Traditions of the North American Indians (Vol. 1-3). James Athearn Jones

When evening gray-mist walk'd out of the earth,

       And wandered forth with his dog—

       To the woods he went,

       To the lonely, dim, and silent woods,

       To weep and sigh:

       Whom saw he there?—

       Does my brother hear?—

       He saw the maiden, so long beloved,

       Her with hair like the grape-cluster'd vine,

       Whose neck was the neck of the swan,

       Whose eyes were the eyes of the dove,

       Whose hand was as small as the red-oak's leaf,

       Whose foot was the length of the lark's spread wwig,

       Whose step was the step of the antelope's child.

       Whose voice was the voice of a rill in the moon,

       Of the rill's most gentle song;

       But oh, how chang'd!

       Beaming eye and bounding foot,

       Laughing lip and placid brow,

       Hath the beauteous maid no more.

       Slow is her step as a crippled bird's,

       And mournful her voice as the dying note

       Of a thunder-cloud that hath passed;

       And yet she joys to meet the youth.

       Into his arms she flies,

       Like a fawn that escapes from the hunter's shaft,

       And reaches its dam unhurt.

       Lock'd in a soft and fond embrace,

       The lovers recline on the flowery bank,

       And pledge their faith anew;

      And loudly they call on the host of stars,

       And the cold and dimly shining moon,

       And the spirits, that watch by night in the air,

       Or chirp in the hollow oak⁴⁵, to see The plighting of their hands: They married themselves, And man and wife Became in the wilderness.

      But love alone could not keep alive

       The Ricara boy and girl;

       The woods were scarce of game,

       No berries were on the heath,

       The winds had shaken the grapes from the vine,

       And hunger assail'd the pair.

       What did they then?

       They knelt and pray'd to the Master of Life—

       Him of the terrible voice in the cloud—

       To send them food, or call

       Their spirits away to the happy lands

       Beyond the vale of death.

       Did the Master hear?

       Brother he always hears

       When mortals go in clay(5)

      The Master sat on the crest of the world⁴⁶, Sat at the door of his mighty lodge, Tossing bright stars at the waning moon⁴⁷, When there came on the winds the woes of the pair, And pity filled his soul, And grief weighed down his heart. He called to his side the spirit that guards The warlike Indian race, The spirit of courage, and wisdom, and strength, And the fearless spirit came. "Dost thou see," said he, "the Ricara pair, Caltacotah and Miskwa, the Red, They have married themselves in the wilderness, And now they die for food. Look at the husband, note him well? He hath never dared to look on a foe, Nor paints his face as a warrior paints, Nor wears the gallant scalp-lock, Nor hath he a hunter's eye; Unable is he to strike a deer: The white and fringed skin of the goat, Which covers the breast of the maiden, conceals A manlier heart than his. Go, and end their woes." The spirit answered, "I hear."

      The shadows of evening fell on the earth,

       And the mists were out,

       And the bat was abroad.

       The Ricara pair were joyful now,

       For they had found a vine of grapes.

       On the willow bank that o'erlooks the stream,

       The shallow and turbid stream,

       And, though the grapes were shrivell'd and sour,

       These two were joyful now,

       When all at once, ere their lips had touch'd,

       The Manitou stood at their side,

       And trembling shook their limbs.

       He saw the woes of the pair,

       And he bade them cease to be;

       He bade them become a thing to show

       The mercy and goodness of Him that rules—

       The flintiness of her father's heart—

       Their own tried constancy;

       And he bade them remain in the wilderness,

       Till the rivers should cease to flow,

       And the stars should cease to shine.

      And they became the Idols,

       The Man, and Woman, and Dog of Stone,

       That stood on the willow bank.

       'Tis thither the tribes of the land resort,

       To make their offerings;

       Thither the warrior carries his bow,

       His arrow, and his spear,

       And the hunter, the juicy flesh of the elk;

       The priest, the shaggy skins of the bear,

       And she of the fair and youthful form,

       The gifts of the favour'd Brave.

       All bear thither a valued gift,

       And lay it at their feet;

       No Ricara takes his bow, till he

       Has oft besought their aid,

       No Ricara paints as a warrior paints,

       Red on the cheek,

       Red on the brow,

       Till he has thrice before them bow'd,

       And said to them, "Make me strong!"

       And the maiden and the priest

       Petition there for aid.

      NOTES.

      (1) Okkis.—p. 175.

      The particular object of the devotion of an Indian is termed his "Okkis," or "Medicine," or "Manitou," all meaning the same thing, which is neither more nor less than a "household God." The latter, however, may mean a spirit of the air; the former is tied to one predicament. It is selected by himself, sometimes at a very early age, but generally at the period when he enters the duties of life, and is some invisible being, or, more commonly, some animal, which thenceforward becomes his protector or intercessor with the Great Spirit. The Indians place unbounded confidence in these Okkis, and always carry them wherever they go, being persuaded that they take upon them the office of sentinels. Hence, they sleep in perfect security, convinced of the entire good faith of the guardian. There is no possible form which they have not permitted these "medicines" to take. Birds, beasts, and especially of the carnivorous species, are most frequently the adopted sentinels; but sticks, trees, stones, &c., have been known to be selected for that responsible office. If they prove treacherous, and permit any disaster to happen to their charge, they are frequently soundly whipped, and sometimes committed to the flames.

      Not only are inanimate objects elected to take the guardianship of individuals—they sometimes become protectors of the national interests. There is a large, fiat rock, about ten miles from Plymouth, Massachusetts, which continues to receive tribute from the Indians, probably from having, at a former period, been their