Passamaquoddy

Kulóskap mech pʾmaoso?

“Is Kulóskap living yet?” Yes, far away, but no one knoweth where— Beyond the mountains or above the skies, Where in the autumn’s lengthening twilight shades, He smokes his tūmʾhîgʾnpowâgon, His ancient tomahawk-pipe, Making the brown air Of the pleasant Indian summer. Some say that he sailed away In his marvellous stone canoe, Afar beyond the sea, To the country of the East; Some that he went to the West; And ’tis said that in days of old There were men who knew where he dwelt, And, making a pilgrimage Could get from him what they sought. And they say that, even now, If you travel ever on, Travel in perfect faith, You’ll find at last the Kchi Sagem, That is the great Sagamore The greatest of all lords.

“Is Kulóskap living yet?” Yes, he lives in a very great wigwam, A wigwam very long— That is, a council lodge— Where he always is making arrows; And all one side of the lodge Is full of arrows now, All closely packed together, Even as your fingers lie. When all the lodge shall be full The god will come forth to battle, And till then no mortal being May ever enter the wigwam.

“On whom will war be made?” He will make it on all mankind, He will end all life that endures, For the world will pass away When that battle shall come to an end. I know not when it will be, To-morrow it may come Or hundreds of years away.

“Are any to be saved By any one, in that hour?” That is beyond my ken, All I have heard is this: That the world will pass away In roaring fire and flame, While all the sea will rise Hot boiling into mist, And that the good with it Will rise on high to heaven; It may perhaps be so; I’ve only heard it told, Just heard it—and no more. L.