Legends of the Northwest | Page 4

of death and deeds of
daring on his leafy banks were done-- Women loved and men went
warring--ere the siege of Troy begun. Where his wayward waters
thundered, roaring o'er the rocky walls, Dusky hunters sat and
wondered, listening to the spirits' calls. "Ha-ha!" [76] cried the warrior
greeting from afar the cataract's roar; "Ha-ha!" rolled the answer,
beating down the rock-ribbed leagues of shore. Now, alas, the bow and

quiver and the dusky braves have fled, And the sullen, shackled river
drives the droning mills instead.
Where the war whoop rose, and, after, women wailed their warriors
slain, List the Saxon's silvery laughter, and his humming hives of gain.
Swiftly sped the tawny runner o'er the pathless prairies then, Now the
iron-reindeer sooner carries weal or woe to men. On thy bosom, Royal
River, silent sped the birch canoe, Bearing brave with bow and quiver,
on his way to war or woo; Now with flaunting flags and
streamers--mighty monsters of the deep-- Lo the puffing, panting
steamers, through thy foaming waters sweep; And behold the
grain-fields golden, where the bison grazed of eld; See the fanes of
forests olden by the ruthless Saxon felled,-- Pluméd pines that spread
their shadows ere Columbus spread his sails. Firs that fringed the
mossy meadows ere the Mayflower braved the gales, Iron oaks that
nourished bruin while the Vikings roamed the main, Crashing fall in
broken ruin for the greedy marts of gain.
Still forever and forever rolls the restless river on, Slumbering oft but
ceasing never, while the circling centuries run. In his palm the lakelet
lingers, in his hair the brooklets hide, Grasped within his thousand
fingers lies a continent fair and wide,-- Yea, a mighty empire swarming
with its millions like the bees, Delving, drudging, striving, storming, all
their lives, for golden ease.
Still, methinks, the dusky shadows of the days that are no more Stalk
around the lakes and meadows, haunting oft the wonted shore,--
Hunters from the land of spirits seek the bison and the deer, Where the
Saxon now inherits golden field and silver mere; And beside the mound
where burried lies the dark-eyed maid he loves, Some tall warrior, wan
and wearied, in the misty moonlight moves. See--he stands erect and
lingers--stoic still, but loth to go-- Clutching in his tawny fingers
feathered shaft and polished bow. Never wail or moan he utters and no
tear is on his face, But a warrior's curse he mutters on the crafty Saxon
race.
O thou dark, mysterious River, speak and tell thy tales to me; Seal not
up thy lips forever--veiled in mist and mystery. I will sit and lowly

listen at the phantom-haunted falls, Where thy waters foam and glisten
o'er the rugged, rocky walls. Till some spirit of the olden, mystic, weird,
romantic days Shall emerge and pour her golden tales and legends
through my lays. Then again the elk and bison on thy grassy banks
shall feed, And along the low horizon shall the pluméd hunter speed;
Then again on lake and river shall the silent birch canoe Bear the brave
with bow and quiver on his way to war or woo: Then the beaver on the
meadow shall rebuild his broken wall, And the wolf shall chase his
shadow and his mate the panther call. From the prairies and the regions
where the pine-plumed forest grows Shall arise the tawny legions with
their lances and their bows; And again the shouts of battle shall resound
along the plain, Bows shall twang and quivers rattle, women wail their
warriors slain.

THE FEAST OF THE VIRGINS. [1]
A LEGEND OF THE DAKOTAS.
(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, 1, 2, etc. refer to explanatory notes in
the appendix.)
THE GAME OF BALL. [2]
Clear was the sky as a silver shield; The bright sun blazed on the frozen
field. On icebound river and white robed prairie The diamonds gleamed
in the flame of noon; But cold and keen were the breezes airy Wa-zi-ya
[3] blew from his icy throne.
On the solid ice of the silent river The bounds are marked, and a
splendid prize, A robe of black fox lined with beaver-- Is hung in view
of the eager eyes; And fifty merry Dakota maidens, The fairest
moulded of woman kind, Are gathered in groups on the level ice. They
look on the robe and its beauty gladdens, And maddens their hearts for
the splendid prize. Lo the rounded ankles and raven hair That floats at

will on the wanton wind, And the round brown arms to the breezes bare,
And breasts like the mounds where the waters meet, [4] And feet