Indian Legends of Minnesota

by Unknown

'Twas strong with her strength; throbbing with her thrills;
Enriched with her untainted blood; a part
Of that divinity which rules my heart!
Thus when at last I drew my lips away,
And in the quiet of the closing day
Gave voice to my delight, the old man turned
To meet my glance. His deep eyes lit and burned
With growing brightness, and he softly said:
"This spring is sacred for the holy dead;
The spirit of Sweet Water lingers here;
The powers of mystery and reverent fear
And lovely death brood o'er this sleeping wave—
A monument for one who had no grave."
Forthwith he poured into my willing ear
A tale so wondrous I must tell it here:

One morning in the strawberry moon,
Her heart with Nature's heart in tune
A maid went forth to meet the sun.
That wonderous alchemist of day
With mystic pigments had begun
To tint the dark with twilight gray;
On mystic fans the breezy hills
Bestirred the air with perfumed thrills,
And mystic voices tried to tell
What dewy benedictions fell
Through all the silent hours of night.
The bend of eastern sky grew light
With mystic rays of silver-green,
Soon vanished in a violet sheen;
And this fair, mystic phantom flew
Before a potent golden hue. The maiden idly wandered over
Banks of moss and beds of clover,
Pausing as she strolled along
To hear the sweetest wildwood song,
Or watch the butterfly whose flight
From meadow bloom to forest flower
Enticed her pleasure-searching sight
With Nature's happiest power.
She passed along a forest trail
'Neath trees that thrilled with morning life;
Above the song-birds' concert strife
She heard the blithesome call of quail,
The scornful cry of blue-jay dressed
In splendid robes, with lordly crest.
'Twas joy to see, 'twas joy to hear,
'Twas joy to wander without fear.
O lightsome heart! O peaceful breast!
Where yet no passion brought unrest!
Gayly she tripped, unconscious all
That any danger might befall.
But suddenly the song-birds fled
From all the branches overhead.
Then on her startled hearing rang
The sharp and vengeful bow-string's twang
A whizz—a yell—a writhing mass
Fell on the path she thought to pass—
A tawny panther from whose side
An arrow drained the living tide.
With shrinking eyes she saw the beast
Rolling in agony, until
At last the sensate struggles ceased,
And all that mighty frame was still.
While she was wondering whose keen sight

