Nanawawa's Suitors

When the Stabber's speech had ended,
And his presents all were gathered,
And his pipe the chiefs had all smoked,
Four young chiefs of goodly mein, came
Round the princess of the forest,
And upon the tent floor kneeling,
Made obesience to her lowly.
Then they rose and gave her presents,
Costly beads and many colored
One presented, one a necklace
Of rare stones, one silver brooches
For her hair, and one gold wristlets.
All then went and sat in silence,
Waiting for the maiden's answer.
Pausing, seemed the maid more pretty.
Youthful seemed in indecision.
At the presents looked and suitors,
Looked at one and then the others.
Ah! how lovely now her soft eyes
Shone as her young hands grew doubtful.
Fairest daughter of the wigwams,
Blithest warbler of the deep shades,
Sweetest flower that e'er shined there,
Having o'er her native sweetness
Rarest hues of loneliness shed.
Ah! she was a lovely doubter!
Beads about her perfect neck hung,
Like the clusters of a ripe vine.
Wristlets clasped her naked round arms,
With reluctance seemed to clasp them,
As a lover clasps a lover.
Undecided, ah, how youthful,
Ah, how rare was Nanawawa!
Pashepaho silent sitting,
With a true parental pride, watched
His fair daughter thro' the pipe smoke
That in clouds his head environed.
At the door-way of the wigwam,
Then a chief stood, a Dacotah,
Leading a young captive with him,
A fair child of some white settler.
In the captive's face, the light shone
Of intelligence and training.
He the hopes showed of proud parents.
Long his locks, and golden, floated
To his shoulders, blue his eyes were,
And as sunbeams penetrating.
But captivity's cold buffets
Pensive made him seem and forlorn.
Then the presents of the young chiefs,
Nanawawa threw back to them,
Rose and met the young Dacotah,
Took the captive by the right hand,
And the young chief by the left hand,
And into the wigwam led them.
"Here," said she, "This is my present,
As the captive's hand she held to,
Give me this lad for a present."
"I have brought him for your present,"
Sighed the hopeful young Dacotah.
Thus it was that Nanawawa
Found a lover in her wigwam,
Found a husband at her door-way.
For within her heart she whispered,
In her heart the thought she uttered,
"I have found a husband surely."
But a secret hid she kept it,
Though she to her own heart told it,
Pashepaho never knew it.
Many days in happiness dwelt
Nanawawa and the captive;
For the Stabber took the captive,
Smeared his face with many colors,
Hung his golden locks with brooches,
Armed him with a bow and arrows,
And his son, the White Loon, named him;
Nanawawa's brother called him.
Meanwhile all the village loved him,
Loved young Nanawawa's brother.
In their huntings and their fishings,
All the young men of the village
Sought companionship in White Loon.
For the deer hunt he was ready,
For the bison chase and bear hunt;
And when Spring had warmed the rivers,
And their flow from mountains quickened,
On the bosom of the full tide,
His canoe was seen with others.
He was called the lucky fisher.
Thus it was that in the Sac town,
White Loon grew to be admired.
And at every tent door pausing,
In the morning or the evening,
Groups of cheerful faces met him,
With their dusky smiles of welcome.
Old men talked of him with wise looks,
And the young with brightened faces.
Children spoke of him in whispers,
And with little looks of wonder,
Grouped behind him in the tent doors;
For to them he was a prophet.
He could tell of ghosts and genii,
In the woods and in the waters;
In the rolling Susquehanah,
And the broad and rapid Hudson,
And the blue and peaceful Huron,
He could tell of evil genii,
Clasping hands upon the waters,
And to elfin music dancing
On the clear and moonlit waters.
Thus it was he told the children
Of a proud and faithless lover,
And the genii of the waters,
On the dark shores of Lake Huron.
"In a land of lakes and great woods,
In a green and distant country,
On the high cliffs of Lake Huron,
High as two pine trees together,
In a wigwam of great oak trees,
Lived a mighty chief of white men.
Old the man, and long his beard was
As the bow string of a warrior.
Long his hair, and thick and white was,
Like the pine's locks in a snow storm.
This chief had a lovely daughter.
Light was she, and full of sunshine,
And her words were all as cheerful
As a stream that glideth onward.
And her songs were all as buoyant
As the loud songs of a cascade.
In her speech music of groves was,
In her hair the gold of sunset,
In her cheek the blush of sunrise,
On her brow the shade of twilight,
In her eyes the blue of soft skies;
And her teeth were rows of pearl beads.
This fair squaw a young chief once loved,
And her hand in marriage promised.
But her heart was light and wayward,
And smiled on him, but went from him,
Till his eyes were mooned in frenzy,
And he fell into Lake Huron.
From the high cliffs that looked downward
From behind the great oak wigwam,
Genii, dancing on the lake's breast,
Saw him fall, and seized him sinking,
And with shouts of music, bore him
To a land beneath the waters.
Night by night then came his lover
To the bluffs behind her wigwam,
And long hours in the moonlight
Gazed down on the sleepy waters.
Thus she thought once when she went there:
"Oh! I'm sorry! I am sorry!
Since he's gone; Oh, now I'm sorry!
Could he hear me in his dark grave
Of the frightful rocking billows,
I would say to him, forgive me!
Speak, O waves, for now your hoarse words
Breaking on the rocks may tell me!
Can he hear my heart lamenting?"
Now the genii heard her sorrows,
Formed a circle of enchantment,
And upon the billows seated,
Filled the ravished air with sweet sounds;
Till the fair squaw, like her lover,
Fell among them, and they seized her,
And away with laughter bore her,
In the blue and silent Huron.
Now within the land of shadows,
Far beneath the sad still Huron,
In the deep home of the genii,
These two lovers are seen riding
E'er behind two harnessed moonbeams."
And of giants in the mountains,
White Loon also told the children.
Thus he told them of the giants:
"In a land of pines and great rocks,
In a far off land of mountains,
In the gateway of the sunrise,
Where the East wind shakes the door latch
On the wigwam of the sunrise.
There were giants in the old days;
Giants tall as mountain pine trees.
When it stormed upon the mountains,
And the woods were black with terror
And their speech was low and dismal,
Then, when thunders rolled and rumbled
On the stony streets of Heaven;
In the wigwams of the valleys
Sat the stoutest warriors trembling,
And in whispers low and fearful
Muttered, 'Listen at the giants!
Ugh, the giants now are angery,
And will tear the very hills down!'"
Thus it was that White Loon's wisdom
Made him to his friends a prophet.