LANGUAGE. (continued 5)
Reading edition
Hoh! Ne monedo netaibuätum o win.(Let others linger. Onward! my God!—my right!)
In presenting these specimens of the original words of some of our western warriors, we are permitted to give the annexed versions of them from the pen of one of our most gifted writers.
WAR-SONG—“Pe-nä′ se-wug.”
(From the Algonquin of Schoolcraft.)
BY C. F. HOFFMAN.
I.
Hear not ye their shrill-piping screams on the air? Up! Braves for the conflict prepare ye—prepare! Aroused from the canebrake, far south by your drum, With beaks whet from carnage, the Battle Birds come.
II.
Oh God of my Fathers, as swiftly as they, I ask but to swoop from the hills on my prey: Give this frame to the winds, on the Prairie below, But my soul—like thy bolt— I would hurl on the foe!
III.
On the forehead of Earth strikes the Sun in his might, Oh gift me with glances as searching as light. In the front of the onslaught, to single each crest, Till my hatchet grows red on their bravest and best.
IV.
Why stand ye back idly, ye Sons of the Lakes? Who boast of the scalp-locks, ye tremble to take. Fear-dreamers may linger, my skies are all bright— Charge—charge—on the War-Path, for God and the Right.
Take the following additional example, of a death song. These stanzas have all been actually sung on warlike occasions, and repeated in my hearing. They have been gleaned from the traditionary songs of the Chippewas of the north, whose villages extend through the region of lake Superior, and to the utmost sources of the Mississippi. Those bands are the hereditary foes of their western neighbours, the Dacotahs or Sioux, who are generally called by them, by way of distinction, Na do wä′ sees, that is to say, OUR ENEMIES. The allusions in the songs are exclusively to them. In writing the original, I omit the chorus, as it is not susceptible of translation, and would increase considerably the space occupied.
DEATH SONG.
1. In opening this song the warrior is to be contemplated as lying wounded on the field of battle.
A′ be tuh ge′ zhig,(Under the centre of the sky,)
Ne bá baim wä′ wä.(I utter my baim wä wä.)
Baimwäwä, is the sound of passing thunders, which will convey a just idea of the violence of this figure.
2. His thoughts revert to the star of his destiny.
Ain dah′ so gezhig(Every day, thou star!)
Ke gá gun o wá bom in.(I gaze at you.)
It is the morning star that is here alluded to.
3. He sees the birds of carnage hovering over the field.
A′ be tuh geézh-ig(The half of the day)
Ai be yaun(I abide—gazing)
Pe nä se wug(Ye warlike birds.)
4. He keeps the flight of these birds before his mind and hears their shrill cries.
Pe misk wosh e wug(They fly round the circuit of the sky.)
Pe nä′ se wug(The birds—circling)
A′ be tuh geezh ig oag.(Round half the circuit of the sky.) The meaning is, approaching him in circle more nearly, as life becomes fainter in him.
5. This figure is continued. He lies bleeding.
A′ zha waush e wug(They cross the enemy’s line)
Pe nä se wug.(The birds.)
6. He feels that he is called to another world.
A pit she Mon e doag(The high gods)
Ne mud wää(My praise)
Wá we ne goag.(They sound.)
7. He is content and willing to go.
Kä gait′, ne min wain′ dum(Full happy—I)
Ne bun aí kum ig(To lie on the battle-field)
Tshe bá be wish e naun.(Over the enemy’s line.)
DEATH-SONG—"A′ be tuh gé zhig."
(From the Algonquin of Schoolcraft.)
BY C. F. HOFFMAN.
I.
Under the hollow sky, Stretched on the Prairie lone, Centre of glory, I Bleeding, disdain to groan, But like a battle cry Peal forth my thunder moan, Baim-wä-wä!
II.
Star—Morning-Star, whose ray Still with the dawn I see, Quenchless through half the day Gazing thou seest me— Yon birds of carnage, they Fright not my gaze from thee! Baim-wä-wä!
III.
Bird, in thine airy rings Over the foeman’s line, Why do thy flapping wings Nearer me thus incline? Blood of the Dauntless brings[*] Courage, oh Bird to thine! Baim-wä-wä! Hark to those Spirit-notes! Ye high Heroes divine, Hymned from your god-like throats That Song of Praise is mine! Mine, whose grave-pennon floats[*] Over the foeman’s line! Baim-wä-wä!
WAR SONG.
Where are my foes? say, warriors, where? No forest is so black, That it can hide from my quick eye, the vestige of their track: There is no lake so boundless, no path where man may go, Can shield them from my sharp pursuit, or save them from my blow. The winds that whisper in the trees, the clouds that spot the sky, Impart a soft intelligence, to show me where they lie, The very birds that sail the air, and scream as on they go, Give me a clue my course to tread, and lead me to the foe. The sun, at dawn, lifts up his head, to guide me on my way, The moon, at night, looks softly down, and cheers me with her ray. The war-crowned stars, those beaming lights, my spirit casts at night Direct me as I thread the maze, and lead me to the fight. In sacred dreams within my lodge, while resting on the land, Bright omens of success arise, and nerve my warlike hand Where’er I turn, where’er I go, there is a whispering sound, That tells me I shall crush the foe, and drive him from my ground. The beaming WEST invites me on, with smiles of vermil hue, And clouds of promise fill the sky, and deck its heavenly blue, There is no breeze—there is no sign, in ocean, earth or sky, That does not swell my breast with hope, or animate my eye. If to the stormy beach I go, where heavy tempests play. They tell me but, how warriors brave, should conquer in the fray. All nature fills my heart with fires, that prompt me on to go, To rush with rage, and lifted spear, upon my country’s foe.