting me;
God, chastening me, has bruised thy serpent head.
O faithful heart in silence suffering—
True unto death to one she could but count
A perjured villain, cheated as she was!
Captain, I prayed—'twas all that I could do.
God heard my prayer, and with a solemn heart,
Bearing the letters in my hand, I went
To ask a favor of the man who crushed
And cursed my life—to look upon her face—
Only to look on her dear face once more.

"I rung the bell—a servant bade me in.
I waited long. At last the father came—
All pale and suffering. I could see remorse
Was gnawing at his heart; as I arose
He trembled like a culprit on the drop.
'O, sir,' he said, 'whatever be your quest,
I pray you leave me with my dead to-day;
I cannot look on any living face
Till her dead face is gone forevermore.'

"'And who hath done this cruel thing?' I said.
'Explain,' he faltered. 'Pray you, sir, explain!'
I said, and thrust the letters in his hand.
And as he sat in silence reading hers,
I saw the pangs of conscience on his face;
I saw him tremble like a stricken soul;
And then a tear-drop fell upon his hand;
And there we sat in silence. Then he groaned
And fell upon his knees and hid his face,
And stretched his hand toward me wailing out—
'I cannot bear this burden on my soul;
O Paul!—O God!—forgive me or I die.'

"His anguish touched my heart. I took his hand,
And kneeling by him prayed a solemn prayer—
'Father, forgive him, for he knew not what
He did who broke the bond that bound us twain.
O may her spirit whisper in his ear
Forever—God is love and all is well.

"The iron man—all bowed and broken down—
Sobbed like a child. He laid his trembling hand
With many a fervent blessing on my head,
And, with the crust all crumbled from his heart,
Arose and led me to her silent couch;
And I looked in upon my darling dead.
Mine—O mine in heaven forevermore!
God's angel sweetly smiling in her sleep;
How beautiful—how radiant of heaven!
The ring I gave begirt her finger still;
Her golden hair was wreathed with immortelles;
The lips half-parted seemed to move in psalm
Or holy blessing. As I kissed her brow,
It seemed as if her dead cheeks flushed again
As in those happy days beneath the pines;
And as my warm tears fell upon her face,
Methought I heard that dear familiar voice
So full of love and faith and calmest peace,
So near and yet so far and far away,
So mortal, yet so spiritual—like an air
Of softest music on the slumbering bay
Wafted on midnight wings to silent shores,
When myriad stars are twinkling in the sea:

On the shore of Gitchee Gumee ^[2]—
Deep, mysterious, mighty waters—
Where the mânitoes—the spirits—
Ride the storms and speak in thunder,
In the days of Némè-Shómis,^[3]
In the days that are forgotten,
Dwelt a tall and tawny hunter—
Gitchee Péz-ze-u the Panther,
Son of Waub-Ojeeg,^[4] the warrior,
Famous Waub-Ojeeg, the warrior.
Strong was he and fleet as roebuck,
Brave was he and very stealthy;
On the deer crept like a panther;
Grappled with Makwâ,^[5] the monster,
Grappled with the bear and conquered;
Took his black claws for a necklet,
Took his black hide for a blanket.

When the Panther wed the Sea-Gull,
Young was he and very gladsome;
Fair was she and full of laughter;
Like the robin in the spring-time,
Sang from sunrise till the sunset;
For she loved the handsome hunter.
Deep as Gitchee Gumee's waters
Was her love—as broad and boundless;
And the wedded twain were happy—
Happy as the mated robins.
When their first-born saw the sunlight
Joyful was the heart of Panther,
Proud and joyful was the mother.
All the days were full of sunshine,
All the nights were full of starlight.
Nightly from the land of spirits
On them smiled the starry faces—
Faces of their friends departed.
Little moccasins she made him,
Feathered cap and belt of wampum;
From the hide of fawn a blanket,
Fringed with feathers, soft as sable;
Singing at her pleasant labor,
By her side the tekenâgun, ^[6]
And the little hunter in it,
Oft the Panther smiled and fondled,
Smiled upon the babe and mother,
Frolicked with the boy and fondled,
Tall he grew and like his father,
And they called the boy the Raven—
Called him Kâk-kâh-gè—the Raven.
Happy hunter was the Panther.
From the woods he brought the pheasant,
Brought the red deer and the rabbit,
Brought the trout from Gitchee Gumee—
Brought the mallard from the marshes—
Royal feast for boy and mother:
Brought the hides of fox and beaver,
Brought the skins of mink and otter,
Lured the loon and took his blanket,
Took his blanket for the Raven.
Winter swiftly followed winter,
And again the tekenâgun
Held a babe—a tawny daughter,
Held a dark-eyed, dimpled daughter;
And they called her Waub-omeé-meé
Thus they named her—the White-Pigeon.
But as winter followed winter
Cold and sullen grew the Panther;
Sat and smoked his pipe in silence;
When he spoke he spoke in anger;
In the forest often tarried
Many days, and homeward turning,
Brought no game unto his wigwam;
Only brought his empty quiver,
Brought his dark and sullen visage.

