Part 13

Ne-bâun, ne-bâun, ne-dâun-is-âis,

E-we wâ-wa, wâ-we-yeà, E-we wâ-wa, wâ-we-yeà,

Swing, swing little one, lullaby; Thou'rt not left alone to weep; Mother cares for you,--she is nigh; Sleep, my little one, sweetly sleep; Swing, swing, little one, lullaby; Mother watches you--she is nigh; Gently, gently, wee one swing; Gently, gently, while I sing

E-we wâ-wa--lullaby, E-we wâ-wa—-lullaby.

Homeward to his lodge returning Kindly greeting found the hunter, Fire to warm and food to nourish, Golden trout from Gitchee Gumee, Caught by Kâk-kâh-gè--the Raven. With a snare he caught the rabbit-- Caught Wabóse, the furry footed, Caught Penây, the forest drummer; Sometimes with his bow and arrows, Shot the red deer in the forest. Shot the squirrel in the pine top, Shot Ne-kâ, the wild goose, flying. Proud as Waub-Ojeeg, the warrior, To the lodge he bore his trophies So when homeward turned the Panther Ever found he food provided, Found the lodge-fire brightly burning, Found the faithful Sea-Gull waiting. "You are cold," she said, "and famished; Here are fire and food, my husband." Not by word or look he answered; Only ate the food provided, Filled, his pipe and pensive puffed it, Smoked and sat in sullen silence.

Once--her dark eyes full of hunger-- Thus she spoke and thus besought him: "Tell me, O my silent Panther, Tell me, O beloved husband, What has made you sad and sullen? Have you met some evil spirit-- Met some goblin in the forest? Has he put a spell upon you-- Filled your heart with bitter waters, That you sit so sad and sullen, Sit and smoke, but never answer, Only when the storm is on you?"

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; From his den the sly wolf listened, But no twang of bow-string heard he. Like one walking in his slumber, Listless, dreaming walked the Panther; Surely had some witch bewitched him, Some bad spirit of the forest.

When the Sea-Gull wed the Panther, Fair was she and full of laughter; Like the robin in the spring-time, Sang from sunrise till the sunset; But the storms of many winters Sifted frost upon her tresses, Seamed her tawny face with wrinkles.

Not alone the storms of winters Seamed her tawny face with wrinkles. Twenty winters for the Panther Had she ruled the humble wigwam; For her haughty lord and master 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 Kenéw--the eagle. For a warrior brave was Panther; Often had he met the foemen, Met the bold and fierce Dakotas; Westward on the war-path met them; And the scalps he won were numbered, Numbered seven by Kenéw-feathers. Sad at heart was Sea-Gull waiting, Watching, waiting in the wigwam; Not alone the storms of winters Sifted frost upon her tresses.

Ka-be-bón-ík-ka, the mighty, He that sends the cruel winter, He that turned to stone the Giant, From the distant Thunder-mountain, Far across broad Gitchee Gumee, Sent his warning of the winter, Sent the white frost and Kewâydin, Sent the swift and hungry North-wind. Homeward to the South the Summer Turned and fled the naked forests. With the Summer flew the robin, Flew the bobolink and blue-bird. Flock wise following chosen leaders, Like the shaftless heads of arrows Southward cleaving through the ether, Soon the wild geese followed after.

One long moon the Sea-Gull waited, Watched and waited for her husband, Till at last she heard his footsteps, Heard him coming through the thicket. Forth she went to meet her husband, Joyful went to greet her husband. Lo behind the haughty hunter, Closely following in his footsteps, Walked a young and handsome woman, Walked the Red Fox from the island-- Gitchee Ménis--the Grand Island,-- Followed him into the wigwam, Proudly took her seat beside him. On the Red Fox smiled the hunter, On the hunter smiled the woman.

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; So he dallied with the danger, Dallied with the fair Algónkin, Till a magic mead she gave him, Brewed of buds of birch and cedar. Madly then he loved the woman; Then she ruled him, then she held him Tangled in her raven tresses, Tied and tangled in her tresses.

Ah, the tail and tawny Panther! Ah, the brave and brawny Panther! Son of Waub-Ojeeg, the warrior! With a slender hair she led him, With a slender hair he drew him, Drew him often to her wigwam; There she bound him, there she held him Tangled in her raven tresses, Tied and tangled in her tresses. Ah, the best of men are tangled-- Sometime tangled in the tresses Of a fair and crafty woman.

So the Panther wed the Red Fox, And she followed to his wigwam. Young again he seemed and gladsome, Glad as Raven when the father Made his first bow from the elm-tree, From the ash tree made his arrows, Taught him how to aim his arrows, How to shoot Wabóse--the rabbit.

Then again the brawny hunter Brought the black bear and the beaver, Brought the haunch of elk and red-deer, Brought the rabbit and the pheasant-- Choicest bits of all for Red Fox. For her robes he brought the sable, Brought the otter and the ermine, Brought the black-fox tipped with silver.

