🧚 Heyóka Wacípee [16]--the Giant's Dance.

The night-sun [17] sails in his gold canoe, The spirits [18] walk in the realms of air With their glowing faces and flaming hair, And the shrill, chill winds o'er the prairies blow.1 In the Tee [19] of the Council the Virgins light The Virgin-fire [20] for the feast to-night; For the Sons of Heyóka will celebrate The sacred dance to the giant great.2 The kettle boils on the blazing fire, And the flesh is done to the chief's desire.3 With his stoic face to sacred East, [21] He takes his seat at the Giant's Feast.4

For the feast of Heyóka [22] the braves are dressed With crowns from the bark of the white-birch trees, And new skin leggins that reach the knees; With robes of the bison and swarthy bear, And eagle-plumes in their coal-black hair, And marvelous rings in their tawny ears, Which were pierced with the points of their shining spears.5 To honor Heyóka, Wakâwa lifts His fuming pipe from the Red-stone Quarry.6 [23] The warriors follow.7 The white cloud drifts From the Council-lodge to the welkin starry, Like a fog at morn on the fir-clad hill, When the meadows are damp and the winds are still.8

They dance to the tune of their wild "Ha-ha!"9 A warrior's shout and a raven's caw-- Circling the pot and the blaming fire To the tom-tom's bray and the rude bassoon; Round and round to their heart's desire, And ever the same wild chant and tune-- A warrior's shout and a raven's caw-- "Ha-ha,--ha-ha,--ha-ha,--ha!"10 They crouch, they leap, and their burning eyes Flash fierce in the light of the flaming fire, As fiercer and fiercer and higher and higher The rude, wild notes of their chant arise.11 They cease, they sit, and the curling smoke Ascends again from their polished pipes, And upward curls from their swarthy lips To the God whose favor their hearts invoke.12

Then tall Wakâwa arose and said: "Brave warriors, listen, and give due heed.13 Great is Heyóka, the magical god; He can walk on the air; he can float on the flood.14 He's a worker of magic and wonderful wise; He cries when he laughs and he laughs when he cries; He sweats when he's cold, and he shivers when hot, And the water is cold in his boiling pot.15 He hides in the earth and he walks in disguise, But he loves the brave and their sacrifice.16 We are sons of Heyóka.17 The Giant commands In the boiling water to thrust our hands; And the warrior that scorneth the foe and fire Heyóka will crown with his hearts desire."18

They thrust their hands in the boiling pot; They swallow the bison meat steaming hot, Not a wince on their stoical faces bold.19 For the meat and the water, they say, are cold, And great is Heyóka and wonderful wise; He floats on the flood and he walks in the skies, And ever appears in a strange disguise; But he loves the brave and their sacrifice; And the warrior that scorneth the foe and fire Heyóka will crown with his heart's desire.20

Proud was the chief of his warriors proud, The sinewy sons of the Giant's race; But the bravest of all was the tall Red Cloud; The eyes of the panther were set in his face; He strode like a stag and he stood like a pine; Ten feathers he wore at the great Wanmdeé; [13] With crimsoned quills of the porcupine His leggins were worked to his brawny knee.21 Blood-red were the stripes on his swarthy cheek, And the necklace that girdled his brawny neck Was the polished claws of the great Mató [14] He grappled and slew in the northern snow.22

Proud Red Cloud turned to the braves and said, As he shook the plumes on his haughty head:23

"Ho! the warrior that scorneth the foe and fire Heyóka will crown with his heart's desire!"24 He snatched from the embers a red-hot brand, And held it aloft in his naked hand.25 He stood like a statue in bronze or stone,-- Not a muscle moved, and the braves looked on.26 He turned to the chieftain,--"I scorn the fire,-- Ten feathers I wear of the great Wanmdeé; Then grant me, Wakâwa, my heart's desire; Let the sunlight shine in my lonely tee.27 [19] I laugh at red death and I laugh at red fire; Brave Red Cloud is only afraid of fear; But Wiwâstè is fair to his heart and dear; Then grant him, Wakâwa, his heart's desire."28

The warriors applauded with loud "Ho!29 Ho!"30 [24] And he flung the brand to the drifting snow.31 Three times Wakâwa puffed forth the smoke From his silent lips; then he slowly spoke: "Mâhpíya is strong as the stout-armed oak That stands on the bluff by the windy plain, And laughs at the roar of the hurricane.32 He has slain the foe and the great Mató With his hissing arrow and deadly stroke.33 My heart is swift but my tongue is slow.34 Let the warrior come to my lodge and smoke; He may bring the gifts; [25] but the timid doe May fly from the hunter and say him no."35

Wiwâstè sat late in the lodge alone, Her dark eyes bent on the glowing fire.36 She heard not the wild winds shrill and moan; She heard not the tall elms toss and groan; Her face was lit like the harvest moon; For her thoughts flew far to her heart's desire.37 Far away in the land of the Hóhé [15] dwelt The warrior she held in her secret heart; But little he dreamed of the pain she felt, For she hid her love with a maiden's art.38 Not a tear she shed, not a word she said, When the fair young chief from the lodge departed; But she sat on the mound when the day was dead, And gazed at the full moon mellow hearted.39 Fair was the chief as the morning-star; His eyes were mild and his words were low, But his heart was stouter than lance or bow; And her young heart flew to her love afar O'er his trail long covered with drifted snow.40 But she heard a warrior's stealthy tread, And the tall Wakâwa appeared, and said-- "Is Wiwâstè afraid of the spirit dread That fires the sky in the fatal north?41 [26] Behold the mysterious lights.42 Come forth Some evil threatens,--some danger nears, For the skies are pierced with the burning spears."43

