Chapter V: Part 5

"Ah, verily a Jester's prayer,"
Exclaimed the knightly crew,
"To ask of such a noble lord
What you know he cannot do."

"Who says I cannot," Stibor cried,
"Do whatsoe'er I will?
Within one year a castle shall stand
On yonder rocky hill--

"A castle built of ponderous stones,
To give me future fame;
In honor of my witty Fool,
Betzko shall be its name."

Now the cliff was high three hundred feet,
And perpendicular;
And the skill that could build a castle there
Must come from lands afar.

And craftsmen came from foreign lands,
Italian, German and Jew--
Apprentices and fellow-craftsmen,
And master-masons, too.

And every traveler journeying
Along the mountain-ways
Was held to pay his toll of toil
On the castle for seven days.

Slowly they raised the massive towers
Upon the steep ascent,
And all around a thousand hands
Built up the battlement.

Three hundred feet above the glen--
(By the steps five hundred feet)--
The castle stood upon the cliff
At the end of the year--complete.

Now throughout all the Magyar land
There's none other half so high,
So massive built, so strong and grand;--
It reaches the very sky.

But from that same high battlement
(Say tales by gypsies told)
The valiant Stibor met his death
When he was cross and old.

I'll tell you the tale as they told it to me,
And I doubt not it is true,
For 'twas handed down from the middle ages
From the lips of knights who knew.

One day when the knight was old and cross,
And a little the worse for grog,
Betzko, the Jester, thoughtlessly
Struck Stibor's favorite dog.

Now the dog was a hound and Stibor's pet,
And as white as Carpathian snow,
And Stibor hurled old Betzko down
From the walls to the rocks below.

And as the Jester headlong fell
From the dizzy, dreadful height,
He muttered a curse with his latest breath
On the head of the cruel knight.

One year from that day old Stibor held
His drunken wassail long,
And spent the hours till the cock crew morn
In jest and wine and song.

Then he sought his garden on the cliff,
And lay down under a vine
To sleep away the lethargy
Of a wassail-bowl of wine.

While sleeping soundly under the shade,
And dreaming of revelries,
An adder crawled upon his breast,
And bit him in both his eyes.

Blinded and mad with pain he ran
Toward the precipice,
Unheeding till he headlong fell
Adown the dread abyss.

Just where old Betzko's blood had dyed
With red the old rocks gray,
Quivering and bleeding and dumb and dead
Old Stibor's body lay.

WESSELENYI

A HUNGARIAN TALE

When madly raged religious war
O'er all the Magyar land
And royal archer and hussar
Met foemen hand to hand,
A princess fair in castle strong
The royal troops defied
And bravely held her fortress long
Though help was all denied.

Princess Maria was her name--
Brave daughter nobly sired;
She caught her father's trusty sword
When bleeding he expired,
And bravely rallied warders all
To meet the storming foe,
And hurled them from the rampart-wall
Upon the crags below.

Prince Casimir--her father--built
Murana high and wide;
It sat among the mountain cliffs--
The Magyars' boast and pride.
Bold Wesselenyi--stalwart knight,
Young, famed and wondrous fair,
With a thousand men besieged the height,
And led the bravest there.

And long he tried the arts of war
To take that castle-hold,
Till many a proud and plumed hussar
Was lying stiff and cold;
And still the frowning castle stood
A grim, unbroken wall,
Like some lone rock in stormy seas
That braves the billows all.

Bold Wesselenyi's cheeks grew thin;
A solemn oath he sware
That if he failed the prize to win
His bones should molder there.
Two toilsome months had worn away,
Two hundred men were slain,
His bold assaults were baffled still,
And all his arts were vain.

But love is mightier than the sword,
He clad him in disguise--
In the dress of an inferior lord--
To win the noble prize.
He bade his armed men to wait,
To cease the battle-blare
And sought alone the castle-gate
To hold a parley there.

Aloft a flag of truce he bore:
Her warders bade him pass;
Within he met the princess fair
All clad in steel and brass.
Her bright, black eyes and queenly art,
Sweet lips and raven hair,
Smote bold young Wesselenyi's heart
While he held parley there.

Cunning he talked of great reward
And royal favor, too,
If she would yield her father's sword;
She sternly answered "No."
But even while they parleyed there
Maria's lustrous eyes
Looked tenderly and lovingly
On the chieftain in disguise.

"Go tell your gallant chief," she said,
"To keep his paltry pelf;
The knight who would my castle win,
Must dare to come himself."
And forth she sternly bade him go,
But followed with her eyes.
I ween she knew the brave knight well
Through all his fair disguise.

But when had dawned another morn,
He bade his bugleman
To sound again the parley-horn
Ere yet the fray began.
And forth he sent a trusty knight
To seek the castle-gate
And to the princess privately
His message to relate;--

That he it was who in disguise
Her warders bade to pass,
And while he parleyed there her eyes
Had pierced his plates of brass.
His heart he offered and his hand,
And pledged a signet-ring
If she would yield her brave command
Unto his gracious king.

"Go tell your chief," Maria cried--
"Audacious as he is--
If he be worthy such a bride
My castle and hand are his.
But he should know that lady fair
By faint heart ne'er was won;
So let your gallant chieftain, sir,
Come undisguised alone.

"And he may see in the northern tower,
Over yonder precipice,
A lone, dim light at the midnight hour
Shine down the dark abyss.
And over the chasm's dungeon-gloom
Shall a slender ladder hang;
And if alone he dare to come,--
Unarmed--without a clang,

"More of his suit your chief shall hear
Perhaps may win the prize;
Tell him the way is hedged with fear,--
One misstep and he dies.
Nor will I pledge him safe retreat
From out yon guarded tower;
My watchful warders all to cheat
May be beyond my power."

At midnight's dark and silent hour
The tall and gallant knight
Sought on the cliff the northern tower,
And saw the promised light.
With toil he climbed the cragged cliff,
And there the ladder found;
And o'er the yawning gulf he clomb
The ladder round by round.

And as he climbed the ladder bent
Above the yawning deep,
But bravely to the port he went
And entered at a leap
Full twenty warders thronged the hall
Each with his blade in hand;
They caught the brave knight like a thrall
And bound him foot and hand.

