Those who take an interest in the structure of the Indian languages, may regard the above, as an improvised specimen of the capacity of this particular dialect for the expression of scripture truth. The writer, who from early years was a member of the church, had made a translation of the Lords prayer, and, occasionally, as delicate and declining health permitted, some other select pieces from the sacred writings, and hymns, of which, one or two selections may, perhaps, hereafter be made.
The distinction between the active and passive voice, in the Odjibwa language, is formed by the inflection ego.
| Ne sageau, | I love. |
| Ne sageau-ego, | I am loved. |
TRADITIONARY WAR SONGS
OF THE
ODJIBWA ALGONQUINS.
Whoever has heard an Indian war song, and witnessed an Indian war dance, must be satisfied that the occasion wakes up all the fire and energy of the Indian’s soul. His flashing eye—his muscular energy, as he begins the dance—his violent gesticulation as he raises his war-cry—the whole frame and expression of the man, demonstrate this. And long before it comes to his turn to utter his stave, or portion of the chant, his mind has been worked up to the most intense point of excitement: his imagination has pictured the enemy—the ambush and the onset—the victory and the bleeding victim, writhing under his prowess: in imagination he has already stamped him under foot, and torn off his reeking scalp: he has seen the eagles hovering in the air, ready to pounce on the dead carcass, as soon as the combatants quit the field.
It would require strong and graphic language to give descriptive utterance, in the shape of song, to all he has fancied, and seen and feels on the subject. He, himself, makes no such effort. Physical excitement has absorbed his energies. He is in no mood for calm and connected descriptions of battle scenes. He has no stores of measured rhymes to fall back on. All he can do is to utter brief, and often highly symbolic expressions of courage—of defiance—of indomitable rage. His feet stamp the ground, as if he would shake it to its centre. The inspiring drum and mystic rattle communicate new energy to every step, while they serve, by the observance of the most exact time, to concentrate his energy. His very looks depict the spirit of rage, and his yells, uttered quick, sharp, and cut off by the application of the hand to the mouth, are startling and horrific.
Under such circumstances, a few short and broken sentences are enough to keep alive the theme in his mind; and he is not probably conscious of the fact, that, to an unimpassioned and calm listener, with note book in hand, there is not sufficient said to give coherence to the song. And that such a song, indeed, under the best auspices, is a mere wild rhapsody of martial thought, poured out from time to time, in detached sentences, which are, so to say, cemented into lines by a flexible chorus and known tune. The song and the music are all of a piece. Vivid and glowing, and poetic pictures will float in such a train, and often strike the imagination by their graphic truth and boldness; but the poet must look elsewhere for finished melody, and refined and elaborate composition.