Full thrice greater
Than on the first day;
Still they rushed onward,
Fiercer for battle,
Giving no heed
That the day was ending;
Never observing
The sun down-sinking,
When over the forest
Rang loud the summons:
“_Lappilatwan
Wappilatwan_.”
All was over.
High on the birch-tree
Untouched by a foeman--
Sat the watchman--
The flies were victorious!
This poem is like Homer’s Batrachomyomachia, the battle of the frogs
and mice, as sung by some Icelandic bard. The humor is as Greek as
the form is Norse. L.
FOOTNOTES:
[62] Long ago, Lappilatwan, always good-natured, was cousin of all
the birds. These lines indicate the measure to which the whole was
sung; _i.e._, they are a “staff-rhyme.”
II
THE STORY OF NIPON THE SUMMER
[_Passamaquoddy_]
_Piʿche weligit ēpit
Liwiha Nipon
Metchimiû wikos
Kwihio kizosek._[63]
In the far old time
Lived near the sun
A beautiful woman,
Nipon her name.
Green were her garments
All of fresh leaves.
And with green leaves
And beautiful flowers
She covered her wigwam.
She had a grandmother,
Kʾmēwun, the rain,
Who dwelt far away.
But when she came
To visit her grandchild
One thing she ever
Said ere she left her:
“One thing I bid thee
With hardest warning,
To one thing I bind thee
With a strong will:
Look that thou never
Seek in thy wandering
The Laʿtogwesnuk,
The land of the North:
For there dwells Pûn,
Pûn, the winter;
A deadly foe
Thou wilt surely find him.
Should thy feet fall
In the Laʿtogwesnuk
Thy beauty will leave thee,
Thy green dress fade,
Hair turning gray
Thy strength become weakness.”
Little heed
And scant attention
Gave Nipon
To Kʾmēwun, the rain.
One fair morning
She sat by her wigwam
In the bright sunshine,
And looking afar
At the Laʿtogwesnuk
All that she saw
Seemed strangely lovely
As if enchanted.
No human being
Was in the Northland,
But o’er it all
Was beautiful sunshine;
There she beheld
At a long distance
A wonderful land:
Broad shining lakes,
High blue mountains,
Bright rolling rivers
All strange and sweet.
Something came over her,
She knew not what;
A dream or a voice;
There was no help,
She must rise and go.
Must go to the land
Of Laʿtogwesnuk
Unto the Northland.
Up rose Nipon
Unto the North
Wending her way,
When she heard a voice,
The voice of the Rain
(Though she could not see her),
Kʾmēwun, a-wailing:
“Bide, my daughter!
If thou goest
Unto the Northland
Pûn the winter
Will surely kill thee!”
She heard nothing
Of all the warning,
She could not stay
For a spell was on her;
Ever onward
She went to the North.
For many days,
For many moons,
Still the sun shone,
Still she saw
The beautiful country
Of mountains and rivers,
Until one day
Nipon noted
That as she followed,
The land went onward,
And as she travelled,
It travelled before her.
All around her
Was nothing but sunshine.
Stopping a little
To think of the wonder,
She heard a whisper,
The voice of the Rain:
“Stay, my daughter!”
It made her wilful,
She still went onward;
On to the North.
[Illustration]
Still the far country
Went on before her,
And something she never
Had known came o’er her--
She felt the cold!
An unseen power
Now drove her onward;
Will had departed,
Still the mountains
Went on before her;
The green leaves
Of her beautiful garment
Grew yellow and faded,
And were blown away
By the grim wind;
Her long hair
Turned gray and white;
The sun grew dim
And then shone no more;
She was very weak;
The beautiful mountains
Were heaps of snow;
The beautiful rivers
And lakes were of ice--
All in the North.
Kʾmēwun, the Rain,
Was sad in her soul.
She looked afar
No smoke was rising
From Nipon’s wigwam:
“She has not returned,”
Said the Rain-mother,
So in her fear
She went to the wigwam.
All was silent,
The boughs and the flowers
Which covered the wigwam
Were yellow and faded:
“My child!--my child!
Thou art caught at last
By the icy Pûn,
By the wicked winter!
Afar in the North.”
Straight she called for
Her bravest warriors.
