Hanford Lennox Gordon

“ For the feast of Heyóka 22 the braves are dressed With crowns from the bark of the white-birch trees, And new skin leggins that reach the knees; With robes of the bison and swarthy bear, And eagle-plumes in their coal-black hair, And marvelous rings in their tawny ears, Which were pierced with the points of their shining spears. To honor Heyóka, Wakâwa lifts His fuming pipe from the Red-stone Quarry. 23 The warriors follow. The white cloud drifts From the Council-lodge to the welkin starry, Like a fog at morn on the fir-clad hill, When the meadows are damp and the winds are still. ”

“ Spoke the mother to the Raven: "O my son—my brave young hunter, Feed my tender little orphan; Be a father to my orphan; Be a mother to my orphan,— For the Crafty Red Fox robbed us,— Robbed the Sea-Gull of her husband, Robbed the infant of her mother. From this cliff the treacherous woman Headlong into Gitchee Gumee Plunged the mother of my orphan. Then a Nébe-nâw-baig caught me,— Chief of all the Nébe-nâw-baigs— Took me to his shining wigwam, In the cavern of the waters, Deep beneath the might waters. All below is burnished copper, All above is burnished silver Gemmed with amethyst and agates. ”

“ They dance to the tune of their wild "Ha-ha!" A warrior's shout and a raven's caw— Circling the pot and the blaming fire To the tom-tom's bray and the rude bassoon; Round and round to their heart's desire, And ever the same wild chant and tune— A warrior's shout and a raven's caw— "Ha-ha,—ha-ha,—ha-ha,—ha!" They crouch, they leap, and their burning eyes Flash fierce in the light of the flaming fire, As fiercer and fiercer and higher and higher The rude, wild notes of their chant arise. ”

“ He sweats when he's cold, and he shivers when hot, And the water is cold in his boiling pot. He hides in the earth and he walks in disguise, But he loves the brave and their sacrifice. We are sons of Heyóka. The Giant commands In the boiling water to thrust our hands; And the warrior that scorneth the foe and fire Heyóka will crown with his hearts desire." They thrust their hands in the boiling pot; They swallow the bison meat steaming hot, Not a wince on their stoical faces bold. For the meat and the water, they say, are cold, And great is Heyóka and wonderful wise ”

“ In the shadows of pine-trunks they creep, but their panther-eyes gleam in the fire-light, As they peer on the white men asleep, in the glow of the fire, on their blankets. Lo, in each swarthy right hand a knife, in the left hand, the bow and the arrows! Brave Frenchmen! awake to the strife! —or you sleep in the forest forever. Nay, nearer and nearer they glide, like ghosts on the fields of their battles, Till close on the sleepers, they bide but the signal of death from Tamdóka. Still the sleepers sleep on. Not a breath stirs the leaves of the awe-stricken forest ”

“ A woman is weak, but a warrior is strong, And a lovelorn 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 revenge 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! ”

“ 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. ”

“ 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 ”

“ The Autumn blasts o'er Wakâwa's mound Shall chase the hair of the thistle's head, And the bare armed oak o'er the silent dead. When the whirling snows from the north descend, Shall wail and moan in the midnight wind. In the famine of winter the wolf shall prowl, And scratch the snow from the heap of stones, And sit in the gathering storm and howl, On the frozen mound, for Wakâwa's bones. But the years that are gone shall return again. As the robin returns and the whippowil When my warriors stand on the sacred hill And remember the deeds of their brave chief slain. ”

“ Brown-bosomed and fair as the rising moon, When she peeps o'er the hills of the dewy east, Wiwâstè sings at the Virgins Feast; And bright is the light in her luminous eyes; They glow like the stars in the winter skies; And the lilies that bloom in her virgin heart Their golden blush to her cheeks impart— Her cheeks half hid in her midnight hair. Fair is her form—as the red fawn's fair, And long is the flow of her raven hair ”

“ 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." ”

“ Like a bear in the battle Wakâwa raves, And cheers the hearts of his falling braves. But a panther crouches along his track,— He springs with a yell on Wakâwa's back! The tall Chief, stabbed to the heart, lies low; But his left hand clutches his deadly foe, And his red right clenches the bloody hilt Of his knife in the heart of the slayer dyed. And thus was the life of Wakâwa spilt, And slain and slayer lay side by side. The unscalped corpse of their honored chief His warriors snatched from the yelling pack, And homeward fled on their forest track With their bloody burden and load of grief. ”

“ Her will must Winona obey, by the custom and law of Dakotas. The gifts to the teepee were brought —the blankets, and beads of the White men, And Winona, the orphaned, was bought by the crafty relentless Tamdóka. In the Spring-time of life, in the flush of the gladsome mid-May days of Summer, When the bobolink sang and the thrush, and the red robin chirped in the branches, To the tent of the brave must she go; she must kindle the fire in his tepee; She must sit in the lodge of her foe, as a slave at the feet of her master. ”

