The Feast of the Virgins and Other Poems | Page 8

and his words were low.?But I heard her answer her father--'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!'?Then he spake again, and his voice was low,?But I heard the answer of Little Crow:?'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.'
"Mah-pí-ya Dúta, they scorn your love,?But the false chief covets the warrior's gifts.?False to his promise the fox will prove,?And fickle as snow in _Wo-ka-da-weè_, [37]?That slips into brooks when the gray cloud lifts,?Or the red sun looks through the ragged rifts.?Mah-pí-ya Dúta will listen to me.?There are fairer birds in the bush than she,?And the fairest would gladly be Red Cloud's wife.?Will the warrior sit like a girl bereft,?When fairer and truer than she are left,?That love Red Cloud as they love their life??Mah-pí-ya Dúta will listen to me.?I love him well--I have loved him long:?A woman is weak, but a warrior is strong,?And a love-lorn brave is a scorn to see.
"Mah-pí-ya Dúta, O listen to me!?Revenge is swift and revenge is strong,?And sweet as the hive in the hollow tree;?The proud Red Cloud will avenge his wrong.?Let the brave be patient, it is not long?Till the leaves be green on the maple tree,?And the Feast of the Virgins is then to be--?The Feast of the Virgins is then to be!"
Proudly she turned from the silent brave,?And went her way; but the warrior's eyes--?They flashed with the flame of a sudden fire,?Like the lights that gleam in the Sacred Cave[38],?When the black night covers the autumn skies,?And the stars from their welkin watch retire.
Three nights he tarried--the brave Chaskè;?Winged were the hours and they flitted away;?On the wings of _Wakandee_[39] they silently flew,?For Wiwastè had found her a way to woo.?Ah little he cared for the bison-chase,?For the red lilies bloomed on the fair maid's face;?Ah little he cared for the winds that blew,?For Wiwastè had found her a way to woo.?Brown-bosomed she sat on her fox-robe dark,?Her ear to the tales of the brave inclined,?Or tripped from the tee like the song of a lark,?And gathered her hair from the wanton wind.?Ah little he thought of the leagues of snow?He trod on the trail of the buffalo;?And little he recked of the hurricanes?That swept the snow from the frozen plains?And piled the banks of the Bloody River.[40]?His bow unstrung and forgotten hung?With his beaver hood and his otter quiver;?He sat spell-bound by the artless grace?Of her star-lit eyes and her moon-lit face.?Ah little he cared for the storms that blew,?For Wiwastè had found her a way to woo.?When he spoke with Wakawa her sidelong eyes?Sought the handsome chief in his hunter-guise.?Wakawa marked, and the lilies fair?On her round cheeks spread to her raven hair.?They feasted on rib of the bison fat,?On the tongue of the Ta[41] that the hunters prize,?On the savory flesh of the red Hogan,[42]?On sweet tipsanna[43] and pemmican?And the dun-brown cakes of the golden maize;?And hour after hour the young chief sat,?And feasted his soul on her love-lit eyes.
The sweeter the moments the swifter they fly;?Love takes no account of the fleeting hours;?He walks in a dream 'mid the blooming of flowers,?And never awakes till the blossoms die.?Ah lovers are lovers the wide world over--?In the hunter's lodge and the royal palace.?Sweet are the lips of his love to the lover--?Sweet as new wine in a golden chalice?From the Tajo's[44] slope or the hills beyond;?And blindly he sips from his loved one's lips,?In lodge or palace the wide world over,?The maddening honey of Trebizond.[45]
O what are leagues to the loving hunter,?Or the blinding drift of the hurricane,?When it raves and roars o'er the frozen plain!?He would face the storm--he would death encounter?The darling prize of his heart to gain.?But his hunters chafed at the long delay,?For the swarthy bison were far away,?And the brave young chief from the lodge departed.?He promised to come with the robins in May?With the bridal gifts for the bridal day;?And the fair Wiwastè was happy-hearted,?For Wakawa promised the brave Chaskè.?Birds of a feather will flock together.?The robin sings to his ruddy mate,?And the chattering jays, in the winter weather,?To prate and gossip will congregate;?And the cawing crows on the autumn heather,?Like evil omens, will flock together,?In common council for high debate;?And the lass will slip from a doting mother?To hang with her lad on the garden gate.?Birds of a feather will flock together--?'Tis an adage old--it is nature's law,?And sure as the pole will the needle draw,?The fierce Red Cloud with the flaunting feather,?Will follow the finger of Harpstinà.
The winter wanes and the south-wind blows?From the Summer Islands legendary;?The _skéskas_[46] fly and the melted snows?In lakelets