The ever-unseen.
These were their names:
Saunésen the south wind,
Wchîpi the east wind,
With Sĕnusóktun
The warming breeze.
Quickly she cried:
“Hasten away
To the Laʿtogwésnuk,
Fight like heroes,
Use all your power
To rescue Nĭpon
From Pûn, the winter,
Fly to the North!”
The wind warriors,
The unseen by man,
Flew like lightning
On their long journey.
As they entered
The Laʿtogwesnuk
Pûn the winter
Felt ill at ease;
He called his chieftains:
Great Laʿtogwĕsin
The terrible north wind,
And the wild north-wester,
The chill north-east wind,
With all the frosts
Sleet-spirits, snow-spirits,
And every child
Of the killing cold
Who dwell in the North.
“Fly!” he cried,
“For our foes are coming!
Up from the Southland,
The home of Summer!”
Even as he spoke
The sweat dropped from him
His face grew thin,
His feet seemed smaller:
“I feel them coming!
Fly to the battle!”
The mighty wind-giants
Flew to the fight,
Great snow-flakes
And heavy hail-stones
Met and melted
With the great rain-drops;
Winds were loud roaring,
Thunder pealing,
Tempest fighting tempest,
Storm against storm;
The drops of sweat
Grew ever bigger
On Pûn’s cheeks;
On Nipon’s head
The hair grew whiter;
Louder and louder
The winds were blowing,
Snow was falling,
Thicker and thicker,
But the driving rain
And the mild south winds
Were ever warmer
And bigger the drops
Grew on Pûn’s face;
His strength had left him.
Down he fell
And in his falling
A leg was broken:
“Lo, I must perish
If this lasts longer,
Set Nipon free!
She it is
Who has brought this trouble
And made this battle.
By my own prisoner
I have been conquered.
Set Nipon free!”
At the word spoken,
Even in the instant,
The winds were silent.
Snow and rain ceased.
Turning her back
To the Laʿtogwesnuk
And Pûn the winter,
Weary Nipon
Set out on her journey.
Old she was, old
As she bore from the North
In her white hair
The hue of its snows,
In her tottering weakness
Its chilling frosts.
Many moons passed,
Still she travelled;
The sun grew warmer,
Days and shadows
Were ever longer;
The air was softer;
Greener and greener
Grew the mountains;
Freer from ice
Rivers were rushing;
Lakes were shining
In the sunlight;
Flowers were unfolding
To the warm breezes.
Weary Nipon
Was weary no longer;
Her heart grew lighter,
Her hair grew darker,
Her face was fairer,
Brighter and younger,
Thus becoming
All she had been
In her early beauty.
Then the butterflies
Knew her again,
And fluttered round her,
And all the flowers
Greeted with perfume
In scent-voices
As she went past.
On she went
To the grandmother’s wigwam,
To old Kʾmēwun.
As she drew near
The clouds grew thicker;
Rain-winds were blowing,
Rain-drops falling,
Showers pelting,
Torrents pouring,
Thunder roaring round:
Still she went on,
Her path lit
By wild lightning,
Till in the midst
Where the clouds were darkest
She found the wigwam
And entered the door.
There as if dying
Lay Kʾmēwun
The ancient Rain-mother,
Weaker and older,
And worn and weary.
“Thou, my daughter!”
She said to Nipon,
“Hast well-nigh killed me!
By disobedience
Thou hast brought suffering
On me and all things.
But for my battle
With Pûn the winter
All life had perished:
Never again though,
While life is in me
Can I venture
On such a struggle!
Be this thy warning!
Else will Pûn,
The cruel winter,
Conquer all things
And ice and snow
For ever and ever
Cover the world.” L.
FOOTNOTES:
[63] Long ago a fair woman named Nipon always lived near the sun.
III
THE SCARLET TANAGER AND THE LEAF
[_Passamaquoddy_]
_Piche yut kʾchî wachok nit wigit welitasit mipis._[64]
[Illustration]
In the earliest time on the greatest mountain
Lived merry Mĭpis, the Little Leaf;
When spring is coming and sunlight is shining
He climbs a tree, and there, all summer,
Dressed in green he rocks in the branches,
Listens all day to the birds and the breezes,
And goes to sleep to the song of the owl.
