Penobscot

Uskichinwi pilskwessis muiso Ktatnok Naya kamach okiwachitahasin.

All of the olden time! Once as an Indian girl Was gathering blue-berries, On Mount Katahdin’s side, She felt a strange loneliness, And said unto herself: “I would that I were wed Unto some brave great man!” And, seeing the great mount In glory rising high E’en as ’twere to heaven (White the red sunlight shone Upon the very head), She said: “A man indeed, Like great Katahdin there! High rising over all, That were the man for me.” This she was heard to say Ere she went further on Up to the mountain top— Three years then passed away Ere she was seen again, And then when she returned ’Twas with a charming child, The fairest in the land; Only one thing was strange: His eyebrows were of stone.

She had been wed in truth, To Mount Katahdin’s self; The Spirit of the Mount Had ta’en her to himself, And when she greatly longed To see her folk again, He said: “Then go in peace.” But one thing he forbade With terrible command: That she should ever tell To any mortal soul Who ’twas had married her.

The boy had wondrous gifts; The sages of the tribe Said he was soon to be A mighty sorcerer; For when he did but point His finger at the moose, Or anything which ran, At once it would drop dead, Killed by his magic will; And, when in a canoe He pointed at the ducks, The wild fowl swam no more, And all the water round Was full of floating game Which all might gather in, As freely as they would. And so it came to pass That through that wondrous Boy The mother and her tribe Had ever food enough.

Now this is all the truth, And ’twas a wondrous thing, As ever yet was told. Katahdin the great lord Of the Wabanaki; The children of the Light, Or of the Break of Day; Had wed him to the girl That she might have a child Who should raise up the tribe, And make them great once more Even a mighty race, The Lords of all the land. And so to her he said: “Declare unto thy folk That they shall never ask Of thee, who was the sire Of this brave lad, our son; They’ll know it all right well If they but see his face, And thou shalt not be teased By questions and by talk From fools who fain would know The by-ways of a god.”

And so she made it known That none should question her, And gave them all their food, And bade them let her be!

And truly this was like The casting oil on fire, And men and women all Were raging to inquire About the mystery, And ask the wife herself Who might her husband be? Though everybody knew In all the country round. And though it had been said That life and death and all Hung on her telling naught.

Though what were life or death To any woman born, Likewise to many a man, Compared unto the joy Of learning that which is None of their business— And tattling it abroad?

And so they pressed her sore, Still teasing her to tell, And giving her no rest As fools are wont to do. Until one day, enraged, She thought: “This passes strength And I’ll bear it no more. Truly my lord was right, These people are too vile, Too petty and too mean, For subjects to my son, He ne’er shall lead them on To glorious victory! They are not of the kind To make a mighty race: With them it shall be o’er!”

And as they still kept on Tormenting, teasing her. She spoke and said: “Ye fools! Who fain would kill yourselves By your own folly, ye Mud-wasps who sting the hands Which fain would pluck you forth When drowning in the pool. Why will ye trouble me To tell you what ye know? When ye keep asking me ‘Who my boy’s father was?’ Can ye not plainly see Katahdin in his brows? Now it shall be indeed To your great woe and pain, And abject misery, That ever ye did ask Of what concerned you not. So now from this day forth, Ye all may feed yourselves; For now my boy no more Will lend his help to you.”

So she arose and went Her way into the woods And up the mountain side, Leading her little son; And from that day and hour Was seen on earth no more.

And since that time our tribe With all the Indian folk Who once might have become A great and glorious race, Have dwindled down into A very little folk. For when our minds grow small And gossip is our god, We must diminish too. Truly it had been wise For them of olden time, And for us too, indeed, Could they have held their tongues. L.