Tribe
Dance, Chisera, dance!
(She tries again and no strength comes—the men hold up their hands, palms outward, in the sign of prayer. The drum begins hollowly.)
Come, O my power,
Indwelling spirit!
It is I that call.
Childless, unmated—
(Drums and rattles are brought out, at first cautiously, lest she take alarm and be turned from her purpose, but as the fervor of her dancing increases, with increased confidence. Simwa remains seated at one side, watching her, his foot touching his quiver. Padahoon, who has moved over near him, observes him narrowly in the interval of dancing. Chisera sings.)
Nay, I shall mate with the gods,
And the tribesmen shall be my children.
Rise up in me, O, my power,
On the wings of eagles!
Return on me as the rain
The earth renewing,
Make my heart fruitful
To nourish my children.
(Simwa is seen to strip the magic arrow from his quiver.)
Bright Water
Simwa, Simwa, what do you do?
Simwa