When fall is coming and days are shorter,
Mĭpis dresses himself in scarlet;
Glad and gay in the Indian Summer;
But as the nights grow cold and longer,
He puts on a coat of brown or yellow,
Curls himself up like a bear for winter,
Lets go his hold and falls to the ground;
There he sleeps, all under the snow-drift
Till he hears in the spring the blue-bird calling,
And the stream fighting its enemy ice--
Carrying proudly in pieces as prisoners
The foe which kept it a frozen captive,
All the winter under its wigwam.
Then little Mĭpis, the Leaf, awaking,
Dresses in green and climbs in the sunshine,
Up through a tree, and upon the branches,
Lives as he did the summer before.
Merry Mĭpis on a bright May morning
Was stretching himself in the warm sunshine
When he heard afar a wonderful music,
A sound like a flute and the voice of a maiden,
Rippling melodies melting in one.
Never before had he heard such singing;
Then looking up he beheld before him
A beautiful merry little bird-girl,
Dressed in garments of brilliant scarlet,
Just like his own in the Indian Summer.
“O fairest of small birds!” said merry Mĭpis;
“Who are you, and what is your name?”
Thus she answered: “I am Squʿtes:
The Little Fire. When I fly in the forest
And meet in my way a bar of sunshine,
I look as I enter and leave the shadow
Like a red flame which leaps up in darkness,
And then falls asleep in the night again.
I have lived in the deep green forest,
Even as you have, for many ages,
Singing my songs to Kʾmûsomsʾn
Unto our Father the mighty mountain,
And because he well loved my music,
For a reward he sent me hither
To seek a youth whose name is Mĭpis,
Whom he wills that I should wed.
And as I think, and hope as I think it,
You are truly the one whom I seek.”
Little Leaf listened in silence
Being by nature very cunning,
Trained to suspicion from his childhood;
Thus his grandmother ever taught him:
“My child--beware of all living creatures,
Even the very smallest insect
May eat your life out. A worm so little
That it can pass through the prick of a needle
Even as a rabbit runs through a valley,
Or as a fish swims free up a river,
May cut your stem or blight your beauty;
Anything living may be your death.”
So to Squʿtes, Mĭpis listened,
Charmed with her beauty yet still mistrusting,
Liking her look yet deeply doubting,
Wondering whether this lovely creature
Was truly a friend or a false-hearted foe.
Beautiful Squʿtes, never heeding
What the Leaf thought, began to warble;
Pouring out in the pleasant sunshine
Her morning song. As Mĭpis listened
To the melodious trill, he melted;
For the sweet tune filled all the forest,
Every leaf on the tree was listening,
Branches were waving in keeping cadence,
Even the busy ants stopped running,
The butterfly sat on a flower to hear;
And as the music grew tender and stronger,
And as in one long soft note it ended,
Little Leaf said to her: “Be my own!”
So in the greenwood they lived together;
Other singers often assembled,
Other birds were often about them,
Coming to see the beautiful stranger,
Longing to try with hers their voices,
But at every trial the Little Fire
Flew in her melody far above them,
Even as she went beyond them in beauty.
One morning Squʿtes sang to the Leaf:
“Let us go and visit Kʾmûsomsʾn
Our mighty grandfather--the Mountain:
He made us happy--let us thank him!”
So the little Squʿtes and Mĭpis
Went like a flame through the shades of the forest,
Till they came to the cave of the grandsire.
Glad the grandfather was when he saw them!
Thus he spoke unto them--“_Nosesak!_
Grandchildren! Heed well what I tell you!
While you live never leave the mountain!
While you are here you are always in safety:
But when away from it, ever in danger
From one who is ever seeking to kill you:
The little Indian boy Monimques,
Who, armed with a terrible bow and arrows,
Shoots all the little birds of the forest,
And carries them home to old Monimques,
Who roasts them all in the fire and eats them.
Even worse is another foeman,
A dreadful little boy who is flying
All the time over rivers and valleys,
Aplasemwesit, the Little Whirlwind,
Who never rests. He is always trying
To blow the leaves away from the branches,
And drives them headlong, in flocks together,
To his grandfather the terrible Tempest,
The great wild Whirlwind who kills them all.”