Sad at heart and very lonely
Sat the Sea-Gull in the wigwam;
Sat and swung the tekenâgun
Sat and sang to Waub-omeé-meé:
Thus she sang to Waub-omeé-meé,
Thus the lullaby she chanted:

Wâ-wa, wâ-wa, wâ-we-yeà;
Kah-wéen, nee-zhéka kè-diaus-âi,
Ke-gáh nau-wâi, ne-mé-go s'wéen,
Ne-bâun, ne-bâun, ne-dâun-is âis,
Wâ-wa, wâ-wa, wâ-we-yeà;
Ne-bâun, ne-bâun, ne-dâun-is-âis,
E-we wâ-wa, wâ-we-yeà,
E-we wâ-wa, wâ-we-yeà.

TRANSLATION

Swing, swing, little one, lullaby;
Thou'rt not left alone to weep;
Mother cares for you—she is nigh;
Sleep, my little one, sweetly sleep;
Swing, swing, little one, lullaby;
Mother watches you—she is nigh;
Gently, gently, wee one, swing;
Gently, gently, while I sing
E-we wâ-wa—lullaby,
E-we wâ-wa—lullaby.

Homeward to his lodge returning
Kindly greeting found the hunter,
Fire to warm and food to nourish,
Golden trout from Gitchee Gumee,
Caught by Kâh-kâh-gè—the Raven.
With a snare he caught the rabbit—
Caught Wabóse,^[7] the furry-footed,
Caught Penây,^[7] the forest-drummer;
Sometimes with his bow and arrows,
Shot the red deer in the forest,
Shot the squirrel in the pine-top,
Shot Ne-kâ, the wild-goose, flying.
Proud as Waub-Ojeeg, the warrior,
To the lodge he bore his trophies.
So when homeward turned the Panther,
Ever found he food provided,
Found the lodge-fire brightly burning,
Found the faithful Sea-Gull waiting.
"You are cold," she said, "and famished;
Here are fire and food, my husband."
Not by word or look he answered;
Only ate the food provided,
Filled his pipe and pensive puffed it,
Sat and smoked in sullen silence.
Once—her dark eyes full of hunger—
Thus she spoke and thus besought him:
"Tell me, O my silent Panther,
Tell me, O beloved husband,
What has made you sad and sullen?
Have you met some evil spirit—
Met some goblin in the forest?
Has he put a spell upon you—
Filled your heart with bitter waters,
That you sit so sad and sullen,
Sit and smoke, but never answer,
Only when the storm is on you?"

Gruffly then the Panther answered:
"Brave among the brave is Panther
Son of Waub-Ojeeg, the warrior,
And the brave are ever silent;
But a whining dog is woman,
Whining ever like a coward."
Forth into the tangled forest,
Threading through the thorny thickets,
Treading trails on marsh and meadow,
Sullen strode the moody hunter.
Saw he not the bear or beaver,
Saw he not the elk or roebuck;
From his path the red fawn scampered,
But no arrow followed after;
From his den the sly wolf listened,
But no twang of bow-string heard he.
Like one walking in his slumber,
Listless, dreaming, walked the Panther;
Surely had some witch bewitched him,
Some bad spirit of the forest.

When the Sea-Gull wed the Panther,
Fair was she and full of laughter;
Like the robin in the spring-time,
Sang from sunrise till the sunset;
But the storms of many winters
Sifted frost upon her tresses,
Seamed her tawny face with wrinkles.
Not alone the storms of winters
Seamed her tawny face with wrinkles.
Twenty winters for the Panther
Had she ruled the humble wigwam;
For her haughty lord and master
Borne the burdens on the journey,
Gathered fagots for the lodge-fire,
Tanned the skins of bear and beaver,
Tanned the hides of moose and red-deer;
Made him moccasins and leggins,
Decked his hood with quills and feathers—
Colored quills of Kaug,^[8] the thorny,
Feathers from Kenéw,^[8] the eagle.
For a warrior brave was Panther;
Often had he met the foemen,
Met the bold and fierce Dakotas,
Westward on the war-path met them;
And the scalps he won were numbered,
Numbered seven by Kenéw-feathers.
Sad at heart was Sea-Gull waiting,
Watching, waiting in the wigwam;
Not alone the storms of winters
Sifted frost upon her tresses.

