| |
|
II
"Honor
be to Mudjekeewis!"
Cried the warriors, cried the
old men,
When he came in triumph homeward
With
the sacred Belt of Wampum,
From the regions of the
North-Wind,
From the kingdom of Wabasso,
From
the land of the White Rabbit.
He had stolen the Belt
of Wampum
From the neck of Mishe-Mokwa,
From the
Great Bear of the mountains,
From the terror of the
nations,
As he lay asleep and cumbrous
On the
summit of the mountains,
Like a rock with mosses on
it,
Spotted brown and gray with mosses.
Silently
he stole upon him
Till the red nails of the monster
Almost touched him, almost scared him,
Till the
hot breath of his nostrils
Warmed the hands of
Mudjekeewis,
As he drew the Belt of Wampum
Over
the round ears, that heard not,
Over the small eyes,
that saw not,
Over the long nose and nostrils,
The black muffle of the nostrils,
Out of which the
heavy breathing
Warmed the hands of Mudjekeewis.
Then he swung aloft his war-club,
Shouted loud and
long his war-cry,
Smote the mighty Mishe-Mokwa
In
the middle of the forehead,
Right between the eyes
he smote him.
With the heavy blow bewildered,
Rose the Great Bear of the mountains;
But his knees
beneath him trembled,
And he whimpered like a woman,
As he reeled and staggered forward,
As he sat
upon his haunches;
And the mighty Mudjekeewis,
Standing fearlessly before him,
Taunted him in loud
derision,
Spake disdainfully in this wise:
"Hark
you, Bear! you are a coward;
And no Brave, as you
pretended;
Else you would not cry and whimper
Like a miserable woman!
Bear! you know our tribes
are hostile,
Long have been at war together;
Now
you find that we are strongest,
You go sneaking in
the forest,
You go hiding in the mountains!
Had
you conquered me in battle
Not a groan would I have
uttered;
But you, Bear! sit here and whimper,
And disgrace your tribe by crying,
Like a wretched
Shaugodaya,
Like a cowardly old woman!"
Then
again he raised his war-club,
Smote again the
Mishe-Mokwa
In the middle of his forehead,
Broke
his skull, as ice is broken
When one goes to fish in
Winter.
Thus was slain the Mishe-Mokwa,
He the
Great Bear of the mountains,
He the terror of the
nations.
"Honor be to Mudjekeewis!"
With a shout
exclaimed the people,
"Honor be to Mudjekeewis!
Henceforth he shall be the West-Wind,
And hereafter
and forever
Shall he hold supreme dominion
Over
all the winds of heaven.
Call him no more
Mudjekeewis,
Call him Kabeyun, the West-Wind!"
Thus was Mudjekeewis chosen
Father of the Winds of
Heaven.
For himself he kept the West-Wind,
Gave
the others to his children;
Unto Wabun gave the
East-Wind,
Gave the South to Shawondasee,
And
the North-Wind, wild and cruel,
To the fierce
Kabibonokka.
Young and beautiful was Wabun;
He it
was who brought the morning,
He it was whose silver
arrows
Chased the dark o'er hill and valley;
He
it was whose cheeks were painted
With the brightest
streaks of crimson,
And whose voice awoke the
village,
Called the deer, and called the hunter.
Lonely in the sky was Wabun;
Though the birds sang
gayly to him,
Though the wild-flowers of the meadow
Filled the air with odors for him;
Though the
forests and the rivers
Sang and shouted at his
coming,
Still his heart was sad within him,
For
he was alone in heaven.
But one morning, gazing
earthward,
While the village still was sleeping,
And the fog lay on the river,
Like a ghost, that
goes at sunrise,
He beheld a maiden walking
All
alone upon a meadow,
Gathering water-flags and
rushes
By a river in the meadow.
Every morning,
gazing earthward,
Still the first thing he beheld
there
Was her blue eyes looking at him,
Two blue
lakes among the rushes.
And he loved the lonely
maiden,
Who thus waited for his coming;
For they
both were solitary,
She on earth and he in heaven.
And he wooed her with caresses,
Wooed her with his
smile of sunshine,
With his flattering words he
wooed her,
With his sighing and his singing,
Gentlest whispers in the branches,
Softest music,
sweetest odors,
Till he drew her to his bosom,
Folded in his robes of crimson,
Till into a star he
changed her,
Trembling still upon his bosom;
And
forever in the heavens
They are seen together
walking,
Wabun and the Wabun-Annung,
Wabun and
the Star of Morning.
But the fierce Kabibonokka
Had his dwelling among icebergs,
In the everlasting
snow-drifts,
In the kingdom of Wabasso,
In the
land of the White Rabbit.
He it was whose hand in
Autumn
Painted all the trees with scarlet,
Stained the leaves with red and yellow;
He it was
who sent the snow-flake,
Sifting, hissing through
the forest,
Froze the ponds, the lakes, the rivers,
Drove the loon and sea-gull southward,
Drove the
cormorant and curlew
To their nests of sedge and
sea-tang
In the realms of Shawondasee.
Once the
fierce Kabibonokka
Issued from his lodge of
snow-drifts
From his home among the icebergs,
And his hair, with snow besprinkled,
Streamed behind
him like a river,
Like a black and wintry river,
As he howled and hurried southward,
Over frozen
lakes and moorlands.