Taking the Leaf in her bill, the Red Bird
Flew through the forest among the branches
To the great tree which grew secluded
In the safest place in all the mountain.
On its topmost branch they built a wigwam;
Bad little Indians never came near them
Hunting for birds with their bows and arrows,
Nor the wicked whirlwind looking for leaves.
There they lived and were perfectly happy,
Nothing but kind words passed between them,
Only kind words and favorite songs.[65]
Leaves like men are never contented,
When all’s for the best they never know it;
So it came to pass that Mĭpis one morning
Saw far away in the pleasant sunlight
A land of beautiful lakes and mountains,
Lovelier far than the place they lived in;
And felt in his heart an earnest longing
To wander away. So he said to the Red Bird:
“Look, my dear, at that beautiful country!
There we are sure to be perfectly happy:
I can no longer live here on the mountain!”
Taking the Leaf in her little bill,
The Red Bird flew over rock and river,
Till she came to the beautiful country;
Again on a tree they built their wigwam,
And Squʿtes sat and sang on the branches:
The little Indian boy Monimques
Never had heard such beautiful singing,
Never beheld such wonderful feathers;
Amazed he stood for a while and listened,
Then bending his bow let fly an arrow.
Down fell the Red Bird, sorely wounded,
And proud of his prey the boy ran homeward.
Then another foe came rushing after,
Aplasemwesit the Little Whirlwind,
Seeing the Red Leaf soon he seized it,
Took it in triumph unto his grandsire
The mighty Storm; when the chief beheld it,
“This,” he said, “is no common capture,
This is the Leaf of the Leaves, my grandson!
He shall not die. I will keep him a prisoner:
He has come from afar. We must guard him with care.”
Greatly the Storm Chief fears the Mountain
Who stops the wind in its wildest flight.
That night there came a dream to Kʾmûsomsʾn
And he learned that the Leaf had been taken prisoner,
By Aplasemwesit and kept as captive.
Waking in anger he called to his son:
“Go to the chief of the storms and tell him
To send me the Leaf!” His son departed
And when he came to the mighty Whirlwind
Said: “Give me the Leaf! Else, ere the evening
All of our tribe will be on the war path.”
Gladly the Whirlwind gave up his captive,
And the son of the Mountain carried him home.
Soon the Leaf was safe in his wigwam
On the great tree. He lived in sorrow,
And when the notes of a bird came ringing
Out of the forest, his grief was greater;
His life was gone with the Little Fire,
And the fire of his life was all in ashes.
Thus it fared with the beautiful Red Bird;
When the old Monimques beheld her,
Long he was silent, then said: “My grandson!
This is truly no common capture!
Well it is that thou didst not kill it!
Let the bird live in peace in our wigwam!
But take good care lest it escape!”
Day after day the Red Bird grew better
And soon her color was as bright as ever,
Until one morning when least expected,
Her voice broke forth like a brook into sunshine.
These were her words: “Could the Wind but hear me,
I should not long be kept a captive,
Soon he would carry the news to the Mountain!
Soon the Mountain would send a warrior,
Soon the warrior would give me freedom!
Soon I should be with the Leaf again!”
As the old Monimques heard her singing:
His heart at the words grew weak with fear:
“Truly it was a bad beginning
That ever my grandson shot this singer,
And truly, ’twould have a woful ending,
If the Mountain should learn she is here!
It is madness to keep her a captive,
But certain death if we let her go free!”
While he thought it over his grandson returned
Bringing a burden of birds of the forest,
And little singers who live by the rivers:
And when they were cooked, and the chief had eaten,
Down by the fire he lay on a bear skin,
Smoking himself into silent sleep.
The door was closed, nor was there a crevice
Through which the Red Bird could creep to freedom
When all at once she thought of the opening
Through which the smoke from the fire ascended
Ever upward so densely pouring
Nobody deemed she would dare to pass it.
As the head of Monimques drooped on his shoulder
And as the pipe stem dropped from his fingers
And as the little Wʾnagʾmeswuk
The tiny fairies who tap the eyelids,
Soothed him into deepest slumber,
Softly the Red Bird rose and taking
A birchen bucket, filled it with water.
