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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

THE FIRE-MAIDEN AND THE SNOW-PEAKS; AN INDIAN LEGEND OF THE COLUMBIA by EDNA DEAN PROCTOR

First Line: LOOWIT, THE BEAUTIFUL MAIDEN
Last Line: ROLLS PROUDLY AT THEIR SIDE.
Subject(s): COLUMBIA RIVER (NORTH AMERICA); FIRE; LEGENDS, NATIVE AMERICAN; NATIVE AMERICANS; INDIANS OF AMERICA; AMERICAN INDIANS; INDIANS OF SOUTH AMERICA;
LOOWIT, the beautiful maiden
Who gave the Red men fire
That the tents might bask in its rosy light
And laugh at winter's ire —
Lit their hearts with a fiercer flame
Of love and wild desire.
Fair was she as the morning star;
Lithe as a fawn at play;
And the fire she fed was the only fire
In all the world that day.

A hundred suitors thronged her feet
From valley and wood and ridge,
But she sat, unmoved, by her blazing brands
On the tahmanáwas bridge —
The bridge that Sághalie, chief of the gods,
Arched over the mighty river,
That the tribes might come and go at will
And brothers be forever.

Unmoved she sat, in her maiden dreams,
Above the river's flow
Till bold from the north came Klickitat
Challenging friend and foe,
While mountain lion and grizzly fled
From the shafts of his conquering bow;
Till blithe from the west came Wiyeast,
Valiant and tall was he —
The eagle paused in its upward flight
His goodly form to see;
And with them were their faithful braves
Eager the maid to hold,
And vowing she should wed their chief
Ere the young moon was old.

They wooed with gifts and honeyed words,
They showed their prowess there
In swiftest race and wondrous game
And all that men may dare;
But she could not choose between the twain,
Nor would she say them nay,
And with bitter thoughts they saw the sun
Turn westward, day by day,
And the smoke of her hearth float darkly up
Till all the sky was gray.
Then madness seized them and they closed
In battle's awful strife
Till the stream ran red with the blood of the slain
And death had more than life —
Till the wind went by like a sea-bird's cry
And the air with moans was rife.

Sághalie heard and was wroth, and cried,
'Behold now, who is stronger!
The cruel maid and the furious chiefs
Shall live to war no longer!'
And he shook the earth till the great bridge reeled
And plunged in the mighty river,
And with lightning's flash and thunder's crash
The three were gone forever!
Nor time nor tide, the roar of the wreck
From the fallen dalles can sever!

'But they were mine,' said Sághalie,
'And they shall tower in snow,
To greet the sun at his rise and set,
And guard the river's flow.'
And Wiyeast soars in grand Mount Hood;
In Adams Klickitat shines;
And beautiful Loowit lifts her head
In rare Saint Helen's lines —
Loowit, the maid of the glowing hearth,
Who gave the Red men fire,
That the tents might bask in its rosy light
And laugh at winter's ire.
The lovers gaze on her radiant brow
But never may call her bride,
And thus, while the ages pass, they tower
Alone, but glorified,
And the river, the mighty Oregon,
Rolls proudly at their side.



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