Ka-be-bón-ík-ka, the mighty,^[9]
He that sends the cruel winter,
He that turned to stone the Giant,
From the distant Thunder-mountain,
Far across broad Gitchee Gumee,
Sent his warning of the winter,
Sent the white frost and Kewâydin,^[10]
Sent the swift and hungry North-wind.
Homeward to the South the Summer
Turned and fled the naked forests.
With the Summer flew the robin,
Flew the bobolink and blue-bird.
Flock-wise following chosen leaders,
Like the shaftless heads of arrows
Southward cleaving through the ether,
Soon the wild-geese followed after.
One long moon the Sea-Gull waited,
Watched and waited for her husband,
Till at last she heard his footsteps,
Heard him coming through the thicket.
Forth she went to met her husband,
Joyful went to greet her husband.
Lo behind the haughty hunter,
Closely following in his footsteps,
Walked a young and handsome woman,
Walked the Red Fox from the island—
Gitchee Ménis the Grand Island—
Followed him into the wigwam,
Proudly took her seat beside him.
On the Red Fox smiled the hunter,
On the hunter smiled the woman.

Old and wrinkled was the Sea-Gull,
Good and true, but old and wrinkled.
Twenty winters for the Panther
Had she ruled the humble wigwam,
Borne the burdens on the journey,
Gathered fagots for the lodge-fire,
Tanned the skins of bear and beaver,
Tanned the hides of moose and red-deer,
Made him moccasins and leggins,
Decked his hood with quills and feathers,
Colored quills of Kaug, the thorny,
Feathers from the great war-eagle;
Ever diligent and faithful,
Ever patient, ne'er complaining.
But like all brave men the Panther
Loved a young and handsome woman;
So he dallied with the danger,
Dallied with the fair Algónkin,^[11]
Till a magic mead she gave him,
Brewed of buds of birch and cedar.^[12]
Madly then he loved the woman;
Then she ruled him, then she held him
Tangled in her raven tresses,
Tied and tangled in her tresses.

Ah, the tall and tawny Panther!
Ah, the brave and brawny Panther!
Son of Waub-Ojeeg, the warrior!
With a slender hair she led him,
With a slender hair she drew him,
Drew him often to her wigwam;
There she bound him, there she held him
Tangled in her raven tresses,
Tied and tangled in her tresses.
Ah, the best of men are tangled—
Sometimes tangled in the tresses
Of a fair and crafty woman.

So the Panther wed the Red Fox,
And she followed to his wigwam.
Young again he seemed and gladsome,
Glad as Raven when the father
Made his first bow from the elm-tree,
From the ash-tree made his arrows,
Taught him how to aim his arrows,
How to shoot Wabóse—the rabbit.
Then again the brawny hunter
Brought the black bear and the beaver,
Brought the haunch of elk and red-deer,
Brought the rabbit and the pheasant—
Choicest bits of all for Red Fox.
For her robes he brought the sable,
Brought the otter and the ermine,
Brought the black-fox tipped with silver.

But the Sea-Gull murmured never,
Not a word she spoke in anger,
Went about her work as ever,
Tanned the skins of bear and beaver,
Tanned the hides of moose and red-deer,
Gathered fagots for the lodge-fire,
Gathered rushes from the marshes;
Deftly into mats she wove them;
Kept the lodge as bright as ever.
Only to herself she murmured,
All alone with Waub-omeé-meé,
On the tall and toppling highland,
O'er the wilderness of waters;
Murmured to the murmuring waters,
Murmured to the Nébe-nâw-baigs—
To the spirits of the waters;
On the wild waves poured her sorrow.
Save the infant on her bosom
With her dark eyes wide with wonder,
None to hear her but the spirits,
And the murmuring pines above her.
Thus she cast away her burdens,
Cast her burdens on the waters;
Thus unto the good Great Spirit,
Made her lowly lamentation:
"Wahonówin!—showiness!^[13]
Gitchee Mânito, benâ-nin!
Nah, Ba-bâ, showâin neméshin!
Wahonówin!—Wahonówin!"

Ka-be-bón-ík-ka,^[9] the mighty,
He that sends the cruel winter,
From the distant Thunder-mountain
On the shore of Gitchee Gumee,
On the rugged northern border,
Sent his solemn, final warning,
Sent the white wolves of the Nor'land.^[14]
Like the dust of stars in ether—
In the Pathway of the Spirits,^[15]
Like the sparkling dust of diamonds,
Fell the frost upon the forest,
On the mountains and the meadows,
On the wilderness of woodland,
On the wilderness of waters.
All the lingering fowls departed—
All that seek the South in winter,
All but Shingebís, the diver;^[16]
He defies the Winter-maker,
Sits and laughs at Winter-maker.

Ka-be-bón-ík-ka, the mighty,
From his wigwam called Kewâydin—
From his home among the icebergs,
From the sea of frozen waters,
Called the swift and hungry North-wind.
Then he spread his mighty pinions
Over all the land and shook them.
Like the white down of Waubésè ^[17]
Fell the feathery snow and covered
All the marshes and the meadows,
All the hill-tops and the highlands.
Then old Péböán ^[18]—the winter—
Laughed along the stormy waters,
Danced upon the windy headlands,
On the storm his white hair streaming,
And his steaming breath, ascending,
On the pine-tops and the cedars
Fell in frosty mists of silver,
Sprinkling spruce and fir with silver,
Sprinkling all the woods with silver.