Dipping her wing in the water she sprayed it
Little by little upon the fire;
Little by little the fire, like Monimques
Sunk to sleep, and the bright red flame
Lay down to rest in the dull gray ashes.
Out of the smoke-hole, in careful silence
Flitted Squʿtes, and when far from the wigwam,
In the fresh air and the beautiful sunshine,
Heard other song-birds far beneath her.
As she went flying over the forest,
Leaving death behind, with love before her,
She had never been half so happy.
And what was her joy when she reached the mountain
And saw from afar on the great tree rising
A bright Red Leaf which shone in the sunset;
Straight was her flight as that of an arrow,
Fast as an arrow, when she beheld him.
And the Red Leaf leapt as if smit by an arrow,
When all in an instant her arms were round him.
Then without an instant’s warning
All his darkness was turned to daylight,
And the Red Wing burst into tears of rapture.
It was long ago, even in the morning
Of the first moons that this all happened;
Trees had not mouldered as yet in the valleys,
To the cold depths of many a river
Fishes as yet had not found their way,
And all the secret roads of the forest
Had not been learned by the bear or woodchuck;
But even then the Squʿtes and Mĭpis
Lived all the summer upon the mountain,
Sung in its shadows and shone in the sunshine
Still as of yore they are singing and shining;
And so it will be while the mountain is there. L.
FOOTNOTES:
[64] Long ago on the big mountain lived the happy little leaf.
[65] In the original Indian-English version this line is given
as--“Only kind words and popular songs.”
V
THE BLIND BOY
A VERY OLD SONG
[_Passamaquoddy_]
_Nit neke epit pʾiche nitwechi moskesits
Poskaniknikok mechinechik etli-poskʿnot._[66]
There was a woman, long, long ago,
She came out of a pit
In which dead people were buried;
She made her home in a tree;
She was dressed in leaves;
All long, long ago.
When she walked among the dry leaves,
Her feet were so covered
That they could not be seen;
She walked in the woods
Singing all the time:
“I want company: I am lonesome!”
All long, long ago!
From afar o’er the lakes and mountains
A wild man heard her cry;
He came to her, she saw him,
Saw him and was afraid;
She tried to flee away,
For he was clothed with the rainbow,
Color and light were his garments.
She ran and he pursued her,
Pursued her rapidly,
Unto the foot of a mountain.
He spoke in a strange language,
She could not understand him.
He would make her tell where she dwelt.
They married and had two children
One of them was a boy,
A boy who was blind from his birth.
But he frightened his mother by his sight;
He could tell her what was coming:
What was coming from afar,
What was near he could not see.
He could see the bear and moose,
Far away beyond the mountains;
He could see through everything.
The father was a great being,
He was a mighty hunter;
His wife had magic gifts.
A boy was born to them
Alas, the boy was blind!
In time his sight returned,
He said that he could see.
The mother did not believe it,
She thought it was magic sight.
So one day she bade her husband
Put on him certain things
Which no one could behold
Who saw them not with eyes
As every one could see them.
And then she asked the boy
“What is it that your father
Uses to pull his sled?”
Promptly the child replied
“The rainbow.” Then she said:
“What has he for a bow-string?”
To which his answer was
“It is Ketaksuwauʿt
That is the Spirits’ Road”
(Meaning the Milky Way).
Yet once more she inquired:
“What has he on his sled?”
“A beaver,” he replied;
She knew that he could see.
It would appear from collateral indications of other songs in
different tribes that this song is of very great antiquity. The
first portion of it was chanted to Mrs. W. Wallace Brown by an old
Indian woman; the remainder was recovered from the Passamaquoddy
Thomas Josephs or Tamaquah. There appears to be in the myth, for
such it undoubtedly is, a refinement of philosophic or theosophic
speculation. This is shown in the conception of the young magician,
or poet, so gifted though _blind_ that his mother could not determine
whether he saw all things by _clairvoyance_ or natural vision. L.
FOOTNOTES:
[66] Long ago there was a woman who came out of a pit where dead
people are buried.
V
PASSAMAQUODDY LOVE SONG
ORIGINAL TEXT
Anigowanotenu!
Boski ktabin elmi nelemwik
Elmi papkeyik; boski ktlabin,
Anigowanotenu!
