Mihihna, Mihihna, the boy I bore—
When the robin sang and my
brave was true,
I can bear to look on his face no more,
For he looks, Mihihna,
so much like you.
Mihihna, Mihihna, the Scarlet Leaf
Has robbed my boy of his father’s
love;
He sleeps in my arms—he will
find no grief
In the star-lit lodge in the
land above.
Mihihna, Mihihna, my heart is stone;
The light is gone from my
longing eyes;
The wounded loon in the lake alone
Her death-song sings to the
moon and dies.
[CP] Mee-heen-yah—My husband.
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 Wanata
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 Wakan[CQ]
Many summers on the highland in the full moon’s
golden glow—
In the woods on Fairy Island,[CR] 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.
[CQ] Pronounced Walk-on,—Sacred, inhabited by a spirit.
[CR] Fairy Island,—Wita-Waste—Nicollet Island.
CHICKADEE
Chickadee, chickadee, chickadee-dee!
That was the song that he sang to me—Sang
from his perch in the willow tree—
Chickadee, chickadee, chickadee-dee.
My little brown bird,
The song that I heard
Was a happier song than the minstrels sing—
A paean of joy and a carol of spring;
And my heart leaped throbbing and sang with thee
Chickadee, chickadee, chickadee-dee.
My birdie looked wise
With his little black eyes,
As he peeked and peered from his perch at me
With a throbbing throat and a flutter of glee,
As if he would say—
Sing trouble away,
Chickadee, chickadee, chickadee-dee.
Only one note
From his silver throat;
Only one word
From my wise little bird;
But a sweeter note or a wiser word
From the tongue of mortal I never have heard,
Than my little philosopher sang to me
From his bending perch in the willow tree—
Chickadee, chickadee, chickadee-dee.