Chapter 10

All down the marble avenues The lamp-lit casements glow, And from an hundred palaces Glad carols float and flow.

A thousand lamps from street to street Blaze on the dusky air, And light the way for happy feet To carol, praise and prayer.

'Tis Christmas eve. In church and hall The laden fir-trees bend; Glad children throng the festival And grandsires too attend.

Fur-wrapped and gemmed with pearls and gold, Proud ladies rich and fair As Egypt's splendid queen of old In all her pomp are there.

And many a costly, golden gift Hangs on each Christmas-tree, While round and round the carols drift In waves of melody.

II

In a dim and dingy attic, Away from the pomp and glare, A widow sits by a flickering lamp, Bowed down by toil and care.

On her toil-worn hand her weary head, At her feet a shoe half-bound, On the bare, brown table a loaf of bread, And hunger and want around.

By her side at the broken window, With her rosy feet all bare, Her little one carols a Christmas tune To the chimes on the frosty air.

And the mother dreams of the by-gone years And their merry Christmas-bells, Till her cheeks are wet with womanly tears, And a sob in her bosom swells.

The child looked up; her innocent ears Had caught the smothered cry; She saw the pale face wet with tears She fain would pacify.

"Don't cry, mama," she softly said-- "Here's a Christmas gift for you," And on the mother's cheek a kiss She printed warm and true.

"God bless my child!" the mother cried And caught her to her breast-- "O Lord, whose Son was crucified, Thy precious gift is best.

"If toil and trouble be my lot While on life's sea I drift, O Lord, my soul shall murmur not, If Thou wilt spare Thy gift."

OUT OF THE DEPTHS

And the scribes and Pharisees brought unto him a woman taken in adultery, and when they had set her in the midst, they said unto him "Master, this woman was taken in adultery, in the very act. Now Moses in the law commanded us that such be stoned; but what sayest thou?"--[_St. John_, Chap, viii; 3, 4, 5.

Reach thy hand to me, O Jesus; Reach thy loving hand to me, Or I sink, alas, and perish In my sin and agony.

From the depths I cry, O Jesus, Lifting up mine eyes to thee; Save me from my sin and sorrow With thy loving charity.

Pity, Jesus--blessed Savior; I am weak, but thou art strong; Fill my heart with prayer and praises, Fill my soul with holy song.

Lift me up, O sacred Jesus-- Lift my bruised heart to thee; Teach me to be pure and holy As the holy angels be.

Scribes and Pharisees surround me: Thou art writing in the sand: Must I perish, Son of Mary? Wilt thou give the stern command?

Am I saved?--for Jesus sayeth-- "Let the sinless cast a stone." Lo the Scribes have all departed, And the Pharisees are gone!

"Woman, where are thine accusers?" (They have vanished one by one.) "Hath no man condemned thee, woman?" And she meekly answered--"None."

Then he spake His blessed answer-- Balm indeed for sinners sore-- "Neither then will I condemn thee: Go thy way and sin no more."

FAME

Dust of the desert are thy walls And temple-towers, O Babylon! O'er crumbled halls the lizard crawls, And serpents bask in blaze of sun.

In vain kings piled the Pyramids; Their tombs were robbed by ruthless hands. Who now shall sing their fame and deeds, Or sift their ashes from the sands?

Deep in the drift of ages hoar Lie nations lost and kings forgot; Above their graves the oceans roar, Or desert sands drift o'er the spot.

A thousand years are but a day When reckoned on the wrinkled earth; And who among the wise shall say What cycle saw the primal birth

Of man, who lords on sea and land, And builds his monuments to-day, Like Syrian on the desert sand, To crumble and be blown away.

Proud chiefs of pageant armies led To fame and death their followers forth, Ere Helen sinned and Hector bled, Or Odin ruled the rugged North.

And poets sang immortal praise To mortal heroes ere the fire Of Homer blazed in Ilion lays, Or Brage tuned the Northern lyre.

