🧚 The Feast of the Virgins., part 5 · page 2

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Home again! home again! bend to the oar!58 Merry is the life of the gay _voyageur_ He rides on the river with his paddle in his hand, And his boat is his shelter on the water and the land.59 The clam in his shell and the water turtle too, And the brave boatman's shell is his birch bark canoe.60 So pull away, boatmen, bend to the oar; Merry is the life of the gay _voyageur_.61

Home again! home again! bend to the oar!62 Merry is the life of the gay _voyageur_.63 His couch is as downy as a couch can be, For he sleeps on the feathers of the green fir-tree.64 He dines on the fat of the pemmican-sack, And his _eau de vie_ is the _eau de lac_.65 So pull away, boatmen; bend to the oar; Merry is the life of the gay _voyageur_.66

Home again! home again! bend to the oar!67 Merry is the life of the gay _voyageur_.68 The brave, jolly boatman,--he never is afraid When he meets at the portage a red, forest maid, A Huron, or a Cree, or a blooming Chippeway; And he marks his trail with the _bois brulès_.69 So pull away, boatmen; bend to the oar; Merry is the life of the gay _voyageur_.70 Home again! home again! bend to the oar!71 Merry is the life of the gay _voyageur_.72

[a] Fire arm--spirit metal.73

[b] Lake Superior--at that time the home of the Ojibways.74 (Chippewas)75

In the reeds of the meadow the stag lifts his branchy head stately and listens, And the bobolink, perched on the flag, her ear sidelong bends to the chorus.76 From the brow of the Beautiful Isle, [a] half hid in the midst of the maples, The sad-faced Winona, the while, watched the boat growing less in the distance.77 Till away in the bend of the stream, where it turned and was lost in the lindens, She saw the last dip and the gleam of the oars ere they vanished forever.78 Still afar on the waters the song, like bridal bells distantly chiming, The stout, jolly boatmen prolong, beating time with the stroke of their paddles; And Winona's ear, turned to the breeze, lists the air falling fainter and fainter Till it dies like the murmur of bees when the sun is aslant on the meadows.79 Blow, breezes,--blow softly and sing in the dark, flowing hair of the maiden; But never again shall you bring the voice that she loves to Winona.80

[a] Wista Waste--Nicollet Island.81

Now a light, rustling wind from the South shakes his wings o'er the wide, wimpling waters; Up the dark winding river DuLuth follows fast in the wake of Tamdóka.82 On the slopes of the emerald shores leafy woodlands and prairies alternate; On the vine-tangled islands the flowers peep timidly out at the white men; In the dark-winding eddy the loon sits warily, watching and voiceless, And the wild goose, in reedy lagoon, stills the prattle and play of her children.83 The does and their sleek, dappled fawns prick their ears and peer out from the thickets, And the bison-calves play on the lawns, and gambol like colts in the clover.84 Up the still flowing Wákpa Wakán's winding path through the groves and the meadows.85 Now DuLuth's brawny boatmen pursue the swift gliding bark of Tamdóka; And hardly the red braves out-do the stout, steady oars of the white men.86

Now they bend to their oars in the race --the ten tawny braves of Tamdóka; And hard on their heels in the chase ply the six stalwart oars of the Frenchmen.87 In the stern of his boat sits DuLuth, in the stern of his boat stands Tamdóka; And warily, cheerily, both urge the oars of their men to the utmost.88 Far-stretching away to the eyes, winding blue in the midst of the meadows, As a necklet of sapphires that lies unclaspt in the lap of a virgin, Here asleep in the lap of the plain lies the reed-bordered, beautiful river.89 Like two flying coursers that strain, on the track, neck and neck, on the home-stretch, With nostrils distended, and mane froth-flecked, and the neck and the shoulders, Each urged to his best by the cry and the whip and the rein of his rider, Now they skim o'er the waters and fly, side by side, neck and neck, through the meadows.90 The blue heron flaps from the reeds, and away wings her course up the river; Straight and swift is her flight o'er the meads, but she hardly outstrips the canoemen.91 See! the _voyageurs_ bend to their oars till the blue veins swell out on their foreheads; And the sweat from their brawny breasts pours; but in vain their Herculean labor; For the oars of Tamdôka are ten, and but six are the oars of the Frenchmen, And the red warriors' burden of men is matched by the _voyageur's_ luggage.92 Side by side, neck and neck, for a mile, still they strain their strong arms to the utmost, Till rounding a willowy isle, now ahead creeps the boat of Tamdóka, And the neighboring forests profound, and the far-stretching plain of the meadows To the whoop of the victors resound, while the panting French rest on their paddles.93

With sable wings wide o'er the land, night sprinkles the dew of the heavens; And hard by the dark river's strand, in the midst of a tall, somber forest, Two camp-fires are lighted, and beam on the trunks and the arms of the pine-trees.94 In the fitful light darkle and gleam the swarthy-hued faces around them.95 And one is the camp of DuLuth, and the other the camp of Tamdóka, But few are the jests and uncouth of the _voyageurs_ over their supper, While moody and silent the braves round their fire in a circle sit crouching; And low is the whisper of leaves and the sough of the wind in the branches; And low is the long-winding howl of the lone wolf afar in the forest; But shrill is the hoot of the owl, like a bugle blast blown in the pine-tops, And the half-startled _voyageurs_ scowl at the sudden and saucy intruder.96 Like the eyes of the wolves are the eyes of the watchful and silent Dakotas; Like the face of the moon in the skies, when the clouds chase each other across it.97 Is Tamdóka's dark face in the light of the flickering flames of the camp fire.98 They have plotted red murder by night, and securely contemplate their victims.99 But wary and armed to the teeth are the resolute Frenchmen and ready, If need be, to grapple with death, and to die hand to hand in the desert.100 Yet skilled in the arts and the wiles of the cunning and crafty Algonkins, They cover their hearts with their smiles, and hide their suspicions of evil.101 Round their low, smouldering fire, feigning sleep, lie the watchful and wily Dakotas; But DuLuth and his _voyageurs_ heap their fire that shall blaze till the morning, Ere they lay themselves snugly to rest, with their guns by their side on the blankets, As if there were none to molest but the ravening beasts of the forest.102