They tied him fast to an iron ring,
At Maria's stern command,
And then they jeered--"God save the king
And all his knightly band!"
They bound a bandage o'er his eyes,
Then the haughty princess said:
"Audacious knight, I hold a prize,--
My castle or your head!

"Now, mark!--desert the king's command,
And join your sword with mine,
And thine shall be my heart and hand,
This castle shall be thine.
I grant one hour for thee to choose,
My bold and gallant lord;
And if my offer you refuse
You perish by the sword!"

He spoke not a word, but his face was pale
And he prayed a silent prayer;
But his heart was oak and it could not quail,
And a secret oath he sware.
And grim stood the warders armed all,
In the torches' flicker and flare,
As they watch for an hour in the gloomy hall
The brave knight pinioned there.

The short--the flying hour is past,
The warders have bared his breast;
The bugler bugles a doleful blast;
Will the pale knight stand the test?
He has made his choice--he will do his part,
He has sworn and he cannot lie,
And he cries with the sword at his beating heart,--
"_Betray?--nay--better to die!_"

Suddenly fell from his blue eyes
The silken, blinding bands,
And while he looked in sheer surprise
They freed his feet and hands.
"I give thee my castle," Maria cried,
"And I give thee my heart and hand,
And Maria will be the proudest bride
In all this Magyar land.

"Grant heaven that thou be true to me
As thou art to the king,
And I'll bless the day I gave to thee
My castle for a ring."
The red blood flushed to the brave knight's face
As he looked on the lady fair;
He sprang to her arms in a fond embrace,
And he married her then and there.

So the little blind elf with his feathered shaft
Did more than the sword could do,
For he conquered and took with his magical craft
Her heart and her castle, too.

ISABEL

Fare-thee-well:
On my soul the toll of bell
Trembles. Thou art calmly sleeping
While my weary heart is weeping:
I cannot listen to thy knell:
Fare-thee-well.

Sleep and rest:
Sorrow shall not pain thy breast,
Pangs and pains that pierce the mortal
Cannot enter at the portal
Of the Mansion of the Blest:
Sleep and rest.

Slumber sweet,
Heart that nevermore will beat
At the footsteps of thy lover;
All thy cares and fears are over.
In thy silent winding-sheet
Slumber sweet.

Fare-thee-well:
In the garden and the dell
Where thou lov'dst to stroll and meet me,
Nevermore thy kiss shall greet me,
Nevermore, O Isabel!
Fare-thee-well.

We shall meet--
Where the wings of angels beat:
When my toils and cares are over,
Thou shalt greet again thy lover--
Robed and crowned at Jesus' feet
We shall meet.

Watch and wait
At the narrow, golden gate;
Watch my coming,--wait my greeting,
For my years are few and fleeting
And my love shall not abate:
Watch and wait.

So farewell,
O my darling Isabel;
Till we meet in the supernal
Mansion and with love eternal
In the golden city dwell,
Fare-thee-well.

BYRON AND THE ANGEL

_Poet:_

"Why this fever--why this sighing?-- Why this restless longing--dying For--a something--dreamy something, Undefined, and yet defying All the pride and power of manhood?

"O these years of sin and sorrow! Smiling while the iron harrow Of a keen and biting longing Tears and quivers in the marrow Of my being every moment-- Of my very inmost being.

"What to me the mad ambition For men's praise and proud position-- Struggling, fighting to the summit Of its vain and earthly mission, To lie down on bed of ashes-- Bed of barren, bitter ashes?

"Cure this fever? I have tried it; Smothered, drenched it and defied it With a will of brass and iron; Every smile and look denied it; Yet it heeded not denying, And it mocks at my defying While my very soul is dying.

"Is there balm in Gilead?--tell me! Nay--no balm to soothe and quell me? Must I tremble in this fever? Death, O lift thy hand and fell me; Let me sink to rest forever Where this burning cometh never.

"Sometimes when this restless madness Softens down to mellow sadness, I look back on sun-lit valleys Where my boyish heart of gladness Nestled without pain or longing-- Nestled softly in a vision Full of love and hope's fruition, Lulled by morning songs of spring-time.

"Then I ponder, and I wonder Was some heart-chord snapped asunder When the threads were soft and silken? Did some fatal boyish blunder Plant a canker in my bosom That hath ever burned and rankled?

"O this thirsting, thirsting hanker! O this burning, burning canker' Driving Peace and Hope to shipwreck-- Without rudder, without anchor, On the reef-rocks of Damnation!"

_Invisible Angel:_

"Jesus--Son of Virgin Mary; Lift the burden from the weary: Pity, Jesus, and anoint him With the holy balm of Gilead."

_Poet:_

"Yea, Christ Jesus, pour thy blessings On these terrible heart-pressings: O I bless thee, unseen Angel; Lead me--teach me, holy Spirit."

_Angel:_

"There is balm in Gilead! There is balm in Gilead! Peace awaits thee with caressings-- Sitting at the feet of Jesus-- At the right-hand of Jehovah-- At the blessed feet of Jesus;--Alleluia!"

CHRISTMAS EVE

I

From church and chapel and dome and tower,
Near--far and everywhere,
The merry bells chime loud and clear
Upon the frosty air.

All down the marble avenues
The lamp-lit casements glow,
And from an hundred palaces
Glad carols float and flow.

A thousand lamps from street to street
Blaze on the dusky air,
And light the way for happy feet
To carol, praise and prayer.

'Tis Christmas eve. In church and hall
The laden fir-trees bend;
Glad children throng the festival
And grandsires too attend.

Fur-wrapped and gemmed with pearls and gold,
Proud ladies rich and fair
As Egypt's splendid queen of old
In all her pomp are there.

And many a costly, golden gift
Hangs on each Christmas-tree,
While round and round the carols drift
In waves of melody.

II

In a dim and dingy attic,
Away from the pomp and glare,
A widow sits by a flickering lamp,
Bowed down by toil and care.

On her toil-worn hand her weary head,
At her feet a shoe half-bound,
On the bare, brown table a loaf of bread,
And hunger and want around.