For fame men piled the Pyramids; Their names have perished with their bones: For fame men wrote their boasted deeds On Babel bricks and Runic stones--

On Tyrian temples, gates of brass, On Roman arch and Damask blades, And perished like the desert grass That springs to-day--to-morrow--fades.

And still for fame men delve and die In Afric heat and Arctic cold; For fame on flood and field they vie, Or gather in the shining gold.

Time, like the ocean, onward rolls Relentless, burying men and deeds; The brightest names, the bravest souls, Float but an hour like ocean weeds,

Then sink forever. In the slime-- Forgotten, lost forevermore, Lies Fame from every age and clime; Yet thousands clamor on the shore.

Immortal Fame!--O dust and death! The centuries as they pass proclaim That Fame is but a mortal breath, That man must perish--name and fame.

The earth is but a grain of sand-- An atom in a shoreless sea; A million worlds lie in God's hand-- Yea, myriad millions--what are we?

O mortal man of bone and blood! Then is there nothing left but dust? God made us; He is wise and good, And we may humbly hope and trust.

WINONA.

_When the meadow-lark trilled o'er the leas and the oriole piped in the maples, From my hammock, all under the trees, by the sweet-scented field of red clover, I harked to the hum of the bees, as they gathered the mead of the blossoms, And caught from their low melodies the air of the song of Winona_.

(In pronouncing Dakota words give "a" the sound of "ah,"--"e" the sound of "a,"--"i" the sound of "e" and "u" the sound of "oo." Sound "ee" as in English. The numerals refer to Notes in appendix.)

* * * * *

Two hundred white Winters and more have fled from the face of the Summer, Since here on the oak-shaded shore of the dark-winding, swift Mississippi, Where his foaming floods tumble and roar o'er the falls and the white-rolling rapids, In the fair, fabled center of Earth, sat the Indian town of _Ka-thá-ga_. [86] Far rolling away to the north, and the south, lay the emerald prairies, All dotted with woodlands and lakes, and above them the blue bent of ether. And here where the dark river breaks into spray and the roar of the _Ha-Ha_, [76] Where gathered the bison-skin _tees_[F] of the chief tawny tribe of Dakotas; For here, in the blast and the breeze, flew the flag of the chief of _Isantees_, [86] Up-raised on the stem of a lance-- the feathery flag of the eagle. And here to the feast and the dance, from the prairies remote and the forests, Oft gathered the out-lying bands, and honored the gods of the nation. On the islands and murmuring strands they danced to the god of the waters, _Unktéhee_, [69] who dwelt in the caves, deep under the flood of the _Ha-Ha_; [76] And high o'er the eddies and waves hung their offerings of furs and tobacco,[G] And here to the Master of life-- _Anpé-tu-wee_, [70] god of the heavens, Chief, warrior, and maiden, and wife, burned the sacred green sprigs of the cedar. [50] And here to the Searcher-of-hearts-- fierce _Tá-ku Skan-skán_, [51] the avenger, Who dwells in the uppermost parts of the earth, and the blue, starry ether, Ever watching, with all-seeing eyes, the deeds of the wives and the warriors, As an osprey afar in the skies, sees the fish as they swim in the waters, Oft spread they the bison-tongue feast, and singing preferred their petitions, Till the Day-Spirit[70] rose in the East-- in the red, rosy robes of the morning, To sail o'er the sea of the skies, to his lodge in the land of the shadows, Where the black-winged tornadoes[H] arise, rushing loud from the mouths of their caverns. And here with a shudder they heard, flying far from his _tee_ in the mountains, _Wa-kín-yan_,[32] the huge Thunder-Bird, with the arrows of fire in his talons.

[F] _Tee--teepee_, the Dakota name for tent or wigwam

[G] See _Hennepin's Description of Louisiana_, by Shea, pp. 243 and 256. _Parkman's Discovery_, p. 246--and _Carver's Travels_, p. 67.

[H] The Dakotas, like the ancient Romans and Greeks, think the home of the winds is in the caverns of the mountains, and their great Thunder-bird resembles in many respects the Jupiter of the Romans and the Zeus of the Greeks. The resemblance of the Dakota mythology to that of the older Greeks and Romans is striking.

