Swiftly down the turbid torrent, as she sung her song she flew;
Like a swan upon the current, dancing rode the light canoe.
Hunters hurry in the gloaming; all in vain Wanâta calls;
Singing through the surges foaming, lo she plunges o'er the Falls.
Long they searched the sullen river—searched for leagues along the shore,
Bark or babe or mother never saw the sad Dakotas more;
But at night or misty morning oft the hunters heard her song,
Oft the maidens heard her warning in their mellow mother-tongue.
On the bluffs they sat enchanted till the blush of beamy dawn;
Spirit Isle, they say, is haunted, and they call the spot Wakân[[CR]]
Many summers on the highland in the full moon's golden glow—
In the woods on Fairy Island,[[CS]] walked a snow-white fawn and doe—
Spirits of the babe and mother sadly seeking evermore
For a father's love another turned away with evil power.
Sometimes still when moonbeams shimmer through the maples on the lawn,
In the gloaming and the glimmer walk the silent doe and fawn;
And on Spirit Isle or near it, under midnight's misty moon,
Oft is seen the mother's spirit, oft is heard her mournful tune.
FOOTNOTES
An-pe-tu Sa-pa—Clouded Day—was the name of the Dakota mother who committed suicide, as related in this legend, by plunging over the Falls of St. Anthony. Schoolcraft calls her "Ampata Sapa." Ampata is not Dakota. There are several versions of this legend, all agreeing in the main points.
The small island of rock a few rods below the Falls, was called by the Dakotas Wanagee We-ta—Spirit-Island. They say the spirit of Anpetu Sapa sits upon that island at night and pours forth her sorrow in song. They also say that from time out of mind, war-eagles nested on that island, until the advent of white men frightened them away. This seems to be true. See Carver's Travels (London, 1778), p. 71.