Passamaquoddy and Micmac

Yut negum tan Kulóskap Udelinaktamnes uskitkamigw.

When the great Kulóskap, The Lord of Beasts and Men, By power, for all his people And for the world, had subdued All of the evil things Which cursed the early time, Giants and sorcerers, Witches and devils dire, Fiends and every horror, All were silenced then. The ice-hearted Kiwakʿw Wandered no longer free In the green wilderness, And the mighty bird Kullû, Great as a hundred eagles, No longer scared the Indian As it spread its mighty wings Like a cloud ’twixt earth and the sun. Evil beasts, devils and serpents Were found no more in the land, And the world at last knew peace; For the Master had taught to man All that should make him happy; But all were in turn ungrateful, And, while they feared the Master, Grew every day more wicked, Forgetting him in their hearts; And sin roared in the land.

Now when the ways of men And of beasts became so evil, So false, proud and ferocious, Kulóskap as their lord Was angered at their sin, Yet bore it as a god Till all his love was gone; As oil spreads over the sea Till all is thinned away. Then he sent messengers forth Inviting all to a feast, The richest ever known By the great Lake Minas shore, On the silver water’s edge; And all the beasts of the wood, The fathers of all the tribes, Came to the feast in state, Came at the call, to revel; But the Lord had little to say. Solemn and grim was the banquet, All knew that the chief was going, And knew, too, why he would leave them.

And when the feast was over, Kulóskap, the Lord of all living, Entered his great canoe And sailed away over the water, The shining waves of Minas; And they looked in silence at him Until they could see him no more. Yet, after they ceased to behold him, They still heard his voice in song, The wonderful voice of the Master! But the sounds grew fainter and fainter And softer in the distance, Till at last they died away.

Then over them all was silence, Till a wonder came to pass; For all the beasts, who, before Had spoken but one common language, Now talked in different tongues; Each with a tongue of his own Understood the others no more.

So they parted from one another And fled to the sea or the forest; And, since that day of the parting, They never have met in council, And never again will meet Till the day when all sins and sorrows Will be in full forgiven, Forgiven and forgotten, And their Lord the great Kulóskap Shall return to restore to his children The age of sunshine and plenty; When all shall dwell together In peace and joy forever; Till then the world will mourn.

And ’tis said that, when the Master Had left Acadia, The bird who most had loved him, The great white Snowy Owl Went far into the North, Into the deep dark forest, Where to this day his children Sing to the night “Kūkuʿskūūs!” Which means in Indian, “I am sorry, oh, I am sorry!” And the loons who had been his huntsmen, Go up and down by the waters, Over the snow-topped mountains, Across the rushing rivers, Through dale and wood and valley, Seeking in vain for their master, The Lord whom they cannot meet; Ever wailing, wailing sadly, Because they find him not. L.