Two hundred white Winters and more have fled from the face of the Summer Since here by the cataract's roar, in the moon of the red-blooming lilies,[71] In the _tee_ of Ta-té-psin[I] was born Winona--wild-rose of the prairies. Like the summer sun peeping, at morn, o'er the hills was the face of Winona. And here she grew up like a queen-- a romping and lily-lipped laughter, And danced on the undulant green, and played in the frolicsome waters, Where the foaming tide tumbles and whirls o'er the murmuring rocks in the rapids; And whiter than foam were the pearls that gleamed in the midst of her laughter. Long and dark was her flowing hair flung like the robe of the night to the breezes; And gay as the robin she sung, or the gold-breasted lark of the meadows. Like the wings of the wind were her feet, and as sure as the feet of _Ta-tó-ka_[J] And oft like an antelope fleet o'er the hills and the prairies she bounded, Lightly laughing in sport as she ran, and looking back over her shoulder At the fleet-footed maiden or man that vainly her flying feet followed. The belle of the village was she, and the pride of the aged Ta-té-psin, Like a sunbeam she lighted his _tee_, and gladdened the heart of her father.

[I] _Tate_--wind,--_psin_--wild-rice--wild-rice wind.

[J] mountain antelope.

In the golden-hued _Wázu-pe-weé_-- the moon when the wild-rice is gathered; When the leaves on the tall sugar-tree are as red as the breast of the robin, And the red-oaks that border the lea are aflame with the fire of the sunset, From the wide, waving fields of wild-rice-- from the meadows of _Psin-ta-wak-pá-dan_,[K] Where the geese and the mallards rejoice, and grow fat on the bountiful harvest, Came the hunters with saddles of moose and the flesh of the bear and the bison, And the women in birch-bark canoes well laden with rice from the meadows.

[K] Little Rice River. It bears the name of Rice Creek to-day and empties into the Mississippi from the east, a few miles above Minneapolis.

With the tall, dusky hunters, behold, came a marvelous man or a spirit, White-faced and so wrinkled and old, and clad in the robe of the raven. Unsteady his steps were and slow, and he walked with a staff in his right hand, And white as the first-falling snow were the thin locks that lay on his shoulders. Like rime-covered moss hung his beard, flowing down from his face to his girdle; And wan was his aspect and weird, and often he chanted and mumbled In a strange and mysterious tongue, as he bent o'er his book in devotion, Or lifted his dim eyes and sung, in a low voice, the solemn "_Te Deum_," Or Latin, or Hebrew, or Greek-- all the same were his words to the warriors,-- All the same to the maids and the meek, wide-wondering-eyed, hazel-brown children.

Father René Menard [L]--it was he, long lost to his Jesuit brothers, Sent forth by an holy decree to carry the Cross to the heathen. In his old age abandoned to die, in the swamps, by his timid companions, He prayed to the Virgin on high, and she led him forth from the forest; For angels she sent him as men-- in the forms of the tawny Dakotas, And they led his feet from the fen, from the slough of despond and the desert, Half dead in a dismal morass, as they followed the red-deer they found him, In the midst of the mire and the grass, and mumbling "_Te Deum laudamus._" "_Unktómee[72]--Ho!_" muttered the braves, for they deemed him the black Spider-Spirit That dwells in the drearisome caves, and walks on the marshes at midnight, With a flickering torch in his hand, to decoy to his den the unwary. His tongue could they not understand, but his torn hands all shriveled with famine He stretched to the hunters and said: "He feedeth his chosen with manna; And ye are the angels of God sent to save me from death in the desert." His famished and woe-begone face, and his tones touched the hearts of the hunters; They fed the poor father apace, and they led him away to _Ka-thá-ga._

[L] See the account of Father Menard, his mission and disappearance in the wilderness. _Neill's Hist. Minnesota_, pp 104-107, inc.

