Legends of the Northwest | Page 7

bent on the glowing
fire. She heard not the wild winds shrill and moan; She heard not the
tall elms toss and groan; Her face was lit like the harvest moon; For her
thoughts flew far to her heart's desire. Far away in the land of the Hóhé
[15] dwelt The warrior she held in her secret heart; But little he
dreamed of the pain she felt, For she hid her love with a maiden's art.
Not a tear she shed, not a word she said, When the fair young chief
from the lodge departed; But she sat on the mound when the day was
dead, And gazed at the full moon mellow hearted. Fair was the chief as
the morning-star; His eyes were mild and his words were low, But his
heart was stouter than lance or bow; And her young heart flew to her
love afar O'er his trail long covered with drifted snow. But she heard a
warrior's stealthy tread, And the tall Wakâwa appeared, and said-- "Is
Wiwâstè afraid of the spirit dread That fires the sky in the fatal north?
[26] Behold the mysterious lights. Come forth Some evil
threatens,--some danger nears, For the skies are pierced with the
burning spears."
The warriors rally beneath the moon; They shoot their shafts at the evil
spirit. The spirit is slain and the flame is gone, And his blood lies red
on the snow fields near it. But again from the dead will the spirit rise,
And flash his spears in the northern skies.
Then the chief and the queenly Wiwâstè stood Alone in the moon-lit
solitude, And she was silent and he was grave. "And fears not my
daughter the evil spirit? The strongest warriors and bravest fear it The
burning spears are an evil omen; They threaten the wrath of a wicked
woman, Or a treacherous foe; but my warriors brave, When danger
nears, or the foe appears, Are a cloud of arrows,--a grove of spears."
"My Father," she said, and her words were low, "Why should I fear?
for I soon will go To the broad, blue lodge in the Spirit land, Where my
dark eyed mother went long ago, And my dear twin sisters walk hand
in hand. My Father, listen,--my words are true," And sad was her voice
as the whippowil When she mourns her mate by the moon-lit rill,
"Wiwâstè lingers alone with you, The rest are sleeping on yonder hill,--
Save one--and he an undutiful son,-- And you, my Father, will sit alone

When Sisóka [27] sings and the snow is gone. I sat, when the maple
leaves were red, By the foaming falls of the haunted river; The night
sun was walking above my head, And the arrows shone in his
burnished quiver; And the winds were hushed and the hour was dread
With the walking ghosts of the silent dead. I heard the voice of the
Water-Fairy; [28] I saw her form in the moon-lit mist, As she sat on a
stone with her burden weary, By the foaming eddies of amethyst. And
robed in her mantle of mist the sprite Her low wail poured on the silent
night. Then the spirit spake, and the floods were still-- They hushed and
listened to what she said, And hushed was the plaint of the whippowil
In the silver-birches above her head: 'Wiwâstè,--the prairies are green
and fair, When the robin sings and the whippowil; But the land of the
Spirits is fairer still, For the winds of winter blow never there; And
forever the songs of the whippowils And the robins are heard on the
leafy hills. Thy mother looks from her lodge above,-- Her fair face
shines in the sky afar, And the eyes of thy sisters are bright with love,
As they peep from the tee of the mother-star. To her happy lodge in the
spirit-land She beckons Wiwâstè with shining hand.'
"My Father,--my Father, her words were true; And the death of
Wiwâstè will rest on you. You have pledged me as wife to the tall Red
Cloud; You will take the gifts of the warrior proud; But I, Wakâwa,--I
answer--never! I will stain your knife in my heart's red blood, I will
plunge and sink in the sullen river, Ere I will be wife to the fierce Red
Cloud!"
"Wiwâstè," he said, and his voice was low, "Let it be as you will, for
Wakâwa's tongue Has spoken no promise;--his lips are slow, And the
love of a father is deep and strong. Be happy, Micúnksee [29], the
flames are gone,-- They flash no more in the Northern sky. See the
smile on the face of the watching moon; No more will the fatal red
arrows fly; For the singing shafts of my warriors sped To