So well had sped the arrow's flight,
A tall young brave stepped from the wood
And silently before her stood.
He gazed enraptured on her face,
Her womanly charms, her youthful grace;
And when he spoke, it was to tell
The flattering things that win so well.
She saw that he was one who fought
Against her father's tribe, but naught
Availed that knowledge for defense
Against his passionate eloquence,
And ere they parted on that morn
Within her breast young Love was born.
They met again, and many times,
As young hearts have in many climes.
At last, upon a starry night,
Unable longer to resist,
She gave up all and took her flight
And went with him where he might list.
While they had lingered in their love,
The stars had swiftly marched above—
And thus it chanced that on their way
They met the heralds of the day.
Her lover led through forests dim,
He brought her to the river bank;
His light canoe, all tight and trim,
He drew from grasses tall and rank.
They pushed away; no time was lost,
And soon the placid stream was crossed.
Again they plunged among the trees.
Although no doubt had power to seize
Upon the maiden's heart, she feared
And wondered that her brave appeared To lose his wonted care; she knew
'Twas strange to leave their tried canoe,
But went, unquestioning, and thought
His deeds would bring her fears to naught.
To her astonishment, he led
Her from the forest's sheltering spread
Into a small and star-lit glade,
And, turning to her, softly bade
Her fear not, for a warlike band
Encompassed them on every hand.
They were her lover's friends in arms,
The war paint on their faces filled
Her faithful breast with wild alarms,
For she herself would fain be killed
A thousand times than that her flight
Should lead her own to death that night.
She clasped his arm with trembling hand,
And lifted to his bold black eyes
A look he could but ill withstand—
Love's first reproach, doubt's first surmise.
From cold, white lips her question broke:
"Why do we thus these warriors meet
So near the lodges of my folk?
Why do you thus their presence greet?"
Before his tongue could make reply,
A burly warrior, standing by,
Strode forward, and, with murderous look,
His tomahawk before her shook,
And fiercely said: "I am Two Bear;
Great chief am I! 'Tis sweet to tear
The craven hearts and drink the blood
Of Two Bear's foes; a big red flood
Shall flow from coward Sioux, this morn Their scalps Ojibway spears adorn.
Why have you kept us waiting here?
Behold, the sun will soon appear,
The hour is late, the good time flies,
And vengeance still unsated cries!
Come," growled the brute, and clutched her wrist,
And gave it rough and cruel twist;
"Come, lead us now, with noiseless creep,
To where thy Sioux dogs lie in sleep."
Like thunderbolt from storm-filled air,
The young brave sprang upon Two Bear;
With mighty grasp he whirled him 'round
And threw him fiercely to the ground.
"Dog thou," he cried; "and darest thou pain
This beauty with thy paws again
I'll kill thee, ponderous as thou art!"
Black with the fury in his heart,
The bully rose, and toward the young
And fearless champion wildly flung
His tomahawk, which, lightly dodged,
Swung through the hissing air and lodged
Deep in the nearest cottonwood.
Brief were the moments while they stood
And glared into each other's eyes.
Then forward leaped, with fearful cries,
And joined in combat, hand to hand.
With whirlwind sweep their knives outflashed,
And lightning followed when they clashed.
The maiden stood in dumb surprise,
All heedless of the warrior band;
Too anxious for her lover's fate
To think upon his present state,
Or care what stir she might create. Sternly the conflict raged. At length,
Although he fought with giant strength,
The youthful brave was overpowered.
He fell; a crushing knee was pressed
Upon his form, his foeman towered
A moment o'er him, then his breast
Received the cruel, plunging knife.
The crimson flood gushed forth; a thrill
Of anguish swept his features o'er;
The light departed; mortal strife
Would stir the living pulse no more
Within that ghastly form so still!
Her lover's awful death awoke
The maiden from her flight-born trance.
She flashed around one fearful glance—
The peril of her people broke
Upon her mind; she must be brave,
For she alone could hope to save.
She saw with horror and alarm
Two Bear approach herself to claim
As prize for his victorious arm;
His wicked face was all aflame.
'Twas worse than death for her to stay,
And she must warn those far away.
No time was her's for useless grief.
She turned, and like a storm-chased leaf,
Fled swiftly toward the river bank.
Alas! A dozen leaps were all.
The murderous tomahawk was thrown
And cleft her brain. With one low moan,
Upon her green death-bed she sank.
But simultaneous with her fall
A wild Dahkotah war-whoop rang From out the forest, and a wall
Of warriors rose on every hand.
With common stroke their bow-strings' twang
Sounded death to that fated band.
The avengers closed upon their foe,
And ere they ceased the conflict wild,
Laid every feathered top-knot low;
In heaps Ojibway braves were piled.
When all the last red scalps were torn
They turned to find the murdered maid.
All in her tribe would rise and mourn
When dead before them she was laid.
But strange event! With wondering tone,
Each asked of each where she had flown.
In vain they searched. They found her not;
But there, upon the very spot
Where she had fallen, a fountain gushed
Which never man had seen before.
They gathered round with breathing hushed
And gazed, and wondered more and more.
While every grass-blade growing near
Was red and matted thick with gore,
The overflow was sweet and clear;
The bosom of the bubbling spring
Was spotless as a spirit's wing.
With single voice they all proclaimed
The magic spot a sacred place.
The vanished girl was thenceforth named
"Sweet Water," and to see her face
Dahkotah hearts will journey here
Till from the earth they disappear;
And when they die, their souls shall know
The secret of its crystal flow.

ROCK GATEWAY, LAKE PEPIN.

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