But the Sea-Gull murmured never, Not a word she spoke in anger, Went about her work as ever, Tanned the skins of bear and beaver, Tanned the hides of moose and red deer, Gathered fagots for the lodge-fire, Gathered rushes from the marches; Deftly into mats she wove them; Kept the lodge as bright as ever. Only to herself she murmured, All alone with Waub-omeé-meé, On the tall and toppling highland, O'er the wilderness of waters; Murmured to the murmuring waters, Murmured to the Nébe-nâw-baigs-- To the spirits of the waters; On the wild waves poured her sorrow, Save the infant on her bosom With her dark eyes wide with wonder, None to hear her but the spirits, And the murmuring pines above her. Thus she cast away her burdens, Cast her burdens on the waters; Thus unto the Mighty Spirit, Made her lowly lamentation: "Wahonówin!--Wahonówin!" Gitchee Mânito, benâ nin! Nah, Ba-bâ, showâin neméshin! "Wahonówin!--Wahonówin!"

Ka-be-bón-ík-ka, the mighty, He that sends the cruel winter, From the distant Thunder-mountain, On the shore of Gitchee Gumee-- On the rugged northern limit, Sent his solemn, final warning, Sent the white wolves of the Nor'land Like the dust of stars in ether-- In the Pathway of the Spirits. Like the sparkling dust of diamonds, Fell the frost upon the forest, On the mountains and the meadows, On the wilderness of woodland. On the wilderness of waters. All the lingering fowls departed-- All that seek the South in winter, All but Shingebís, the diver. He defies the Winter-maker, Sits and laughs at Winter-maker.

Ka-be-bón-ík-ka, the mighty, From his wigwam called Kewáydin,-- From his home among the ice-bergs, From the sea of frozen waters, Called the swift and hungry North-wind. Then he spread his mighty pinions Over all the land and shook them, Like the white down of Wâubésè Fell the feathery snow and covered, All the marshes and the meadows, All the hill-tops and the highlands. Then old Péboân--the winter-- Laughed along the stormy waters, Danced upon the windy headlands, On the storm his white hair streaming,-- And his steaming breath, ascending, On the pine-tops and the cedars Fell in frosty mists refulgent, Sprinkling somber shades with silver, Sprinkling all the woods with silver.

By the lodge-fire all the winter Sat the Sea-Gull and the Red Fox, Sat and kindly spoke and chatted, Till the twain seemed friends together. Friends they seemed in word and action, But within the breast of either Smouldered still the baneful embers-- Fires of jealousy and hatred,--

Like a camp-fire in the forest Left by hunters and deserted; Only seems a bed of ashes, But the East-wind, Wâbun noódin, Scatters through the woods the ashes, Fans to flame the sleeping embers, And the wild-fire roars and rages, Roars and rages through the forest. So the baneful embers smouldered, Smouldered in the breast of either.

From the far-off Sunny Islands, From the pleasant land of Summer, Where the spirits of the blessèd Feel no more the fangs of hunger, Or the cold breath of Kewâydin, Came a stately youth and handsome, Came Según the foe of Winter. Like the rising sun his face was, Like the shining stars his eyes were, Light his footsteps as the Morning's. In his hand were buds and blossoms, On his brow a blooming garland. Straightway to the icy wigwam Of old Péboân, the Winter, Strode Según and quickly entered. There old Péboân sat and shivered, Shivered o'er his dying lodge-fire.

"Ah, my son, I bid you welcome; Sit and tell me your adventures; I will tell you of my power; We will pass the night together." Thus spake Péboân--the Winter; Then he filled his pipe and lighted; Then by sacred custom raised it To the spirits in the ether; To the spirits in the caverns Of the hollow earth he lowered it. Thus he passed it to the spirits, And the unseen spirits puffed it. Next himself old Péboân honored; Thrice he puffed his pipe and passed it, Passed it to the handsome stranger.

"Lo I blow my breath," said Winter, "And the laughing brooks are silent; Hard as flint become the waters, And the rabbit runs upon them."

Then Según, the fair youth, answered: "Lo I breathe upon the hill-sides, On the valleys and the meadows, And behold, as if by magic-- By the magic of the Spirits, Spring the flowers and tender grasses."

Then old Péboân replying: "Nah! I breathe upon the forests, And the leaves fall sere and yellow; Then I shake my locks and snow falls, Covering all the naked landscape."

Then Según arose and answered: "Nashké! --see!--I shake my ringlets; On the earth the warm rain falleth, And the flowers look up like children Glad-eyed from their mother's bosom. Lo my voice recalls the robin, Brings the bobolink and blue-bird, And the woods are full of music. With my breath I melt their fetters, And the brooks leap laughing onward."

Then old Péboân looked upon him, Looked and knew Según, the Summer, From his eyes the big tears started And his boastful tongue was silent.