By her side at the broken window,
With her rosy feet all bare,
Her little one carols a Christmas tune
To the chimes on the frosty air.

And the mother dreams of the by-gone years
And their merry Christmas-bells,
Till her cheeks are wet with womanly tears,
And a sob in her bosom swells.

The child looked up; her innocent ears
Had caught the smothered cry;
She saw the pale face wet with tears
She fain would pacify.

"Don't cry, mama," she softly said--
"Here's a Christmas gift for you,"
And on the mother's cheek a kiss
She printed warm and true.

"God bless my child!" the mother cried
And caught her to her breast--
"O Lord, whose Son was crucified,
Thy precious gift is best.

"If toil and trouble be my lot
While on life's sea I drift,
O Lord, my soul shall murmur not,
If Thou wilt spare Thy gift."

OUT OF THE DEPTHS

And the scribes and Pharisees brought unto him a woman taken in adultery, and when they had set her in the midst, they said unto him "Master, this woman was taken in adultery, in the very act. Now Moses in the law commanded us that such be stoned; but what sayest thou?"--[_St. John_, Chap, viii; 3, 4, 5.

Reach thy hand to me, O Jesus;
Reach thy loving hand to me,
Or I sink, alas, and perish
In my sin and agony.

From the depths I cry, O Jesus,
Lifting up mine eyes to thee;
Save me from my sin and sorrow
With thy loving charity.

Pity, Jesus--blessed Savior;
I am weak, but thou art strong;
Fill my heart with prayer and praises,
Fill my soul with holy song.

Lift me up, O sacred Jesus--
Lift my bruised heart to thee;
Teach me to be pure and holy
As the holy angels be.

Scribes and Pharisees surround me:
Thou art writing in the sand:
Must I perish, Son of Mary?
Wilt thou give the stern command?

Am I saved?--for Jesus sayeth--
"Let the sinless cast a stone."
Lo the Scribes have all departed,
And the Pharisees are gone!

"Woman, where are thine accusers?"
(They have vanished one by one.)
"Hath no man condemned thee, woman?"
And she meekly answered--"None."

Then he spake His blessed answer--
Balm indeed for sinners sore--
"Neither then will I condemn thee:
Go thy way and sin no more."

FAME

Dust of the desert are thy walls
And temple-towers, O Babylon!
O'er crumbled halls the lizard crawls,
And serpents bask in blaze of sun.

In vain kings piled the Pyramids;
Their tombs were robbed by ruthless hands.
Who now shall sing their fame and deeds,
Or sift their ashes from the sands?

Deep in the drift of ages hoar
Lie nations lost and kings forgot;
Above their graves the oceans roar,
Or desert sands drift o'er the spot.

A thousand years are but a day
When reckoned on the wrinkled earth;
And who among the wise shall say
What cycle saw the primal birth

Of man, who lords on sea and land,
And builds his monuments to-day,
Like Syrian on the desert sand,
To crumble and be blown away.

Proud chiefs of pageant armies led
To fame and death their followers forth,
Ere Helen sinned and Hector bled,
Or Odin ruled the rugged North.

And poets sang immortal praise
To mortal heroes ere the fire
Of Homer blazed in Ilion lays,
Or Brage tuned the Northern lyre.

For fame men piled the Pyramids;
Their names have perished with their bones:
For fame men wrote their boasted deeds
On Babel bricks and Runic stones--

On Tyrian temples, gates of brass,
On Roman arch and Damask blades,
And perished like the desert grass
That springs to-day--to-morrow--fades.

And still for fame men delve and die
In Afric heat and Arctic cold;
For fame on flood and field they vie,
Or gather in the shining gold.

Time, like the ocean, onward rolls
Relentless, burying men and deeds;
The brightest names, the bravest souls,
Float but an hour like ocean weeds,

Then sink forever. In the slime--
Forgotten, lost forevermore,
Lies Fame from every age and clime;
Yet thousands clamor on the shore.

Immortal Fame!--O dust and death!
The centuries as they pass proclaim
That Fame is but a mortal breath,
That man must perish--name and fame.

The earth is but a grain of sand--
An atom in a shoreless sea;
A million worlds lie in God's hand--
Yea, myriad millions--what are we?

O mortal man of bone and blood!
Then is there nothing left but dust?
God made us; He is wise and good,
And we may humbly hope and trust.

WINONA.

_When the meadow-lark trilled o'er the leas
and the oriole piped in the maples,
From my hammock, all under the trees,
by the sweet-scented field of red clover,
I harked to the hum of the bees,
as they gathered the mead of the blossoms,
And caught from their low melodies
the air of the song of Winona_.

(In pronouncing Dakota words give "a" the sound of "ah,"--"e" the sound of "a,"--"i" the sound of "e" and "u" the sound of "oo." Sound "ee" as in English. The numerals refer to Notes in appendix.)

* * * * *

Two hundred white Winters and more
have fled from the face of the Summer,
Since here on the oak-shaded shore
of the dark-winding, swift Mississippi,
Where his foaming floods tumble and roar
o'er the falls and the white-rolling rapids,
In the fair, fabled center of Earth,
sat the Indian town of _Ka-tha-ga_. [86]
Far rolling away to the north, and the south,
lay the emerald prairies,
All dotted with woodlands and lakes,
and above them the blue bent of ether.
And here where the dark river breaks into spray
and the roar of the _Ha-Ha_, [76]
Where gathered the bison-skin _tees_[F]
of the chief tawny tribe of Dakotas;
For here, in the blast and the breeze,
flew the flag of the chief of _Isantees_, [86]
Up-raised on the stem of a lance--
the feathery flag of the eagle.
And here to the feast and the dance,
from the prairies remote and the forests,
Oft gathered the out-lying bands,
and honored the gods of the nation.
On the islands and murmuring strands
they danced to the god of the waters,
_Unktehee_, [69] who dwelt in the caves,
deep under the flood of the _Ha-Ha_; [76]
And high o'er the eddies and waves
hung their offerings of furs and tobacco,[G]
And here to the Master of life--
_Anpe-tu-wee_, [70] god of the heavens,
Chief, warrior, and maiden, and wife,
burned the sacred green sprigs of the cedar. [50]
And here to the Searcher-of-hearts--
fierce _Ta-ku Skan-skan_, [51] the avenger,
Who dwells in the uppermost parts of the earth,
and the blue, starry ether,
Ever watching, with all-seeing eyes,
the deeds of the wives and the warriors,
As an osprey afar in the skies,
sees the fish as they swim in the waters,
Oft spread they the bison-tongue feast,
and singing preferred their petitions,
Till the Day-Spirit[70] rose in the East--
in the red, rosy robes of the morning,
To sail o'er the sea of the skies,
to his lodge in the land of the shadows,
Where the black-winged tornadoes[H] arise,
rushing loud from the mouths of their caverns.
And here with a shudder they heard,
flying far from his _tee_ in the mountains,
_Wa-kin-yan_,[32] the huge Thunder-Bird,
with the arrows of fire in his talons.