There little by little he learned the tongue of the tawny Dakotas; And the heart of the good father yearned to lead them away from their idols-- Their giants[16] and dread Thunder-birds-- their worship of stones[73] and the devil. "_Wakán-de!_"[M] they answered his words, for he read from his book in the Latin, Lest the Nazarene's holy commands by his tongue should be marred in translation; And oft with his beads in his hands, or the cross and the crucified Jesus, He knelt by himself on the sands, and his dim eyes uplifted to heaven. But the braves bade him look to the East-- to the silvery lodge of _Han-nán-na_;[N] And to dance with the chiefs at the feast-- at the feast of the Giant _Heyó-ka._[16] They frowned when the good father spurned the flesh of the dog in the kettle, And laughed when his fingers were burned in the hot, boiling pot of the giant. "The Black-robe" they called the poor priest, from the hue of his robe and his girdle; And never a game or a feast but the father must grace with his presence. His prayer-book the hunters revered,-- they deemed it a marvelous spirit; It spoke and the white father heard,-- it interpreted visions and omens. And often they bade him to pray this marvelous spirit to answer, And tell where the sly Chippewa might be ambushed and slain in his forest. For Menard was the first in the land, proclaiming, like John in the desert, "The Kingdom of Heaven is at hand; repent ye, and turn from your idols." The first of the brave brotherhood that, threading the fens and the forest, Stood afar by the turbulent flood at the falls of the Father of Waters.

[M] It is wonderful!

[N] The morning.

In the lodge of the Stranger[O] he sat, awaiting the crown of a martyr; His sad face compassion begat in the heart of the dark-eyed Winona. Oft she came to the _teepee_ and spoke; she brought him the tongue of the bison, Sweet nuts from the hazel and oak, and flesh of the fawn and the mallard. Soft _hánpa_[P] she made for his feet and leggins of velvety fawn-skin, A blanket of beaver complete, and a hood of the hide of the otter. And oft at his feet on the mat, deftly braiding the flags and the rushes, Till the sun sought his _teepee_ she sat, enchanted with what he related Of the white-wingèd ships on the sea and the _teepees_ far over the ocean, Of the love and the sweet charity of the Christ and the beautiful Virgin.

[O] A lodge set apart for guests of the village.

[P] Moccasins.

She listened like one in a trance when he spoke of the brave, bearded Frenchmen, From the green, sun-lit valleys of France to the wild _Hochelága_[Q] transplanted, Oft trailing the deserts of snow in the heart of the dense Huron forests, Or steering the dauntless canoe through the waves of the fresh-water ocean. "Yea, stronger and braver are they," said the aged Menard to Winona, "Than the head-chief, tall Wazi-kuté,[74] but their words are as soft as a maiden's, Their eyes are the eyes of the swan, but their hearts are the hearts of the eagles; And the terrible _Mása Wakán_[R] ever walks by their side like a spirit; Like a Thunder-bird, roaring in wrath, flinging fire from his terrible talons, He sends to their enemies death in the flash of the fatal _Wakándee_."[S]

[Q] The Ottawa name for the region of the St. Lawrence River.

[R] "Mysterious metal"--or metal having a spirit in it. This is the common name applied by the Dakotas to all firearms.

[S] Lightning.

The Autumn was past and the snow lay drifted and deep on the prairies; From his _teepee_ of ice came the foe-- came the storm-breathing god of the winter. Then roared in the groves, on the plains, on the ice-covered lakes and the river, The blasts of the fierce hurricanes blown abroad from the breast of _Wazíya_. [3] The bear cuddled down in his den, and the elk fled away to the forest; The pheasant and gray prairie-hen made their beds in the heart of the snow-drift; The bison herds huddled and stood in the hollows and under the hill-sides, Or rooted the snow for their food in the lee of the bluffs and the timber; And the mad winds that howled from the north, from the ice-covered seas of _Wazíya_, Chased the gray wolf and silver-fox forth to their dens in the hills of the forest.

