Passamaquoddy

Wuchoʿsen nit kininagwʾsit Kʾchî plakʾn potowatak pemlamsuk.

Wuchoʿsen the Giant Eagle, The Bird-Who-Blows-the-Winds, Lives far away in the North, Ever sitting on a rock Which is at the end of the sky; Because when he flaps his wings The wind blows over the earth, Men gave him the name of old.

When Kulóskap lived among men, He often in his canoe Went forth to kill the wild-fowl, Ducks or swans or brant, Which swim upon the sea. One day the tempest roared, The waves were as high as hillocks, Even Kulóskap the Lord Cared not to face the storm; So then he said to himself: “Wuchoʿsen has made this mischief And all to show his power, So now he shall feel mine!”

He turned him to the North, It was long ere he came to the end; There on a moss-grown rock He found a great White Bird, The Eagle of the Wind.

“Grandfather!” said the God, “Thou takest no compassion Upon us Kosesak— That is, ’thy suffering children’— For thou hast raised this storm. It is too terrible! Be easier with thy wings!”

The Giant Bird replied: “Even from the earliest time, And from the earliest days, Ere aught beside on earth Had ever uttered word, I moved my wings and spoke In Wind unto the World; For mine was the first Voice E’er heard in life or time, Therefore I’ll ever speak, And ever move my wings, At freedom, as I will.”

Then Kulóskap the God, Arose in all his might, Tremendous—for he rose Up to the clouds above— And took the Giant Bird As if he were a duck, And, tying fast his wings, Cast him afar, adown Into a deep dark cleft Between the splintered rocks, And left him lying there.

Then all the Indians Could go in their canoes As freely as they chose For many days and months. But then as time went by, They noted day by day That all the waters grew So stagnant and so foul That even the Master found He could not row his bark; All was so thick and dead, And rottenness and slime Crept into all the world. And then he thought upon The Giant Bird, and went To find him, far away. As he had left him, so He found him, for the Bird, The Spirit of Air, Can never truly die.

And so he picked him up, And then with care untied One single wing, but left The other tightly bound. And since that time the Wind Has never been so wild As ’t ever was of yore. L.