[F] _Tee--teepee_, the Dakota name for tent or wigwam

[G] See _Hennepin's Description of Louisiana_, by Shea, pp. 243 and 256. _Parkman's Discovery_, p. 246--and _Carver's Travels_, p. 67.

[H] The Dakotas, like the ancient Romans and Greeks, think the home of the winds is in the caverns of the mountains, and their great Thunder-bird resembles in many respects the Jupiter of the Romans and the Zeus of the Greeks. The resemblance of the Dakota mythology to that of the older Greeks and Romans is striking.

Two hundred white Winters and more
have fled from the face of the Summer
Since here by the cataract's roar,
in the moon of the red-blooming lilies,[71]
In the _tee_ of Ta-te-psin[I] was born
Winona--wild-rose of the prairies.
Like the summer sun peeping, at morn,
o'er the hills was the face of Winona.
And here she grew up like a queen--
a romping and lily-lipped laughter,
And danced on the undulant green,
and played in the frolicsome waters,
Where the foaming tide tumbles and whirls
o'er the murmuring rocks in the rapids;
And whiter than foam were the pearls
that gleamed in the midst of her laughter.
Long and dark was her flowing hair flung
like the robe of the night to the breezes;
And gay as the robin she sung,
or the gold-breasted lark of the meadows.
Like the wings of the wind were her feet,
and as sure as the feet of _Ta-to-ka_[J]
And oft like an antelope fleet
o'er the hills and the prairies she bounded,
Lightly laughing in sport as she ran,
and looking back over her shoulder
At the fleet-footed maiden or man
that vainly her flying feet followed.
The belle of the village was she,
and the pride of the aged Ta-te-psin,
Like a sunbeam she lighted his _tee_,
and gladdened the heart of her father.

[I] _Tate_--wind,--_psin_--wild-rice--wild-rice wind.

[J] mountain antelope.

In the golden-hued _Wazu-pe-wee_--
the moon when the wild-rice is gathered;
When the leaves on the tall sugar-tree
are as red as the breast of the robin,
And the red-oaks that border the lea
are aflame with the fire of the sunset,
From the wide, waving fields of wild-rice--
from the meadows of _Psin-ta-wak-pa-dan_,[K]
Where the geese and the mallards rejoice,
and grow fat on the bountiful harvest,
Came the hunters with saddles of moose
and the flesh of the bear and the bison,
And the women in birch-bark canoes
well laden with rice from the meadows.

[K] Little Rice River. It bears the name of Rice Creek to-day and empties into the Mississippi from the east, a few miles above Minneapolis.

With the tall, dusky hunters, behold,
came a marvelous man or a spirit,
White-faced and so wrinkled and old,
and clad in the robe of the raven.
Unsteady his steps were and slow,
and he walked with a staff in his right hand,
And white as the first-falling snow
were the thin locks that lay on his shoulders.
Like rime-covered moss hung his beard,
flowing down from his face to his girdle;
And wan was his aspect and weird,
and often he chanted and mumbled
In a strange and mysterious tongue,
as he bent o'er his book in devotion,
Or lifted his dim eyes and sung,
in a low voice, the solemn "_Te Deum_,"
Or Latin, or Hebrew, or Greek--
all the same were his words to the warriors,--
All the same to the maids and the meek,
wide-wondering-eyed, hazel-brown children.

Father Rene Menard [L]--it was he,
long lost to his Jesuit brothers,
Sent forth by an holy decree
to carry the Cross to the heathen.
In his old age abandoned to die,
in the swamps, by his timid companions,
He prayed to the Virgin on high,
and she led him forth from the forest;
For angels she sent him as men--
in the forms of the tawny Dakotas,
And they led his feet from the fen,
from the slough of despond and the desert,
Half dead in a dismal morass,
as they followed the red-deer they found him,
In the midst of the mire and the grass,
and mumbling "_Te Deum laudamus._"
"_Unktomee[72]--Ho!_" muttered the braves,
for they deemed him the black Spider-Spirit
That dwells in the drearisome caves,
and walks on the marshes at midnight,
With a flickering torch in his hand,
to decoy to his den the unwary.
His tongue could they not understand,
but his torn hands all shriveled with famine
He stretched to the hunters and said:
"He feedeth his chosen with manna;
And ye are the angels of God
sent to save me from death in the desert."
His famished and woe-begone face,
and his tones touched the hearts of the hunters;
They fed the poor father apace,
and they led him away to _Ka-tha-ga._

[L] See the account of Father Menard, his mission and disappearance in the wilderness. _Neill's Hist. Minnesota_, pp 104-107, inc.

There little by little he learned
the tongue of the tawny Dakotas;
And the heart of the good father yearned
to lead them away from their idols--
Their giants[16] and dread Thunder-birds--
their worship of stones[73] and the devil.
"_Wakan-de!_"[M] they answered his words,
for he read from his book in the Latin,
Lest the Nazarene's holy commands
by his tongue should be marred in translation;
And oft with his beads in his hands,
or the cross and the crucified Jesus,
He knelt by himself on the sands,
and his dim eyes uplifted to heaven.
But the braves bade him look to the East--
to the silvery lodge of _Han-nan-na_;[N]
And to dance with the chiefs at the feast--
at the feast of the Giant _Heyo-ka._[16]
They frowned when the good father spurned
the flesh of the dog in the kettle,
And laughed when his fingers were burned
in the hot, boiling pot of the giant.
"The Black-robe" they called the poor priest,
from the hue of his robe and his girdle;
And never a game or a feast
but the father must grace with his presence.
His prayer-book the hunters revered,--
they deemed it a marvelous spirit;
It spoke and the white father heard,--
it interpreted visions and omens.
And often they bade him to pray
this marvelous spirit to answer,
And tell where the sly Chippewa
might be ambushed and slain in his forest.
For Menard was the first in the land,
proclaiming, like John in the desert,
"The Kingdom of Heaven is at hand;
repent ye, and turn from your idols."
The first of the brave brotherhood that,
threading the fens and the forest,
Stood afar by the turbulent flood
at the falls of the Father of Waters.

