Part 8

The Indian words of this song, freely translated, are:--

As the day comes forth from night, So I come forth to seek thee. Lift thine eyes and behold him Who comes with the day to thee.

Omaha.

Harmonized by PROF. J.C. FILLMORE.

Fades the star of morning, West winds gently blow, gently blow, gently blow. Soft the pine trees murmur, Soft the waters flow, Soft the waters flow, Soft the waters flow. Lift thine eyes, my maiden, To the hill-top nigh. Night and gloom will vanish When the pale stars die, When the pale stars die, When the pale stars die. Lift thine eyes, my maiden, Hear thy lover's cry.]

Miss Edna Dean Proctor has rendered into charming verse the scene and the feeling of the hour, giving us an Indian love-song in its entirety. By her courtesy I am able to reproduce here her poem written some years ago, on hearing the melody which I had then recently transcribed during one of my sojourns among the Omaha Indians:--

Fades the star of morning, West winds gently blow, Soft the pine-trees murmur, Soft the waters flow.

Lift thine eyes, my maiden, To the hill-top nigh, Night and gloom will vanish When the pale stars die; Lift thine eyes, my maiden, Hear thy lover's cry!

From my tent I wander, Seeking only thee, As the day from darkness Comes for stream and tree. Lift thine eyes, my maiden, To the hill-top nigh; Lo! the dawn is breaking, Rosy beams the sky; Lift thine eyes, my maiden, Hear thy lover's cry!

Lonely is our valley, Though the month is May; Come and be my moonlight, I will be thy day! Lift thine eyes, my maiden, Oh, behold me nigh! Now the sun is rising, Now the shadows fly; Lift thine eyes, my maiden, Hear thy lover's cry!

THE STORY AND SONG OF THE WREN.

This little parable occurs in the ritual of a religious ceremony of the Pawnee tribe. The song has no words, except a term for wren, the vocables being intended only to imitate the notes of the bird, nevertheless, one can trace, through the variation and repetition of the musical motive, the movement of the gentle thoughts of the teacher as given in the story which belongs to the song.

"A priest went forth in the early dawn. The sky was clear. The grass and wild flowers waved in the breeze that rose as the sun threw its first beams over the earth. Birds of all kinds vied with each other, as they sang their joy on that beautiful morning. The priest stood listening. Suddenly, off at one side, he heard a trill that rose higher and clearer than all the rest. He moved toward the place whence the song came, that he might see what manner of bird it was that could send farther than all the others its happy, laughing notes. As he came near, he beheld a tiny brown bird with open bill, the feathers on its throat rippling with the fervour of its song. It was the wren, the smallest, the least powerful of birds, that seemed to be most glad and to pour out in ringing melody to the rising sun its delight in life.

"As the priest looked, he thought: 'Here is a teaching for my people. Every one can be happy, even the most insignificant can have his song of thanks.'

"So he made the story of the wren and sang it; and it has been handed down from that day,--a day so long ago no man can remember the time."

Pawnee.

Transcribed from Graphophone and harmonized by EDWIN S. TRACY.

Ke-chi ra-ku-wa-ku whe ke re re we chi, Ke-chi ra-ku-wa-ku whe ke re re we chi, Ke-chi ra-ku-wa-ku whe ke re re we chi, Ke-chi ra-ku-wa-ku whe ke re re we chi, Ke-chi ra-ku-wa-ku whe ke re re we chi, Ke-chi ra-ku-wa-ku whe ke re re we chi.]

THE OMAHA FUNERAL SONG.

There was but one funeral song in the Omaha tribe, and this was only sung to honour some man or woman who had been greatly respected by the people.

What one would see, when this song was sung, was in violent contrast to the character of the music. The blithe major strains suggest only happiness. They hardly touch ground, so to speak, but keep their flight up where the birds are flitting about in the sunshine; and, if there are clouds in the blue sky, they are soft and fleecy, and cast no shadows. Yet the men who sang this song were ranged in line before the tent where the dead lay ready for burial. They had drawn the stem of a willow branch through a loop of flesh cut on their left arm, and their blood dripped upon the green leaves and fell in drops to the ground.

The meaning of this strange spectacle and its musical accompaniment, so apparently out of keeping, must be sought for in the beliefs of the people. It was a drama touching two worlds.

The shedding of blood was to express how vital was the loss. This act, visible to the mourners, was an exhibition of sympathy; but music had power to reach the unseen world, so the song was for the spirit of the dead, who could not see the lacerated singers, but could hear them, as they sang to cheer him as he went forth, forced by death to leave all who were dear to him.

The song was always sung in unison. The rhythm was accented by each singer beating together two small willow sticks.

There are no words to the song, only vocables; and these belong to the breathing or sighing class, indicative of emotion.

Omaha.

Harmonized by PROF. J.C. FILLMORE.

E a dha ah E he a ha ah, he ah E dha ah he a ha ah E dha ah E ah E ah ha e ha o E dha he he dhoe ha o o E dha ha he a ha ah E dha ah e ah E ah ha e ha o E dha he dho.]