THE QUELLING OF THE MOOSE.
A MELICETE LEGEND.
When tent was pitched, and supper done,
And forgotten were paddle, and rod, and gun,
And the low, bright planets, one by one,
Lit in the pine-tops their lamps of gold
To us by the fire, in our blankets rolled,
This was the story Sacòbi told—
"In those days came the moose from the east,
A monster out of the white north-east,
And as leaves before him were man and beast.
"The dark rock-hills of Saguenay
Are strong,—they were but straw in his way.
He leapt the St. Lawrence as in play.
"His breath was a storm and a flame; his feet
In the mountains thundered, fierce and fleet,
Till men's hearts were as milk, and ceased to beat.
"But in those days dwelt Clote Scarp with men.
It is long to wait till he comes again,—
But a Friend was near and could hear us, then!
"In his wigwam, built by the Oolastook,
Where the ash-trees over the water look,
A voice of trouble the stillness shook.
"He rose, and took his bow from the wall,
And listened; he heard his people's call
Pierce up from the villages one and all.