قراءة كتاب Traditions of the North American Indians, Vol. 3
تنويه: تعرض هنا نبذة من اول ١٠ صفحات فقط من الكتاب الالكتروني، لقراءة الكتاب كاملا اضغط على الزر “اشتر الآن"
اللغة: English
Traditions of the North American Indians, Vol. 3
الصفحة رقم: 6
tear him from my heart:
Too long have we sat by the summer rill,
To watch the buck as he came to drink,
And to see the beaver wallow,
To live from him apart—
My father hears."
"Thou lov'st the son of my foe,
And know'st thou not the wrongs
That foe hath heap'd on me?
The nation made him chief—
Why made they him a chief?
Had his deeds equall'd mine?
Three were the scalps on his pole,
In my smoke were nine:
I had fought with a Cherokee;
I had struck a warrior's blow,
Where the waves of Ontario roll;
I had borne my lance where he dare not go;
I had look'd on a stunted pine,
In the realms of endless frost,
And the path of the Knisteneau,
And the Abenaki crost;
While the Red Oak planted his land,
It was mine to lead the band.
Since then we never spoke,
Unless to utter reproach,
And bandy bitter words;
We meet as two hungry eagles meet,
When a badger lies dead at their feet—
Each would use a spear on his foe,
Each an arrow would put to his bow,
And bid its goal be his foeman's breast,
But the warriors interpose,
And delay the vengeance I owe.
Thou hear'st my words—'t is well.
And know'st thou not the wrongs
That foe hath heap'd on me?
The nation made him chief—
Why made they him a chief?
Had his deeds equall'd mine?
Three were the scalps on his pole,
In my smoke were nine:
I had fought with a Cherokee;
I had struck a warrior's blow,
Where the waves of Ontario roll;
I had borne my lance where he dare not go;
I had look'd on a stunted pine,
In the realms of endless frost,
And the path of the Knisteneau,
And the Abenaki crost;
While the Red Oak planted his land,
It was mine to lead the band.
Since then we never spoke,
Unless to utter reproach,
And bandy bitter words;
We meet as two hungry eagles meet,
When a badger lies dead at their feet—
Each would use a spear on his foe,
Each an arrow would put to his bow,
And bid its goal be his foeman's breast,
But the warriors interpose,
And delay the vengeance I owe.
Thou hear'st my words—'t is well.
"Then listen to my words—
The soul of a Maqua never cools;
His ire can never be assuag'd,
But with the smell of gore
I thirst for the Red Oak's blood;
I live but for revenge;
Thou shalt not wed his son;
Choose thee a mate elsewhere,
And see that ye roam no more
By night o'er the rocky dell,
And through the woody hollow,
But when the sun its eye-lids closes,
See that thine own the example follow."
The soul of a Maqua never cools;
His ire can never be assuag'd,
But with the smell of gore
I thirst for the Red Oak's blood;
I live but for revenge;
Thou shalt not wed his son;
Choose thee a mate elsewhere,
And see that ye roam no more
By night o'er the rocky dell,
And through the woody hollow,
But when the sun its eye-lids closes,
See that thine own the example follow."
And the father of the youth
Spake thus unto his son:
"A bird has whispered in my ear,
That when the stars have gone to rest,
And the moon her eye-lids hath clos'd,
Who walk beside the lake
Will see glide past their troubled view
Two forms as a meteor light,
And will note a white canoe
Paddled along by two,
And will hear the words of a tender song.
Stealing like a spring wind along.
Tell me, my son, if either be you?"
Spake thus unto his son:
"A bird has whispered in my ear,
That when the stars have gone to rest,
And the moon her eye-lids hath clos'd,
Who walk beside the lake
Will see glide past their troubled view
Two forms as a meteor light,
And will note a white canoe
Paddled along by two,
And will hear the words of a tender song.
Stealing like a spring wind along.
Tell me, my son, if either be you?"
Then answer'd the valiant son,
"Mine is a warrior's soul,
And mine is an arm of strength;
I scorn to tell a lie;
The bird has told thee true.
And, father, hear my words:
I now have come to man's estate;
Who can bend the sprout of the oak,
Of which my bow is made?