“ 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 birchen canoes well laden with rice from the meadows, 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. ”

“ Gruffly then the Panther answered: "Brave among the brave is Panther, Son of Waub-Ojeeg, the warrior, And the brave are ever silent; But a whining dog is woman, Whining ever like a coward." Forth into the tangled forest, Threading through the thorny thickets, Treading, trails on marsh and meadow, Sullen strode the moody hunter. Saw he not the bear or beaver, Saw he not the elk or roebuck; From his path the red fawn scampered, But no arrow followed after ”

“ Mâh-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-kâ-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? ”

“ 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 robin in May, With the bridal gifts for the bridal day; And the fair Wiwâstè was happy-hearted, For Wakâwa 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 ”

“ Old and wrinkled was the Sea-Gull, Good and true, but old and wrinkled. Twenty winters for the Panther Had she ruled the humble wigwam, Borne the burdens on the journey, Gathered fagots for the lodge-fire, Tanned the skins of bear and beaver, Tanned the hides of moose and red deer, Made him moccasins and leggings, Decked his hood with quills and feathers, Colored quills of Kaug, the thorny, Feathers from the great war-eagle; Ever diligent and faithful, Ever patient, ne'er complaining. but like all brave men the Panther Loved a young and handsome woman ”

“ 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 slopes 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! ”

“ 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 Hârpstinà. The winter wanes and the south-wind blows From the Summer Islands legendary. The skéskas 46 fly and the melted snows In lakelets lie on the dimpled prairie. The frost-flowers 47 peep from their winter sleep Under the snow-drifts cold and deep. To the April sun and the April showers, In field and forest, the baby flowers Lift their golden faces and azure eyes ”

“ From afar where sky and waters Meet in misty haze and mingle, Straight toward the rocky highland, Straight as flies die feathered arrow, Straight to Raven and the infant Swiftly flew a snow white sea-gull.— Flew and touched the earth a woman. And behold, the long-lost mother Caught her wailing child and nursed her, Sang a lullaby and nursed her. Thrice was wound a chain of silver Round her waist and strongly fastened. Far away into the waters— To the wigwam of the spirits,— To the lodge of Nébe-nâw-baigs,— Stretched the magic chain of silver. ”

“ Man is the rugged and wrinkled oak, And woman the trusting and tender vine— That clasps and climbs till its arms entwine The brawny arms of the sturdy stoke. 67 The dimpled babes are the flowers divine That the blessing of God on the vine and oak With their cooing and blossoming lips invoke. To the pleasant land of the brave Hóhé Wiwâstè rode with her proud Chaskè. She ruled like a queen in his bountiful tee, And the life of the twain was a jubilee. Their wee ones climbed on the father's knee, And played with his plumes of the great Wanmdeè. ”

“ HEYÓKA WACÍPEE 16—THE GIANT'S DANCE. The night-sun 17 sails in his gold canoe, The spirits 18 walk in the realms of air With their glowing faces and flaming hair, And the shrill, chill winds o'er the prairies blow. In the Tee 19 of the Council the Virgins light The Virgin-fire 20 for the feast to-night; For the Sons of Heyóka will celebrate The sacred dance to the giant great. The kettle boils on the blazing fire, And the flesh is done to the chief's desire. With his stoic face to sacred East, 21 He takes his seat at the Giant's Feast. ”

“ Hark!—the waters hush their sighing, and the whippowil her call, Through the moon-lit mists are flying dusky shadows silent all. Lo from out the waters foaming—from the cavern deep and dread— Through the glamour and the gloaming, comes a spirit of the dead. Sad she seems, her tresses raven on her tawny shoulders rest; Sorrow on her brow is graven, in her arms a babe is pressed. Hark!—she chants the solemn story,—sings the legend sad and old, And the river wrapt in glory listens while the tale is told. ”

“ 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 as fleet as the red deer's feet, And faces that glow like the full, round moon When she laughs in the luminous skies of June. The leaders are chosen and swiftly divide The opposing parties on either side. Wiwâstè 5 is chief of a nimble band. ”

“ Then the blinding storms roared on the plains, like the simoons on sandy Sahara; From the fangs of the fierce hurricanes fled the elk and the deer and the bison. Ever colder and colder it grew, till the frozen earth cracked and split open; And harder and harder it blew, till the prairies were bare as the boulders. To the southward the buffaloes fled, and the white rabbits hid in their burrows; On the bare sacred mounds of the dead howled the gaunt, hungry wolves in the night-time. ”