Poor Father Menard--he was ill; in his breast burned the fire of a fever; All in vain was the magical skill of _Wicásta Wakán_ [61] with his rattle; Into soft, child-like slumber he fell, and awoke in the land of the blessèd-- To the holy applause of "Well-done!" and the harps in the hands of the angels. Long he carried the cross and he won the coveted crown of a martyr.

In the land of the heathen he died, meekly following the voice of his Master, One mourner alone by his side-- Ta-té-psin's compassionate daughter. She wailed the dead father with tears, and his bones by her kindred she buried. Then winter followed winter. The years sprinkled frost on the head of her father; And three weary winters she dreamed of the fearless and fair, bearded Frenchmen; At midnight their swift paddles gleamed on the breast of the broad Mississippi, And the eyes of the brave strangers beamed on the maid in the midst of her slumber.

She lacked not admirers; the light of the lover oft burned in her _teepee_-- At her couch in the midst of the night,-- but she never extinguished the flambeau. The son of Chief Wazi-kuté-- a fearless and eagle-plumed warrior-- Long sighed for Winona, and he was the pride of the band of _Isántees_. Three times, in the night at her bed, had the brave held the torch of the lover, [75] And thrice had she covered her head and rejected the handsome Tamdóka. [T]

[T] Tah-mdo-kah, literally, the buck-deer.

'Twas Summer. The merry-voiced birds trilled and warbled in woodland and meadow; And abroad on the prairies the herds cropped the grass in the land of the lilies,-- And sweet was the odor of rose wide-wafted from hillside and heather; In the leaf-shaded lap of repose lay the bright, blue-eyed babes of the summer; And low was the murmur of brooks, and low was the laugh of the _Ha-Ha_; [76] And asleep in the eddies and nooks lay the broods of _magá_ [60]and the mallard. 'Twas the moon of _Wasúnpa_. [71] The band lay at rest in the tees at _Ka-thá-ga_, And abroad o'er the beautiful land walked the spirits of Peace and of Plenty-- Twin sisters, with bountiful hand wide scattering wild-rice and the lilies. _An-pé-tu-wee_[70] walked in the west-- to his lodge in the far-away mountains, And the war-eagle flew to her nest in the oak on the Isle of the Spirit.[U] And now at the end of the day, by the shore of the Beautiful Island,[V] A score of fair maidens and gay made joy in the midst of the waters. Half-robed in their dark, flowing hair, and limbed like the fair Aphroditè, They played in the waters, and there they dived and they swam like the beavers, Loud-laughing like loons on the lake when the moon is a round shield of silver, And the songs of the whippowils wake on the shore in the midst of the maples.

But hark!--on the river a song,-- strange voices commingled in chorus; On the current a boat swept along with DuLuth and his hardy companions; To the stroke of their paddles they sung, and this the refrain that they chanted:

"Dans mon chemin j'ai rencontré Deux cavaliers bien montés. Lon, lon, laridon daine, Lon, lon, laridon da."

"Deux cavaliers bien montés; L'un à cheval, et l'autre à pied. Lon, lon, laridon daine, Lon, lon, laridon da."[W]

[U] The Dakotas say that for many years in olden times war-eagles made their nests in oak trees on Spirit-island--_Wanagi-wita_, just below the Falls till frightened away by the advent of white men.

[V] The Dakotas called Nicollet Island _Wi-ta Waste_--the Beautiful Island.

[W] A part of one of the favorite songs of the French _voyageurs_.

Like the red, dappled deer in the glade alarmed by the footsteps of hunters, Discovered, disordered, dismayed, the nude nymphs fled forth from the waters, And scampered away to the shade, and peered from the screen of the lindens.

A bold and adventuresome man was DuLuth, and a dauntless in danger, And straight to _Kathága_ he ran, and boldly advanced to the warriors, Now gathering, a cloud on the strand, and gazing amazed on the strangers; And straightway he offered his hand unto Wázi-kuté, the _Itáncan_.[X] To the Lodge of the Stranger were led DuLuth and his hardy companions; Robes of beaver and bison were spread, and the Peace-pipe[23] was smoked with the Frenchman.

[X] Head-chief