Neket mpesel etli-nemiotyikw.
Etuchi wlinakwben sebayi sibuk;
Etuchi wli baquasketen.
Kʾmachtina nolithasiben.
Mechinoltena keppithamʾl.
Anigowanotenu!
Boski ktlabin elmi nelemwik
Elmi papkeyik; boski ktlabin,
Anigowanotenu!
Negetlo he eli-alnisukmekwben
Sibayi guspenik
Etuchi welanakwsititben wuchowek
He eli-machip klamisken mipisel.
Anigowanotenu!
Anigowanotenu!
Nittloch apch eli-alnisuknukw tan etuch apachyaie;
Tan etuch boski pʾkesik mipisel
Yut pemden nit kʾtlaskuyin.
Anigowanotenu!
Boski kʾtlabin elmi nelemwik
Elmi papkeyik;
Boski kʾtlabin,
Anigowanotenu!
[Illustration]
V
PASSAMAQUODDY LOVE SONG
Anigowanotenû!
Oft these lonely days thou look’st
On beauteous river and down shining stream.
Oft thou look’st and sighest deep,
Anigowanotenû!
With me thy lover by thy side
How fair that stream did bubble on!
How lovely was the silver moon!
Thy heart now tells thee of that joy.
E’en unto death I think of thee.
Anigowanotenû!
Oft these lonely days thou look’st
On beauteous river and down shining stream.
Oft thou look’st and sighest deep.
Anigowanotenû!
When we in birch canoe did glide
Together on that glistening lake,
How fair the hills and how we watched
The _red_ leaves whirling in the breeze.
Anigowanotenû!
Anigowanotenû!
We’ll rove once more in bark canoe
And watch the _green_ leaves swirl on high
When spring smiles on the mountain tops.
Anigowanotenû!
Oft these lonely days thou look’st
On beauteous river and down shining stream.
Oft thou look’st and sighest deep.
Anigowanotenû! P.
[Illustration]
VI
THE SONG OF THE STARS
[_Passamaquoddy text_]
Nilun pesazmuk elintaquik.
Ntʾlintotebin kʾpesaukhenmâgonok.
Nilun sipsizuk squʿtek;
Kʾpʾmitoiapon pissokiqs
Kʾpesaukhenmagon pesazum.
Kʾtʾlintoanen âût niwesquok;
Otâût Kʾchî-Niwesq
Koitchimkononnoak nohowok katonkewinoak,
Nosokoat moinial
Nit mesq tepnaskwiewis
Mesq katonketitiq
Ketlapinen pemtenikek
Yot lintoakʾn pemtenikek.
[Illustration]
VI
THE SONG OF THE STARS
We are the stars which sing.
We sing with our light.
We are the birds of fire
We fly across the heaven,
Our light is a star.
We make a road for Spirits,
A road for the Great Spirit.
Among us are three hunters
Who chase a bear:
There never was a time
When they were not hunting;
We look down on the mountains.
This is the Song of the mountains. L. & P.
[Illustration]
VII
HOW THE INDIANS LOST THEIR POWER
[_Penobscot_]
_Uskichinwi pilskwessis muiso Ktatnok
Naya kamach okiwachitahasin._[67]
All of the olden time!
Once as an Indian girl
Was gathering blue-berries,
On Mount Katahdin’s side,
She felt a strange loneliness,
And said unto herself:
“I would that I were wed
Unto some brave great man!”
And, seeing the great mount
In glory rising high
E’en as ’twere to heaven
(White the red sunlight shone
Upon the very head),
She said: “A man indeed,
Like great Katahdin there!
High rising over all,
That were the man for me.”
This she was heard to say
Ere she went further on
Up to the mountain top--
Three years then passed away
Ere she was seen again,
And then when she returned
’Twas with a charming child,
The fairest in the land;
Only one thing was strange:
His eyebrows were of stone.
She had been wed in truth,
To Mount Katahdin’s self;
The Spirit of the Mount
Had ta’en her to himself,
And when she greatly longed
To see her folk again,
He said: “Then go in peace.”
But one thing he forbade
With terrible command:
That she should ever tell
To any mortal soul
Who ’twas had married her.