Passamaquoddy

Piʿche weligit ēpit Liwiha Nipon Metchimiû wikos Kwihio kizosek.

In the far old time Lived near the sun A beautiful woman, Nipon her name. Green were her garments All of fresh leaves. And with green leaves And beautiful flowers She covered her wigwam.

She had a grandmother, Kʾmēwun, the rain, Who dwelt far away. But when she came To visit her grandchild One thing she ever Said ere she left her: “One thing I bid thee With hardest warning, To one thing I bind thee With a strong will: Look that thou never Seek in thy wandering The Laʿtogwesnuk, The land of the North: For there dwells Pûn, Pûn, the winter; A deadly foe Thou wilt surely find him. Should thy feet fall In the Laʿtogwesnuk Thy beauty will leave thee, Thy green dress fade, Hair turning gray Thy strength become weakness.”

Little heed And scant attention Gave Nipon To Kʾmēwun, the rain. One fair morning She sat by her wigwam In the bright sunshine, And looking afar At the Laʿtogwesnuk All that she saw Seemed strangely lovely As if enchanted. No human being Was in the Northland, But o’er it all Was beautiful sunshine; There she beheld At a long distance A wonderful land: Broad shining lakes, High blue mountains, Bright rolling rivers All strange and sweet. Something came over her, She knew not what; A dream or a voice; There was no help, She must rise and go. Must go to the land Of Laʿtogwesnuk Unto the Northland.

Up rose Nipon Unto the North Wending her way, When she heard a voice, The voice of the Rain (Though she could not see her), Kʾmēwun, a-wailing: “Bide, my daughter! If thou goest Unto the Northland Pûn the winter Will surely kill thee!” She heard nothing Of all the warning, She could not stay For a spell was on her; Ever onward She went to the North.

For many days, For many moons, Still the sun shone, Still she saw The beautiful country Of mountains and rivers, Until one day Nipon noted That as she followed, The land went onward, And as she travelled, It travelled before her.

All around her Was nothing but sunshine. Stopping a little To think of the wonder, She heard a whisper, The voice of the Rain: “Stay, my daughter!” It made her wilful, She still went onward; On to the North.

Still the far country Went on before her, And something she never Had known came o’er her— She felt the cold! An unseen power Now drove her onward; Will had departed, Still the mountains Went on before her; The green leaves Of her beautiful garment Grew yellow and faded, And were blown away By the grim wind; Her long hair Turned gray and white; The sun grew dim And then shone no more; She was very weak; The beautiful mountains Were heaps of snow; The beautiful rivers And lakes were of ice— All in the North.

Kʾmēwun, the Rain, Was sad in her soul. She looked afar No smoke was rising From Nipon’s wigwam: “She has not returned,” Said the Rain-mother, So in her fear She went to the wigwam.

All was silent, The boughs and the flowers Which covered the wigwam Were yellow and faded: “My child!—my child! Thou art caught at last By the icy Pûn, By the wicked winter! Afar in the North.”

Straight she called for Her bravest warriors. The ever-unseen. These were their names: Saunésen the south wind, Wchîpi the east wind, With Sĕnusóktun The warming breeze. Quickly she cried: “Hasten away To the Laʿtogwésnuk, Fight like heroes, Use all your power To rescue Nĭpon From Pûn, the winter, Fly to the North!”

The wind warriors, The unseen by man, Flew like lightning On their long journey. As they entered The Laʿtogwesnuk Pûn the winter Felt ill at ease; He called his chieftains: Great Laʿtogwĕsin The terrible north wind, And the wild north-wester, The chill north-east wind, With all the frosts Sleet-spirits, snow-spirits, And every child Of the killing cold Who dwell in the North.

“Fly!” he cried, “For our foes are coming! Up from the Southland, The home of Summer!” Even as he spoke The sweat dropped from him His face grew thin, His feet seemed smaller: “I feel them coming! Fly to the battle!”

The mighty wind-giants Flew to the fight, Great snow-flakes And heavy hail-stones Met and melted With the great rain-drops; Winds were loud roaring, Thunder pealing, Tempest fighting tempest, Storm against storm; The drops of sweat Grew ever bigger On Pûn’s cheeks; On Nipon’s head The hair grew whiter; Louder and louder The winds were blowing, Snow was falling, Thicker and thicker, But the driving rain And the mild south winds Were ever warmer And bigger the drops Grew on Pûn’s face; His strength had left him. Down he fell And in his falling A leg was broken:

“Lo, I must perish If this lasts longer, Set Nipon free! She it is Who has brought this trouble And made this battle. By my own prisoner I have been conquered. Set Nipon free!”

At the word spoken, Even in the instant, The winds were silent. Snow and rain ceased. Turning her back To the Laʿtogwesnuk And Pûn the winter, Weary Nipon Set out on her journey. Old she was, old As she bore from the North In her white hair The hue of its snows, In her tottering weakness Its chilling frosts. Many moons passed, Still she travelled; The sun grew warmer, Days and shadows Were ever longer; The air was softer; Greener and greener Grew the mountains; Freer from ice Rivers were rushing; Lakes were shining In the sunlight; Flowers were unfolding To the warm breezes.

Weary Nipon Was weary no longer; Her heart grew lighter, Her hair grew darker, Her face was fairer, Brighter and younger, Thus becoming All she had been In her early beauty.

Then the butterflies Knew her again, And fluttered round her, And all the flowers Greeted with perfume In scent-voices As she went past.

On she went To the grandmother’s wigwam, To old Kʾmēwun. As she drew near The clouds grew thicker; Rain-winds were blowing, Rain-drops falling, Showers pelting, Torrents pouring, Thunder roaring round: Still she went on, Her path lit By wild lightning, Till in the midst Where the clouds were darkest She found the wigwam And entered the door. There as if dying Lay Kʾmēwun The ancient Rain-mother, Weaker and older, And worn and weary.

“Thou, my daughter!” She said to Nipon, “Hast well-nigh killed me! By disobedience Thou hast brought suffering On me and all things. But for my battle With Pûn the winter All life had perished: Never again though, While life is in me Can I venture On such a struggle! Be this thy warning! Else will Pûn, The cruel winter, Conquer all things And ice and snow For ever and ever Cover the world.” L.