Sachem and Chieftains
And all the watching Canawacs:

"This is my daughter, a Princess of seven tribes,
She who can run with the foot of the hare,
Who can dance as the gold birch leaves,
When spring comes stealing from the Southland;
Who can guide the swift canoes surely
And ride the wild ponies on the chase,
Whose fingers are skilful in basket weaving,
In beading, and braiding, and polishing ornaments.
She comes with me to make the friendship
Of a people of her mother's blood;
And her name is a name held sacred
Among all the tribes at peace with us.
Like music there fell from his smooth tongue
A name well known to council wise Canawacs,
'Coüy-oüy'—a breath of sweetness—
He spoke it like the easy tongue of a lazy brook
Softly singing among the small stones of its bed.

Then every Canawac remembered the dark days
When the Great Spirit became justly angered,
And in the height of his deep wrath
Against the treachery of all tribes
Drew up the waters of destruction
Until they covered the earth's face,
Leaving upon the tallest tree
Only one Chief and his mate,
And one pair of every bird and climbing beast,
On the top of the highest mountain
Of all the earth known to man.

When the water had come up to the top branches
Until only their heads were above it,
And had stood still for three weary suns,
Then slowly it drew back, and left the earth barren,
So there was no fire to cook food
For the hungry Sachem and his mate,
Nor to warm the water soaked camping grounds.

Then the Sachem sent a beaver messenger
Far down to the underworld
To borrow only one coal
From the campfires of the dark spirits;
But the beaver was not able to bring it
For burning his mouth cruelly.

Then he sent the fierce mountain lion,
Searching all over the earth for campfires,
But there was no fire to be found,
For the water had been everywhere.

Then he sent a little gray bird to the spirit world
To bring from the campfires of the unseen country
One living coal with which to make a fire
For the cooking kettles and light-signals,
And to warm the lodges of all the tribes
That would follow him in suns to come.

So the dauntless little gray bird
Slowly winged across the far spaces.
Three suns arose and set, and at the red evening
When the third sun plunged its face in the sea,
With all of its plumage burned a flame-tongue red,
With a beak of red like hot coals
And its face blackened with fire,
Came the brave panting bird
With a living coal held fast in its mouth,
A coal snatched from the high altars
Of the far country of the spirits.

And so the fire gift was brought back to earth
To warm the hearts and the wigwams
Of every nation, for all seasons to come.

The bird was sent from a stranger tribe
Far to the south of our hunting grounds,
Where the hot suns shine and the grass withers;
But travellers journeying northward to see us,
Had told our grandfathers about it,
Had shown us the bird of bloody red beak
And face still blackened with fire,
Singing gaily in our summer forests,
Singing even in the ice of winter.

Often when we chanted songs of thanksgiving
To the Great Spirit, for rich gifts,
When we thanked him for the buffalo and beaver,
For the deer meat and fish and corn for winter,
Then our tribes made a ceremonial of glad rejoicing
For the bird that brought back
The great wonder gift of fire.

Its sacred name fell on our ears
Like the peace of the Great Spirit,
Fell soft as flying snowflakes
When first squaw winter comes,
Soft as the hunting wing of the thieving owl,
Sweet as the breath of flowers in the nesting moon,
From the lips of the Great Chief: "Coüy-oüy."

Before him, her shining head bowed,
Our people watched her in silent wonder.
She was tall, taller than any of our women,
Tall and slender like the singing wind reeds
That grow around the magic pool
Of the white spirit lily of the still water,
Far back in the valley pastures.

She moved like the night hawk
Slowly sweeping across the moon sky.
From the proud lift of her head
And the eagle look of her dark eye
From the red flower flame of her soft lips
And the sureness of her being,
I could see that the heart of her
Was like a wiry little war pony
Swiftly racing up the steep trail of her breast
With the hunt blood of the soft chase
Fevering its questing nostrils.

No woman among our people,
Had seen the beauty of her robe,
For she stood in flower white, flower fine doeskin,
Bleached and tanned like winter snowdrift,
Like the shining water flower face of far lakes,
Like the wide wing of a homing white swan,
Like the silver rays of the big cold hunting moon.

All around her feet fell soft knotted fringes
Cut deep as the height of the first upstanding
Of papooses ready to walk.
And her belt and her neck were deeply embroidered
With a thousand green stained quills
From the backs of many porcupines,
While her long heavy necklace
Was got from traders crossing far seas,
For it lay soft dull jade like the green wave meadow
In the deepest bay of the leaf tinted big sea water.

Medicine Man, O Medicine Man,
When one looked upon her searchingly,
As I looked long upon her,
That night of fat harvest thanksgiving,
Slowly one saw creeping from her bare arms,
From her firm high breasts,
Over the dark gleaming bowed head
And sure slender shoulders of her,
A faint waving cloud like fine blue mist
That could have been none other
Than the secret power of the Great Spirit,
Stealing from her breast to wrap around her
So that any evil spirit magic
Might not be strong to work against her.

I could see that she was softer
Than our hard working women,
Though she had learned from the bee
To be busy and useful,
Though she had learned from the hunted fawn
To travel far journeys in daring wingéd leaps.

PART II

COÜY-OÜY AND MOUNTAIN LION

Medicine Man, it were not enough,
Ha! it were not enough
That the stranger bore the song name
Of the fire bird our tribe worshipped;
For on her breast, sheltered with one slim hand,
With flaming wings outspread,
And panting saw-edged beak like fire,
Lay a brother of the spirit bird,
Flame red, blood red, feathers like wounds—
Dead coal black of face;
A wild thing, sheltered and unafraid.

In her language and with wave smooth sign talk
She told the Great Sachem and our Chiefs
That she had found it in the forest
Wounded from the missed kill of the night bird
Or bare escaped from the eager claws
Of the hunger driven wildcat.