There among the reeds and rushes
Found he Shingebis, the diver,
Trailing strings
of fish behind him,
O'er the frozen fens and
moorlands,
Lingering still among the moorlands,
Though his tribe had long departed
To the land of
Shawondasee.
Cried the fierce Kabibonokka,
"Who
is this that dares to brave me?
Dares to stay in my
dominions,
When the Wawa has departed,
When the
wild-goose has gone southward,
And the heron, the
Shuh-shuh-gah,
Long ago departed southward?
I
will go into his wigwam,
I will put his smouldering
fire out!"
And at night Kabibonokka,
To the lodge
came wild and wailing,
Heaped the snow in drifts
about it,
Shouted down into the smoke-flue,
Shook the lodge-poles in his fury,
Flapped the
curtain of the door-way.
Shingebis, the diver,
feared not,
Shingebis, the diver, cared not;
Four great logs had he for firewood,
One for each
moon of the winter,
And for food the fishes served
him.
By his blazing fire he sat there,
Warm and
merry, eating, laughing,
Singing, "O Kabibonokka,
You are but my fellow-mortal!"
Then Kabibonokka
entered,
And though Shingebis, the diver,
Felt
his presence by the coldness,
Felt his icy breath
upon him,
Still he did not cease his singing,
Still he did not leave his laughing,
Only turned the
log a little,
Only made the fire burn brighter,
Made the sparks fly up the smoke-flue.
From
Kabibonokka's forehead,
From his snow-besprinkled
tresses,
Drops of sweat fell fast and heavy,
Making dints upon the ashes,
As along the eaves of
lodges,
As from drooping boughs of hemlock,
Drips the melting snow in spring-time,
Making
hollows in the snow-drifts.
Till at last he rose
defeated,
Could not bear the heat and laughter,
Could not bear the merry singing,
But rushed
headlong through the door-way,
Stamped upon the
crusted snow-drifts,
Stamped upon the lakes and
rivers,
Made the snow upon them harder,
Made the
ice upon them thicker,
Challenged Shingebis, the
diver,
To come forth and wrestle with him,
To
come forth and wrestle naked
On the frozen fens and
moorlands.
Forth went Shingebis, the diver,
Wrestled all night with the North-Wind,
Wrestled
naked on the moorlands
With the fierce Kabibonokka,
Till his panting breath grew fainter,
Till his
frozen grasp grew feebler,
Till he reeled and
staggered backward,
And retreated, baffled, beaten,
To the kingdom of Wabasso,
To the land of the White
Rabbit,
Hearing still the gusty laughter,
Hearing Shingebis, the diver,
Singing, "O
Kabibonokka,
You are but my fellow-mortal!"
Shawondasee, fat and lazy,
Had his dwelling far to
southward,
In the drowsy, dreamy sunshine,
In
the never-ending Summer.
He it was who sent the
wood-birds,
Sent the robin, the Opechee,
Sent
the bluebird, the Owaissa,
Sent the Shawshaw, sent
the swallow,
Sent the wild-goose, Wawa, northward,
Sent the melons and tobacco,
And the grapes in
purple clusters.
From his pipe the smoke ascending
Filled the sky with haze and vapor,
Filled the
air with dreamy softness,
Gave a twinkle to the
water,
Touched the rugged hills with smoothness,
Brought the tender Indian Summer
To the melancholy
north-land,
In the dreary Moon of Snow-shoes.
Listless, careless Shawondasee!
In his life he had
one shadow,
In his heart one sorrow had he.
Once, as he was gazing northward,
Far away upon a
prairie
He beheld a maiden standing,
Saw a tall
and slender maiden
All alone upon a prairie;
Brightest green were all her garments,
And her hair
was like the sunshine.
Day by day he gazed upon her,
Day by day he sighed with passion,
Day by day
his heart within him
Grew more hot with love and
longing
For the maid with yellow tresses.
But he
was too fat and lazy
To bestir himself and woo her.
Yes, too indolent and easy
To pursue her and
persuade her;
So he only gazed upon her,
Only
sat and sighed with passion
For the maiden of the
prairie.
Till one morning, looking northward,
He
beheld her yellow tresses
Changed and covered o'er
with whiteness,
Covered as with whitest snow-flakes.
"Ah! my brother from the North-land,
From the
kingdom of Wabasso,
From the land of the White
Rabbit!
You have stolen the maiden from me,
You
have laid your hand upon her,
You have wooed and won
my maiden,
With your stories of the North-land!"
Thus the wretched Shawondasee
Breathed into the air
his sorrow;
And the South-Wind o'er the prairie
Wandered warm with sighs of passion,
With the sighs
of Shawondasee,
Till the air seemed full of
snow-flakes,
Full of thistle-down the prairie,
And the maid with hair like sunshine
Vanished from
his sight forever;
Never more did Shawondasee
See the maid with yellow tresses!
Poor, deluded
Shawondasee!
'T was no woman that you gazed at,
'T was no maiden that you sighed for,
'T was the
prairie dandelion
That through all the dreamy Summer
You had gazed at with such longing,
You had
sighed for with such passion,
And had puffed away
forever,
Blown into the air with sighing.
Ah!
deluded Shawondasee!
Thus the Four Winds were divided
Thus the sons of Mudjekeewis
Had their stations
in the heavens,
At the corners of the heavens;
For himself the West-Wind only
Kept the mighty
Mudjekeewis.
|
|
|
