The Feast of the Virgins and Other Poems | Page 6

spirit.?The spirit is slain and the flame is gone,?But his blood lies red on the snow-fields near it;?And again from the dead will the spirit rise,?And flash his spears in the northern skies.
Then the chief and the queenly Wiwastè 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 fond-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,?"Wiwastè 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:?'Wiwastè, 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 Wiwastè with shining hand.'
"My Father--my Father, her words were true;?And the death of Wiwastè 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, Wakawa,--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 dark Red Cloud!"
"Wiwastè," he said, and his voice was low,?"Let it be as you will, for Wakawa'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 the bad spirit's bosom and laid him dead,?And his blood on the snow of the North lies red.?Go--sleep in the robe that you won to-day,?And dream of your hunter--the brave Chaskè."
Light was her heart as she turned away;?It sang like the lark in the skies of May.?The round moon laughed, but a lone, red star,[30]?As she turned to the teepee and entered in,?Fell flashing and swift in the sky afar,?Like the polished point of a javelin.?Nor chief nor daughter the shadow saw?Of the crouching listener, Harpstinà.
Wiwastè, wrapped in her robe and sleep,?Heard not the storm-sprites wail and weep,?As they rode on the winds in the frosty air;?But she heard the voice of her hunter fair;?For a fairy spirit with silent fingers?The curtains drew from the land of dreams;?And lo in her teepee her lover lingers;?In his tender eyes all the love-light beams,?And his voice is the music of mountain streams.
And then with her round, brown arms she pressed?His phantom form to her throbbing breast,?And whispered the name, in her happy sleep,?Of her _Hóhè_ hunter so fair and far:?And then she saw in her dreams the deep?Where the spirit wailed, and a falling star;?Then stealthily crouching under the trees,?By the light of the moon, the _Kan-é-ti-dan_, [31]?The little, wizened, mysterious man,?With his long locks tossed by the moaning breeze.?Then a flap of wings, like a thunder-bird, [32]?And a wailing spirit the sleeper heard;?And lo, through the mists of the moon, she saw?The hateful visage of Harpstinà.
But waking she murmured--"And what are these----?The flap of wings and the falling star,?The wailing spirit that's never at ease,?The little man crouching under the trees,?And the hateful visage of Harpstinà??My dreams are like feathers that float on the breeze,?And none can tell what the omens are----?Save the beautiful dream of my love