Legends of the Northwest

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 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. The star-eyed daughter of Little Crow; [6] And the leader chosen to hold command Of the band adverse is a haughty foe-- The dusky, impetuous Hârpstinà, [7] The queenly cousin of Wapasa. [8] Kapóza's chief and his tawny hunters Are gathered to witness the queenly game. The ball is thrown and a bat encounters, And away it flies with a loud acclaim. Swift are the maidens that follow after, And swiftly it flies for the farther bound: And long and loud are the peals of laughter, As some fair runner is flung to ground; While backward and forward, and to and fro, The maidens contend on the trampled snow. With loud "Ihó!--Itó!--Ihó!" [9] And waving the beautiful prize anon, The dusky warriors cheer them on. And often the limits are almost passed, As the swift ball flies and returns. At last It leaps the line at a single bound From the fair Wiwâstè's sturdy stroke, Like a fawn that flies from the baying hound. Wild were the shouts, and they rolled and broke On the beetling bluffs and the hills profound, An echoing, jubilant sea of sound. Wakâwa, the chief, and the loud acclaim Announced the end of the well-fought game, And the fair Wiwâstè was victor crowned.

Dark was the visage of Hârpstinà When the robe was laid at her rival's feet, And merry maidens and warriors saw Her flashing eyes and her look of hate, As she turned to Wakâwa, the chief, and said:-- "The game was mine were it fairly played. I was stunned by a blow on my bended head, As I snatched the ball from slippery ground Not half a fling from Wiwâstè's bound. And the cheat--behold her! for there she stands With the prize that is mine in her treacherous hands. The fawn may fly, but the wolf is fleet; The fox creeps sly on Magâ's [10] retreat; And a woman's revenge--it is swift and sweet." She turned to her lodge, but a roar of laughter And merry mockery followed after. Little they heeded the words she said, Little they cared for her haughty tread, For maidens and warriors and chieftain knew That her lips were false and her charge untrue.

Wiwâstè, the fairest Dakota maiden, The sweet-faced daughter of Little Crow, To her teepee [11] turned with her trophy laden-- The black robe trailing the virgin snow. Beloved was she by her princely father, Beloved was she by the young and old, By merry maidens and many a mother, And many a warrior bronzed and bold. For her face was as fair as a beautiful dream, And her voice like the song of the mountain stream; And her eyes like the stars when they glow and gleam. Through the somber pines of the nor'land wold, When the winds of winter are keen and cold.

Mah-pí-ya Dú-ta [12] the tall Red Cloud, A hunter swift and a warrior proud, With many a scar and many a feather, Was a suitor bold and a lover fond. Long had he courted Wiwâstè's father, Long had he sued for the maiden's hand. Aye, brave and proud was the tall Red Cloud, A peerless son of a giant race, And the eyes of the panther were set in his face. He strode like a stag, and he stood like a pine: Ten feathers he wore of the great Wanmdeè; [13] With crimsoned quills of the porcupine His leggins were worked to his brawny knee. The bow he bent was a giant's bow; The swift red elk could he overtake, And the necklace that girdled his brawny neck Was the polished claws of the great Mató [14] He grappled and slew in the northern snow.

Wiwâstè looked on the warrior tall; She saw he was brawny and brave and great, But the eyes of the panther she could but hate, And a brave Hóhé [15] loved she better than all. Loved was Mahpíya by Hârpstinà, But the warrior she never could charm or draw; And bitter indeed was her secret hate For the maiden she reckoned so fortunate.

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.

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.

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. They cease, they sit, and the curling smoke Ascends again from their polished pipes, And upward curls from their swarthy lips To the God whose favor their hearts invoke.

Then tall Wakâwa arose and said: "Brave warriors, listen, and give due heed. Great is Heyóka, the magical god; He can walk on the air; he can float on the flood. He's a worker of magic and wonderful wise; He cries when he laughs and he laughs when he cries; 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; He floats on the flood and he walks in the skies, And ever appears in a strange disguise; But he loves the brave and their sacrifice; And the warrior that scorneth the foe and fire Heyóka will crown with his heart's desire.

Proud was the chief of his warriors proud, The sinewy sons of the Giant's race; But the bravest of all was the tall Red Cloud; The eyes of the panther were set in his face; He strode like a stag and he stood like a pine; Ten feathers he wore at the great Wanmdeé; [13] With crimsoned quills of the porcupine His leggins were worked to his brawny knee. Blood-red were the stripes on his swarthy cheek, And the necklace that girdled his brawny neck Was the polished claws of the great Mató [14] He grappled and slew in the northern snow.

Proud Red Cloud turned to the braves and said, As he shook the plumes on his haughty head:

"Ho! the warrior that scorneth the foe and fire Heyóka will crown with his heart's desire!" He snatched from the embers a red-hot brand, And held it aloft in his naked hand. He stood like a statue in bronze or stone,-- Not a muscle moved, and the braves looked on. He turned to the chieftain,--"I scorn the fire,-- Ten feathers I wear of the great Wanmdeé; Then grant me, Wakâwa, my heart's desire; Let the sunlight shine in my lonely tee. [19] I laugh at red death and I laugh at red fire; Brave Red Cloud is only afraid of fear; But Wiwâstè is fair to his heart and dear; Then grant him, Wakâwa, his heart's desire."

The warriors applauded with loud "Ho! Ho!" [24] And he flung the brand to the drifting snow. Three times Wakâwa puffed forth the smoke From his silent lips; then he slowly spoke: "Mâhpíya is strong as the stout-armed oak That stands on the bluff by the windy plain, And laughs at the roar of the hurricane. He has slain the foe and the great Mató With his hissing arrow and deadly stroke. My heart is swift but my tongue is slow. Let the warrior come to my lodge and smoke; He may bring the gifts; [25] but the timid doe May fly from the hunter and say him no."

Wiwâstè sat late in the lodge alone, Her dark eyes 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."