[M] It is wonderful!

[N] The morning.

In the lodge of the Stranger[O] he sat,
awaiting the crown of a martyr;
His sad face compassion begat
in the heart of the dark-eyed Winona.
Oft she came to the _teepee_ and spoke;
she brought him the tongue of the bison,
Sweet nuts from the hazel and oak,
and flesh of the fawn and the mallard.
Soft _hanpa_[P] she made for his feet
and leggins of velvety fawn-skin,
A blanket of beaver complete,
and a hood of the hide of the otter.
And oft at his feet on the mat,
deftly braiding the flags and the rushes,
Till the sun sought his _teepee_
she sat, enchanted with what he related
Of the white-winged ships on the sea
and the _teepees_ far over the ocean,
Of the love and the sweet charity of the Christ
and the beautiful Virgin.

[O] A lodge set apart for guests of the village.

[P] Moccasins.

She listened like one in a trance
when he spoke of the brave, bearded Frenchmen,
From the green, sun-lit valleys of France
to the wild _Hochelaga_[Q] transplanted,
Oft trailing the deserts of snow
in the heart of the dense Huron forests,
Or steering the dauntless canoe
through the waves of the fresh-water ocean.
"Yea, stronger and braver are they,"
said the aged Menard to Winona,
"Than the head-chief, tall Wazi-kute,[74]
but their words are as soft as a maiden's,
Their eyes are the eyes of the swan,
but their hearts are the hearts of the eagles;
And the terrible _Masa Wakan_[R]
ever walks by their side like a spirit;
Like a Thunder-bird, roaring in wrath,
flinging fire from his terrible talons,
He sends to their enemies death
in the flash of the fatal _Wakandee_."[S]

[Q] The Ottawa name for the region of the St. Lawrence River.

[R] "Mysterious metal"--or metal having a spirit in it. This is the common name applied by the Dakotas to all firearms.

[S] Lightning.

The Autumn was past and the snow
lay drifted and deep on the prairies;
From his _teepee_ of ice came the foe--
came the storm-breathing god of the winter.
Then roared in the groves, on the plains,
on the ice-covered lakes and the river,
The blasts of the fierce hurricanes
blown abroad from the breast of _Waziya_. [3]
The bear cuddled down in his den,
and the elk fled away to the forest;
The pheasant and gray prairie-hen
made their beds in the heart of the snow-drift;
The bison herds huddled and stood
in the hollows and under the hill-sides,
Or rooted the snow for their food
in the lee of the bluffs and the timber;
And the mad winds that howled from the north,
from the ice-covered seas of _Waziya_,
Chased the gray wolf and silver-fox forth
to their dens in the hills of the forest.

Poor Father Menard--he was ill;
in his breast burned the fire of a fever;
All in vain was the magical skill
of _Wicasta Wakan_ [61] with his rattle;
Into soft, child-like slumber he fell,
and awoke in the land of the blessed--
To the holy applause of "Well-done!"
and the harps in the hands of the angels.
Long he carried the cross and he won
the coveted crown of a martyr.

In the land of the heathen he died,
meekly following the voice of his Master,
One mourner alone by his side--
Ta-te-psin's compassionate daughter.
She wailed the dead father with tears,
and his bones by her kindred she buried.
Then winter followed winter. The years
sprinkled frost on the head of her father;
And three weary winters she dreamed
of the fearless and fair, bearded Frenchmen;
At midnight their swift paddles gleamed
on the breast of the broad Mississippi,
And the eyes of the brave strangers beamed
on the maid in the midst of her slumber.

She lacked not admirers;
the light of the lover oft burned in her _teepee_--
At her couch in the midst of the night,--
but she never extinguished the flambeau.
The son of Chief Wazi-kute--
a fearless and eagle-plumed warrior--
Long sighed for Winona,
and he was the pride of the band of _Isantees_.
Three times, in the night at her bed,
had the brave held the torch of the lover, [75]
And thrice had she covered her head
and rejected the handsome Tamdoka. [T]

[T] Tah-mdo-kah, literally, the buck-deer.

'Twas Summer. The merry-voiced birds
trilled and warbled in woodland and meadow;
And abroad on the prairies the herds
cropped the grass in the land of the lilies,--
And sweet was the odor of rose
wide-wafted from hillside and heather;
In the leaf-shaded lap of repose
lay the bright, blue-eyed babes of the summer;
And low was the murmur of brooks,
and low was the laugh of the _Ha-Ha_; [76]
And asleep in the eddies and nooks
lay the broods of _maga_ [60]and the mallard.
'Twas the moon of _Wasunpa_. [71]
The band lay at rest in the tees at _Ka-tha-ga_,
And abroad o'er the beautiful land
walked the spirits of Peace and of Plenty--
Twin sisters, with bountiful hand
wide scattering wild-rice and the lilies.
_An-pe-tu-wee_[70] walked in the west--
to his lodge in the far-away mountains,
And the war-eagle flew to her nest
in the oak on the Isle of the Spirit.[U]
And now at the end of the day,
by the shore of the Beautiful Island,[V]
A score of fair maidens and gay
made joy in the midst of the waters.
Half-robed in their dark, flowing hair,
and limbed like the fair Aphrodite,
They played in the waters, and there
they dived and they swam like the beavers,
Loud-laughing like loons on the lake
when the moon is a round shield of silver,
And the songs of the whippowils wake
on the shore in the midst of the maples.