The warriors rally beneath the moon; They shoot their shafts at the evil spirit.44 The spirit is slain and the flame is gone, And his blood lies red on the snow fields near it.45 But again from the dead will the spirit rise, And flash his spears in the northern skies.46

Then the chief and the queenly Wiwâstè stood Alone in the moon-lit solitude, And she was silent and he was grave. "47 And fears not my daughter the evil spirit?48 The strongest warriors and bravest fear it The burning spears are an evil omen; They threaten the wrath of a wicked woman, Or a treacherous foe; but my warriors brave, When danger nears, or the foe appears, Are a cloud of arrows,--a grove of spears."49

"My Father," she said, and her words were low, "Why should I fear? for I soon will go To the broad, blue lodge in the Spirit land, Where my dark eyed mother went long ago, And my dear twin sisters walk hand in hand.50 My Father, listen,--my words are true," And sad was her voice as the whippowil When she mourns her mate by the moon-lit rill, "Wiwâstè lingers alone with you, The rest are sleeping on yonder hill,-- Save one--and he an undutiful son,-- And you, my Father, will sit alone When Sisóka [27] sings and the snow is gone.51 I sat, when the maple leaves were red, By the foaming falls of the haunted river; The night sun was walking above my head, And the arrows shone in his burnished quiver; And the winds were hushed and the hour was dread With the walking ghosts of the silent dead.52 I heard the voice of the Water-Fairy; [28] I saw her form in the moon-lit mist, As she sat on a stone with her burden weary, By the foaming eddies of amethyst.53 And robed in her mantle of mist the sprite Her low wail poured on the silent night.54 Then the spirit spake, and the floods were still-- They hushed and listened to what she said, And hushed was the plaint of the whippowil In the silver-birches above her head: 'Wiwâstè,--the prairies are green and fair, When the robin sings and the whippowil; But the land of the Spirits is fairer still, For the winds of winter blow never there; And forever the songs of the whippowils And the robins are heard on the leafy hills.55 Thy mother looks from her lodge above,-- Her fair face shines in the sky afar, And the eyes of thy sisters are bright with love, As they peep from the tee of the mother-star.56 To her happy lodge in the spirit-land She beckons Wiwâstè with shining hand.'57

"My Father,--my Father, her words were true; And the death of Wiwâstè will rest on you.58 You have pledged me as wife to the tall Red Cloud; You will take the gifts of the warrior proud; But I, Wakâwa,--I answer--never!59 I will stain your knife in my heart's red blood, I will plunge and sink in the sullen river, Ere I will be wife to the fierce Red Cloud!"60

"Wiwâstè," he said, and his voice was low, "Let it be as you will, for Wakâwa's tongue Has spoken no promise;--his lips are slow, And the love of a father is deep and strong.61 Be happy, Micúnksee [29], the flames are gone,-- They flash no more in the Northern sky.62 See the smile on the face of the watching moon; No more will the fatal red arrows fly; For the singing shafts of my warriors sped To the bad spirit's bosom and laid him dead, And his blood on the snow of the North lies red.63 Go,--sleep in the robe that you won to-day, And dream of your hunter--the brave Chaskè."64

Light was her heart as she turned away; It sang like the lark in the skies of May.65 The round moon laughed, but a lone red star, [30] As she turned to the teepee and entered in, Fell flashing and swift in the sky afar, Like the polished point of a javelin.66 Nor chief nor daughter the shadow saw Of the crouching listener--Hârpstinà.67

Wiwâstè, wrapped in her robe and sleep Heard not the storm-sprites wail and weep, As they rode on the winds in the frosty air; But she heard the voice of her hunter fair; For a shadowy spirit with fairy fingers The curtains drew from the land of dreams; And lo in her teepee her lover lingers; The light of love in his dark eye beams, And his voice is the music of mountain streams.68

And then with her round, brown arms she pressed His phantom form to her throbbing breast, And whispered the name, in her happy sleep, Of her Hóhé hunter so fair and far.69 And then she saw in her dreams the deep Where the spirit wailed, and a falling star; Then stealthily crouching under the trees, By the light of the moon, the Kan-ó-ti-dan, [31] The little, wizened, mysterious man, With his long locks tossed by the moaning breeze.70 Then a flap of wings, like a thunder-bird, [32] And a wailing spirit the sleeper heard; And lo, through the mists of the moon, she saw The hateful visage of Hârpstinà.71

But waking she murmured--"And what are these-- The flap of wings and the falling star, The wailing spirit that's never at ease, The little man crouching under the trees, And the hateful visage of Hârpstinà?72 My dreams are like feathers that float on the breeze, And none can tell what the omens are-- Save the beautiful dream of my love afar In the happy land of the tall Hóhé [15]-- My beautiful hunter--my brave Chaskè."73