By the lodge-fire all the winter
Sat the Sea-Gull and the Red Fox,
Sat and kindly spoke and chatted,
Till the twain seemed friends together.
Friends they seemed in word and action,
But within the breast of either
Smoldered still the baneful embers—
Fires of jealousy and hatred—
Like a camp-fire in the forest
Left by hunters and deserted;
Only seems a bed of ashes,
But the East wind, Wâbun-noódin,
Scatters through the woods the ashes,
Fans to flame the sleeping embers,
And the wild-fire roars and rages,
Roars and rages through the forest.
So the baneful embers smoldered,
Smoldered in the breast of either.
From the far-off Sunny Islands,
From the pleasant land of Summer,
Where the spirits of the blessed
Feel no more the fangs of hunger,
Or the cold breath of Kewâydin,
Came a stately youth and handsome,
Came Según,^[19] the foe of Winter.
Like the rising sun his face was,
Like the shining stars his eyes were,
Light his footsteps as the Morning's,
In his hand were buds and blossoms,
On his brow a blooming garland.
Straightway to the icy wigwam
Of old Péböán, the Winter,
Strode Según and quickly entered.
There old Péböán sat and shivered,
Shivered o'er his dying lodge-fire.

"Ah, my son, I bid you welcome;
Sit and tell me your adventures;
I will tell you of my power;
We will pass the night together."
Thus spake Péböán—the Winter;
Then he filled his pipe and lighted;
Then by sacred custom raised it
To the spirits in the ether;
To the spirits in the caverns
Of the hollow earth he lowered it.
Thus he passed it to the spirits,
And the unseen spirits puffed it.
Next himself old Péböán honored;
Thrice he puffed his pipe and passed it,
Passed it to the handsome stranger.

"Lo I blow my breath," said Winter,
"And the laughing brooks are silent.
Hard as flint become the waters,
And the rabbit runs upon them."

Then Según, the fair youth, answered:
"Lo I breathe upon the hillsides,
On the valleys and the meadows,
And behold as if by magic—
By the magic of the spirits,
Spring the flowers and tender grasses."

Then old Péböán replying:
"Nah!^[20] I breathe upon the forests,
And the leaves fall sere and yellow;
Then I shake my locks and snow falls,
Covering all the naked landscape."

Then Según arose and answered:
"Nashké!^[20]—see!—I shake my ringlets;
On the earth the warm rain falleth,
And the flowers look up like children
Glad-eyed from their mother's bosom.
Lo my voice recalls the robin,
Brings the bobolink and bluebird,
And the woods are full of music.
With my breath I melt their fetters,
And the brooks leap laughing onward."

Then old Péböán looked upon him,
Looked and knew Según, the Summer.
From his eyes the big tears started
And his boastful tongue was silent.
Now Keezís—the great life-giver,
From his wigwam in Waubú-nong ^[21]
Rose and wrapped his shining blanket
Round his giant form and started,
Westward started on his journey,
Striding on from hill to hill-top.
Upward then he climbed the ether—
On the Bridge of Stars ^[22] he traveled,
Westward traveled on his journey
To the far-off Sunset Mountains—
To the gloomy land of shadows.

On the lodge-poles sang the robin—
And the brooks began to murmur.
On the South-wind floated fragrance
Of the early buds and blossoms.
From old Péböán's eyes the tear-drops
Down his pale face ran in streamlets;
Less and less he grew in stature
Till he melted down to nothing;
And behold, from out the ashes,
From the ashes of his lodge-fire,
Sprang the Miscodeed ^[23] and, blushing,
Welcomed Según to the North-land.

So from Sunny Isles returning,
From the Summer-Land of spirits,
On the poles of Panther's wigwam
Sang Opeé-chee—sang the robin.
In the maples cooed the pigeons—
Cooed and wooed like silly lovers.
"Hah!—hah!" laughed the crow derisive,
In the pine-top, at their folly—
Laughed and jeered the silly lovers.
Blind with love were they, and saw not;
Deaf to all but love, and heard not;
So they cooed and wooed unheeding,
Till the gray hawk pounced upon them,
And the old crow shook with laughter.

FOOTNOTES

THE SEA-GULL.^[1]

THE LEGEND OF THE PICTURED ROCKS OF LAKE SUPERIOR. OJIBWAY

In the measure of Hiawatha.

FOOTNOTES

THE SEA-GULL.[1]

THE LEGEND OF THE PICTURED ROCKS OF LAKE SUPERIOR. OJIBWAY

In the measure of Hiawatha.

THE SEA-GULL.^[1]