But hark!--on the river a song,--
strange voices commingled in chorus;
On the current a boat swept along
with DuLuth and his hardy companions;
To the stroke of their paddles they sung,
and this the refrain that they chanted:

"Dans mon chemin j'ai rencontre
Deux cavaliers bien montes.
Lon, lon, laridon daine,
Lon, lon, laridon da."

"Deux cavaliers bien montes;
L'un a cheval, et l'autre a pied.
Lon, lon, laridon daine,
Lon, lon, laridon da."[W]

[U] The Dakotas say that for many years in olden times war-eagles made their nests in oak trees on Spirit-island--_Wanagi-wita_, just below the Falls till frightened away by the advent of white men.

[V] The Dakotas called Nicollet Island _Wi-ta Waste_--the Beautiful Island.

[W] A part of one of the favorite songs of the French _voyageurs_.

Like the red, dappled deer in the glade
alarmed by the footsteps of hunters,
Discovered, disordered, dismayed,
the nude nymphs fled forth from the waters,
And scampered away to the shade,
and peered from the screen of the lindens.

A bold and adventuresome man was DuLuth,
and a dauntless in danger,
And straight to _Kathaga_ he ran,
and boldly advanced to the warriors,
Now gathering, a cloud on the strand,
and gazing amazed on the strangers;
And straightway he offered his hand
unto Wazi-kute, the _Itancan_.[X]
To the Lodge of the Stranger were led
DuLuth and his hardy companions;
Robes of beaver and bison were spread,
and the Peace-pipe[23] was smoked with the Frenchman.

[X] Head-chief

There was dancing and feasting at night,
and joy at the presents he lavished.
All the maidens were wild with delight
with the flaming red robes and the ribbons,
With the beads and the trinkets untold,
and the fair, bearded face of the giver;
And glad were they all to behold
the friends from the Land of the Sunrise.
But one stood apart from the rest--
the queenly and silent Winona,
Intently regarding the guest--
hardly heeding the robes and the ribbons,
Whom the White Chief beholding admired,
and straightway he spread on her shoulders
A lily-red robe and attired
with necklet and ribbons the maiden.
The red lilies bloomed in her face,
and her glad eyes gave thanks to the giver,
And forth from her _teepee_ apace
she brought him the robe and the missal
Of the father--poor Rene Menard;
and related the tale of the "Black Robe."
She spoke of the sacred regard
he inspired in the hearts of Dakotas;
That she buried his bones with her kin,
in the mound by the Cave of the Council;
That she treasured and wrapt in the skin
of the red-deer his robe and his prayer book--
"Till his brothers should come from the East--
from the land of the far _Hochelaga_,
To smoke with the braves at the feast,
on the shores of the Loud-laughing Waters. [16]
For the 'Black Robe' spake much of his youth
and his friends in the Land of the Sunrise;
It was then as a dream; now in truth
I behold them, and not in a vision."
But more spake her blushes, I ween,
and her eyes full of language unspoken,
As she turned with the grace of a queen
and carried her gifts to the _teepee_.

Far away from his beautiful France--
from his home in the city of Lyons,
A noble youth full of romance,
with a Norman heart big with adventure,
In the new world a wanderer, by chance
DuLuth sought the wild Huron forests.
But afar by the vale of the Rhone,
the winding and musical river,
And the vine-covered hills of the Saone,
the heart of the wanderer lingered,--
'Mid the vineyards and mulberry trees,
and the fair fields of corn and of clover
That rippled and waved in the breeze,
while the honey-bees hummed in the blossoms.
For there, where th' impetuous Rhone,
leaping down from the Switzerland mountains,
And the silver-lipped, soft-flowing Saone,
meeting, kiss and commingle together,
Down winding by vineyards and leas,
by the orchards of fig-trees and olives,
To the island-gemmed, sapphire-blue seas
of the glorious Greeks and the Romans;
Aye, there, on the vine-covered shore,
'mid the mulberry-trees and the olives,
Dwelt his blue-eyed and beautiful Flore,
with her hair like a wheat-field at harvest,
All rippled and tossed by the breeze,
and her cheeks like the glow of the morning,
Far away o'er the emerald seas,
as the sun lifts his brow from the billows,
Or the red-clover fields when the bees,
singing sip the sweet cups of the blossoms.
Wherever he wandered--
alone in the heart of the wild Huron forests,
Or cruising the rivers unknown
to the land of the Crees or Dakotas--
His heart lingered still on the Rhone,
'mid the mulberry trees and the vineyards,
Fast-fettered and bound by the zone
that girdled the robes of his darling.
Till the red Harvest Moon[71] he remained
in the vale of the swift Mississippi.
The esteem of the warriors he gained,
and the love of the dark-eyed Winona.
He joined in the sports and the chase;
with the hunters he followed the bison,
And swift were his feet in the race
when the red elk they ran on the prairies.
At the Game of the Plum-stones[77] he played,
and he won from the skillfulest players;
A feast to _Wa'tanka_[78] he made,
and he danced at the feast of _Heyoka_.[16]
With the flash and the roar of his gun
he astonished the fearless Dakotas;
They called it the "_Maza Wakan_"--
the mighty, mysterious metal.
"'Tis a brother," they said, "of the fire
in the talons of dreadful Wakinyan,'[32]
When he flaps his huge wings in his ire,
and shoots his red shafts at _Unktehee_."[69]

The _Itancan_,[74] tall Wazi-kute,
appointed a day for the races.
From the red stake that stood by his _tee_,
on the southerly side of the _Ha-ha_,
O'er the crest of the hills and the dunes
and the billowy breadth of the prairie,
To a stake at the Lake of the Loons[79]--
a league and return--was the distance.
They gathered from near and afar,
to the races and dancing and feasting;
Five hundred tall warriors were there
from _Kapoza_[6] and far-off _Keoza_;[8]
_Remnica_[Y] too, furnished a share
of the legions that thronged to the races,
And a bountiful feast was prepared
by the diligent hands of the women,
And gaily the multitudes fared
in the generous _tees_ of _Kathaga_.
The chief of the mystical clan
appointed a feast to _Unktehee_--
The mystic "_Wacipee Wakan_"[Z]--
at the end of the day and the races.
A band of sworn brothers are they,
and the secrets of each one are sacred,
And death to the lips that betray
is the doom of the swarthy avengers,
And the son of tall _Wazi-kute_
was the chief of the mystical order.