Who can poise my choice of spears,
To me but a slender reed?
I fain would build myself a lodge,
And take to that lodge a wife:
And, father, hear thy son—
I love the Red Oak's daughter."
"Mine is a warrior's soul,
And mine is an arm of strength;
I scorn to tell a lie;
The bird has told thee true.
And, father, hear my words:
I now have come to man's estate;
Who can bend the sprout of the oak,
Of which my bow is made?
Who can poise my choice of spears,
To me but a slender reed?
I fain would build myself a lodge,
And take to that lodge a wife:
And, father, hear thy son—
I love the Red Oak's daughter."
"Thou lov'st the daughter of my foe;
And know'st thou not the taunts
His tongue hath heap'd on me:
The nation made me chief,
And thence his ire arose;
Thence came foul wrongs and blows,
And neither yet aveng'd.
He boasted that his fame exceeded mine:
Three, he said, were the scalps on my pole,
While in his lodge were nine—
He did not tell how many I struck,
Nor spoke of my constancy,
When the Nansemonds tore my flesh,
With burning pincers tore;
And he said he had fought with a Cherokee,
And had struck a warrior's blow,
Where the waves of Ontario roll,
And had borne his lance where I dare not go,
And had look'd on a stunted pine,
In the realms of endless frost;
And the path of the Knisteneau
And the Abenaki crost:
While—bitter taunt!—cruel taunt!
And for it I'll drink his blood,
And eat him broil'd in fire—
The Red Oak planted his land,
It was his to lead the band.
And know'st thou not the taunts
His tongue hath heap'd on me:
The nation made me chief,
And thence his ire arose;
Thence came foul wrongs and blows,
And neither yet aveng'd.
He boasted that his fame exceeded mine:
Three, he said, were the scalps on my pole,
While in his lodge were nine—
He did not tell how many I struck,
Nor spoke of my constancy,
When the Nansemonds tore my flesh,
With burning pincers tore;
And he said he had fought with a Cherokee,
And had struck a warrior's blow,
Where the waves of Ontario roll,
And had borne his lance where I dare not go,
And had look'd on a stunted pine,
In the realms of endless frost;
And the path of the Knisteneau
And the Abenaki crost:
While—bitter taunt!—cruel taunt!
And for it I'll drink his blood,
And eat him broil'd in fire—
The Red Oak planted his land,
It was his to lead the band.
"And listen further to my words—
My wrath can never be assuag'd;
Thou shalt not wed his daughter,
Choose thee a wife elsewhere;
Choose thee one any where,
Save in the Maqua's lodge.
The Nansemonds have maidens fair,
With bright black eyes, and long black locks,
And voice like the music of rills;
The Chippewa girls of the frosty north
Have feet like the nimble antelopes'
That bound on their native hills;
And their voice is like the dove's in spring—
Take one of those doves to thy cage;
But see no more, by day or night,
The Maqua warrior's daughter."
And haughtily he turn'd away.
My wrath can never be assuag'd;
Thou shalt not wed his daughter,
Choose thee a wife elsewhere;
Choose thee one any where,
Save in the Maqua's lodge.
The Nansemonds have maidens fair,
With bright black eyes, and long black locks,
And voice like the music of rills;
The Chippewa girls of the frosty north
Have feet like the nimble antelopes'
That bound on their native hills;
And their voice is like the dove's in spring—
Take one of those doves to thy cage;
But see no more, by day or night,
The Maqua warrior's daughter."
And haughtily he turn'd away.
Night was abroad on the earth;
Mists were over the face of the moon,
And the stars were like the sparkling flies
That twinkle in the prairie glades,
In my brother's month of June:
And hideous forms had risen;
The spirits of the swamp
Had come from their caverns dark and deep,
Where the slimy currents flow,
With the serpent and wolf to romp,
And to whisper in the sleeper's
Mists were over the face of the moon,
And the stars were like the sparkling flies
That twinkle in the prairie glades,
In my brother's month of June:
And hideous forms had risen;
The spirits of the swamp
Had come from their caverns dark and deep,
Where the slimy currents flow,
With the serpent and wolf to romp,
And to whisper in the sleeper's