 | The poetical works of William H. C. Hosmer |  |
THE WEIRD WOLF'S BARK.
Shakespeare.
Went Ge-nut-e-gah forth,
And trail that he trod
Stretched away to the north—
Through wilds that were then
To the pale-face unknown,
With dog, pack and weapons
He travelled alone:
“One moon will my lover
Be absent”—exclaimed
His bride, by her nation
‘Blue Violet,’ named—
“One long weary moon,
When the daylight is fled,
Will I listen in vain
For the sound of his tread.”
And vanished away,
When reached he dark woods
Round Tyron-de-quat Bay;
And sylvan lodge meet
For a true hunter made
Of lopp'd oaken branches
With bark overlaid.
Soon robbed he the red elk
Fleet, star-eyed and tall,
Of broad branching antlers
To garnish his wall;
With rich, furry spoil,
Proud proof of his skill,
And reward of his toil.
Of grim bear he embrued,
His long, feather'd arrow
The panther subdued;
The wild cat from den
In thick swamp he decoyed
By mocking its cry,
And the creature destroyed—
The string of his bow
Twanged the knell of the deer,
Though lent to each hoof
Was a pinion by fear;
And trapped the brown beaver,
That architect wise!
And otter, though keen
His unslumbering eyes.
With a sorrowful face,
Lo! Ge-nut-e-gah speeds
To his camp, from the chase
Since day-dawn unbent
Hath been bow that he bears,
The fox hurries by him,
But little he cares—
What change hath come over
A hunter so keen—
Why fled hath the sunshine
Of hope from his mien?
The bark of the Weird-Wolf
Hath 'larum'd his soul;
A warning impels him
That brooks not control.
On a wearisome road,
That led toward the huts
Of his nation, he strode:
Nor paused he to snatch
By the way a repast
When twilight's last gleam
On the hill-top was cast;
The stag gained his covert,
The wild bird her nest,
But Ge-nut-e-gah thought not
Of halting to rest—
On! on through the heart
Of the forest he sped—
Around him thick gloom,
And no star overhead.
Raised a signal halloo!
When the low, cone-like huts
Of his tribe were in view;
And back came a mournful
Response on the gale—
A shrill cry of sorrow—
A wild note of wail;
And tidings to trouble
The heart of the bold
Full well by the varied
Inflection were told;
By way of signal the Indian imitates the peculiar cries of different animals. When near an enemy at night, he makes his presence known to a friend in the darkness, by a low, and almost inaudible sound like the chirrup of a cricket. Disaster or triumph, when returning from a campaign against a foe, is expressed by the distant and delicately-modulated cry that announces his return to the nation.
And inly awoke
The presentiment drear
That young Way-an-dah-go
Lay stretched on the bier.
Divided the crowd,
Grew loud, and more loud:
He reached with impetuous
Movement the door—
He paused on the threshold,
And doubted no more:
To stifle deep moaning
How vain his endeavor,
For quenched was the star
Of his nation forever,
And shot through his bosom
A winter-like chill,
For the Weird-Wolf, alas!
Had been bearer of ill.
Superstitious persons, among the whites, are startled by the howl of a dog at night, especially when an inmate is sick, believing the melancholy sound ominous of calamity and death. The Senecas, on the contrary, hear a note of fearful warning in the bark of the wolf, when on their hunting or war expeditions. This animal, save when half famished, seldom barks, and when the unusual noise is heard in the woods, the Indian retraces his steps, believing that some hidden danger is impending over himself, or that some signal misfortune has befallen, or is about to befall, his family or tribe. I am indebted for information on this subject to Col. William Jones, of Leicester, a son of the late lamented Captain Horatio Jones, the Indian interpreter.
| The poetical works of William H. C. Hosmer | |