[Y] Pronounced Ray-mne-chah--The village of the Mountains, situate where Red Wing now stands.

[Z] Sacred Dance--The Medicine-dance--See description _infra._

THE FOOT RACES.

On an arm of an oak hangs the prize
for the swiftest and strongest of runners--
A blanket as red as the skies,
when the flames sweep the plains in October.
And beside it a strong, polished bow,
and a quiver of iron-tipped arrows,
Which _Kapoza's_ tall chief will bestow
on the fleet-footed second that follows.
A score of swift runners are there
from the several bands of the nation,
And now for the race they prepare,
and among them fleet-footed Tamdoka.
With the oil of the buck and the bear
their sinewy limbs are annointed,
For fleet are the feet of the deer
and strong are the limbs of the bruin.

Hark!--the shouts and the braying of drums,
and the Babel of tongues and confusion!
From his _teepee_ the tall chieftain comes,
and DuLuth brings a prize for the runners--
A keen hunting-knife from the Seine,
horn-handled and mounted with silver.
The runners are ranged on the plain,
and the Chief waves a flag as a signal,
And away like the gray wolves they fly--
like the wolves on the trail of the red-deer;
O'er the hills and the prairie they vie,
and strain their strong limbs to the utmost,
While high on the hills hangs a cloud
of warriors and maidens and mothers,
To see the swift-runners, and loud
are the cheers and the shouts of the warriors.

Now swift from the lake they return
o'er the emerald hills of the prairies;
Like grey-hounds they pant and they yearn,
and the leader of all is Tamdoka.
At his heels flies _Hu-pa-hu,_[AA]
the fleet--the pride of the band of _Kaoza_,--
A warrior with eagle-winged feet,
but his prize is the bow and the quiver.
Tamdoka first reaches the post,
and his are the knife and the blanket,
By the mighty acclaim of the host
and award of the chief and the judges.
Then proud was the tall warrior's stride,
and haughty his look and demeanor;
He boasted aloud in his pride,
and he scoffed at the rest of the runners.
"Behold me, for I am a man![AB]
my feet are as swift as the West-wind.
With the coons and the beavers I ran;
but where is the elk or the _cabri?_[80]
Come!--where is the hunter will dare
match his feet with the feet of Tamdoka?
Let him think of _Tate_[AC] and beware,
ere he stake his last robe on the trial."
"_Oho! Ho! Ho-heca!_"[AD] they jeered,
for they liked not the boast of the boaster;
But to match him no warrior appeared,
for his feet wore the wings of the west-wind.

[AA] The wings.

[AB] A favorite boast of the Dakota braves.

[AC] The wind.

[AD] About equivalent to Oho!--Aha!--fudge!

Then forth from the side of the chief
stepped DuLuth and he looked on the boaster;
"The words of a warrior are brief,--
I will run with the brave," said the Frenchman;
"But the feet of Tamdoka are tired;
abide till the cool of the sunset."
All the hunters and maidens admired,
for strong were the limbs of the stranger.
"_Hiwo Ho!_"[AE] they shouted
and loud rose the cheers of the multitude mingled;
And there in the midst of the crowd
stood the glad-eyed and blushing Winona.

[AE] Hurra there!

Now afar o'er the plains of the west
walked the sun at the end of his journey,
And forth came the brave and the guest,
at the tap of the drum, for the trial.
Like a forest of larches the hordes
were gathered to witness the contest;
As loud as the drums were their words
and they roared like the roar of the _Ha-ha._
For some for Tamdoka contend,
and some for the fair, bearded stranger,
And the betting runs high to the end,
with the skins of the bison and beaver.
A wife of tall _Wazi-kute_--
the mother of boastful Tamdoka--
Brought her handsomest robe from the _tee_
with a vaunting and loud proclamation:
She would stake her last robe on her son
who, she boasted, was fleet as the _cabri_,
And the tall, tawny chieftain looked on,
approving the boast of the mother.
Then fleet as the feet of a fawn
to her lodge ran the dark-eyed Winona,
She brought and she spread on the lawn,
by the side of the robe of the boaster,
The lily-red mantel DuLuth,
with his own hands, had laid on her shoulders.
"Tamdoka is swift, but forsooth,
the tongue of his mother is swifter,"
She said, and her face was aflame
with the red of the rose and the lily,
And loud was the roar of acclaim;
but dark was the face of Tamdoka.
They strip for the race and prepare,--
DuLuth in his breeches and leggins;
And the brown, curling locks of his hair
down droop to his bare, brawny shoulders,
And his face wears a smile debonair,
as he tightens his red sash around him;
But stripped to the moccasins bare,
save the belt and the breech-clout of buckskin,
Stands the haughty Tamdoka aware
that the eyes of the warriors admire him;
For his arms are the arms of a bear
and his legs are the legs of a panther.

The drum beats,--the chief waves the flag,
and away on the course speed the runners,
And away leads the brave like a stag,--
like a bound on his track flies the Frenchman;
And away haste the hunters once more
to the hills, for a view to the lakeside,
And the dark-swarming hill-tops, they roar
with the storm of loud voices commingled.
Far away o'er the prairie they fly,
and still in the lead is Tamdoka,
But the feet of his rival are nigh,
and slowly he gains on the hunter.
Now they turn on the post at the lake,--
now they run full abreast on the home-stretch:
Side by side they contend for the stake
for a long mile or more on the prairie
They strain like a stag and a hound,
when the swift river gleams through the thicket,
And the horns of the riders resound,
winding shrill through the depths of the forest.
But behold!--at full length on the ground
falls the fleet-footed Frenchman abruptly,
And away with a whoop and a bound
springs the eager, exulting Tamdoka
Long and loud on the hills is the
shout of his swarthy admirers and backers,
"But the race is not won till it's out,"
said DuLuth, to himself as he gathered,
With a frown on his face, for the foot
of the wily Tamdoka had tripped him.
Far ahead ran the brave on the route,
and turning he boasted exultant.
Like spurs to the steed to DuLuth
were the jeers and the taunts of the boaster;
Indignant was he and red wroth
at the trick of the runner dishonest;
And away like a whirlwind he speeds--
like a hurricane mad from the mountains;
He gains on Tamdoka,--he leads!--
and behold, with the spring of a panther,
He leaps to the goal and succeeds,
'mid the roar of the mad acclamation.
Then glad as the robin in May
was the voice of Winona exulting;
Tamdoka turned sullen away,
and sulking he walked by the river;
He glowered as he went and the fire
of revenge in his bosom was kindled:
Dark was his visage with ire
and his eyes were the eyes of a panther.

THE WAKAN-WACEPEE, OR SACRED DANCE. [81]

Lo the lights in the _"Teepee-Wakan!"_
'tis the night of the _Wakan Wacepee_.
Round and round walks the chief of the clan,
as he rattles the sacred _Ta-sha-kay_; [81]
Long and loud on the _Chan-che-ga_ [81]
beat the drummers with magical drumsticks,
And the notes of the _Cho-tanka_ [81]
greet like the murmur of winds on the waters.
By the friction of white-cedar wood
for the feast was a Virgin-fire [20] kindled.
They that enter the firm brotherhood
first must fast and be cleansed by _E-nee-pee_;[81]
And from foot-sole to crown of the head
must they paint with the favorite colors;
For _Unktehee_ likes bands of blood-red,
with the stripings of blue intermingled.
In the hollow earth, dark and profound,
_Unktehee_ and fiery _Wakinyan_
Long fought, and the terrible sound
of the battle was louder than thunder;
The mountains were heaved and around
were scattered the hills and the boulders,
And the vast solid plains of the ground
rose and fell like the waves of the ocean.
But the god of the waters prevailed.
_Wakin-yan_ escaped from the cavern,
And long on the mountains he wailed,
and his hatred endureth forever.

When _Unktehee_ had finished the earth,
and the beasts and the birds and the fishes,
And men at his bidding came forth
from the heart of the huge hollow mountains,[69]
A band chose the god from the hordes,
and he said: "Ye are the sons of _Unktehee_:
Ye are lords of the beasts and the birds,
and the fishes that swim in the waters.
But hearken ye now to my words,--
let them sound in your bosoms forever:
Ye shall honor _Unktehee_ and hate _Wakinyan_,
the Spirit of Thunder,
For the power of _Unktehee_ is great,
and he laughs at the darts of _Wakinyan_.
Ye shall honor the Earth and the Sun,--
for they are your father and mother; [70]
Let your prayer to the Sun be:--
_Wakan Ate; on-si-md-da ohee-nee_."[AF]
And remember the _Taku Wakan_[73]
all-pervading in earth and in ether--
Invisible ever to man,
but He dwells in the midst of all matter;
Yea, he dwells in the heart of the stone--
in the hard granite heart of the boulder;
Ye shall call him forever _Tunkan_--
grandfather of all the Dakotas.
Ye are men that I choose for my own;
ye shall be as a strong band of brothers,
Now I give you the magical bone
and the magical pouch of the spirits,[AG]
And these are the laws ye shall heed:
Ye shall honor the pouch and the giver.
Ye shall walk as twin-brothers; in need,
one shall forfeit his life for another.
Listen not to the voice of the crow.[AH]
Hold as sacred the wife of a brother.
Strike, and fear not the shaft of the foe,
for the soul of the brave is immortal.
Slay the warrior in battle,
but spare the innocent babe and the mother.
Remember a promise,--beware,--
let the word of a warrior be sacred
When a stranger arrives at the _tee_--
be he friend of the band or a foeman,
Give him food; let your bounty be free;
lay a robe for the guest by the lodge-fire;
Let him go to his kindred in peace,
if the peace-pipe he smoke in the _teepee_;
And so shall your children increase,
and your lodges shall laugh with abundance.
And long shall ye live in the land,
and the spirits of earth and the waters
Shall come to your aid, at command,
with the power of invisible magic.
And at last, when you journey afar--
o'er the shining "_Wanagee Ta-chan-ku_,"[68]
You shall walk as a red, shining star[8]
in the land of perpetual summer."

[AF] "Sacred Spirit! Father! have pity on me always."

[AG] Riggs' Takoo Wakan, p. 90.

[AH] Slander.

All the night in the _teepee_ they sang,
and they danced to the mighty _Unktehee_,
While the loud-braying _Chan-che-ga_ rang
and the shrill-piping flute and the rattle,
Till _Anpetuwee_ [70] rose in the east--
from the couch of the blushing _Han-nan-na_,
And thus at the dance and the feast
sang the sons of _Unktehee_ in chorus:

"Wa-du-ta o-hna mi-ka-ge!
Wa-du-ta o-hna mi-ka-ge!
Mini-yata ite wakande maku,
Ate wakan--Tunkansidan.

Tunkansidan pejihuta wakan
Micage--he Wicage!
Miniyata ite wakande maku.
Taukansidan ite, nape du-win-ta woo,
Wahutopa wan yuha, nape du-win-ta woo."

TRANSLATION.

In red swan-down he made it for me;
In red swan-down he made it for me;
He of the water--he of the mysterious face--
Gave it to me;
Sacred Father--Grandfather!

Grandfather made me magical medicine.
That is true!
Being of mystery,--grown in the water--
He gave it to me!
To the face of our Grandfather stretch out your hand;
Holding a quadruped, stretch out your hand!

Till high o'er the hills of the east
_Anpetuwee_ walked on his journey,
In secret they danced at the feast,
and communed with the mighty _Unktehee_.
Then opened the door of the _tee_
to the eyes of the wondering Dakotas,
And the sons of _Unktehee_ to be,
were endowed with the sacred _Ozuha_[82]
By the son of tall Wazi-kute, Tamdoka,
the chief of the Magi.
And thus since the birth-day of man--
since he sprang from the heart of the mountains,[69]
Has the sacred "_Wacepee Wakan_"
by the warlike Dakotas been honored,
And the god-favored sons of the clan
work their will with the help of the spirits.

WINONA'S WARNING.