Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, CANTO 9; THE GREAT TURTLE, by HUMBERT WOLFE


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

CANTO 9; THE GREAT TURTLE, by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: When fierce beset with dire alarms
Last Line: A charnel house of human bones.
Subject(s): Hate; Islands; Mythology; Native Americans; Indians Of America; American Indians; Indians Of South America


I.

WHEN fierce beset with dire alarms,
And terror bravest hearts disarms;
If stranger spring upon the sight,
It fills us with renewed affright.
And yet, by some mysterious law,
The friend will recognition draw;
In every look, in air and mien,
The friend or foe is quickly seen.
And when true friendship thus appears,
Sincere and in its purity,
We quickly banish groundless fears,
And feel a firm security.

II.

Wa-bas-so and the Frenchmen slept,
Without a thought of danger near;
Nor was the weary vigil kept;
Till rose the morning sun to cheer; --
Effulgent from the watery field,
In grand diurnal march again;
Like glories of Achilles' shield,
Effulgent on the Trojan plain.
The morning beams above the Bay
Have chased the floating mists away;
And yet upon the forest green
The sparkling gems of dew are seen.
In silver veil the whole appears --
A simile we borrow,
Like maiden smiling in her tears,
With mingled joy and sorrow.

III.

The baited hook brings up the pike;
A fire the flint and tinder strike;
The scalping knife dissects the fish;
The coals must serve for cooking dish.
For table and the ready plate,
Fresh strips of bark are adequate;
And soon, with neither salt or bread,
The grateful lenten meal is spread.
If gnawing hunger fierce intrude,
The rudest means are amplitude;
And, once the urgent call is met,
The inconvenience we forget.

IV.

The bark and fibre lend their aid;
With nautic skill a boat is made:
It dances on the darksome wave,
Like buoyant hope above the grave.
The paddle bends. They shoot away,
Around the point of Thunder Bay.
A desert waste before them lies;
The distant waters touch the skies.
In shade of fir, and birch, and sycamore,
They pass along the steep, uneven shore.
The mossy rocks their firm foundations keep,
And brave the bluster of the angry deep.
Behold the hawk, the crow and stately crane;
The gull and duck disporting in the main.
Among the trees behind the bushy screen,
The strutting turkey and the deer are seen.
The owl at night will raise the hooting note;
The cuckoo make the forest ring;
The howl of wolves upon the air will float,
And wa-won-ais-sa gaily sing.
And now the skiff may speed with lifted sail,
Now cut the tide with plying oar;
And yet beware the frequent rising gale,
The waves that lash resounding shore.

V.

Above the distant forest screen,
A graceful curling smoke was seen:
It mingled with the azure sky;
It spoke the hut of stranger night.
And practiced eye might clearly see,
Like skulking cat from tree to tree,
In plume and paint -- a full display,
The ever warlike Chippeway.
His home was in the dreary north;
From whence he oft would sally forth,
And range the milder southern plain,
The chase or war-path to maintain.
With piercing eye he quickly saw,
Displayed by friendly Ottawa,
The token red men ne'er deny --
The peaceful calumet on high.
"Pass on, in peace," he calmly said;
"No danger now for brave and bold;
Pass on, the Mohawk chief is dead;
Loquacious birds the whole have told:
The deeply hated Iroquois,
That ventures to this western world,
On errand, or of peace or war,
To certain doom shall quick be hurled.
I hate him for my kindred slain,
I hate him for Algonquin race,
I hate him for his vaunted power;
I hate him for his wide domain,
I hate him in his every place,
I hate him now and evermore."
With that a bleeding fawn he threw
Into the trembling bark canoe,
A feast, for hunger, to provide;
Le Vareau waved the thankful hand,
Then pushed the shallop from the strand,
Upon the sparkling, crystal tide.
Wa-bas-so, with a deafening yell,
Then swung his trophy scalp on high;
The Chippeway sent back the swell;
The forest echoed to the sky.

VI.

They quiet cut the glassy plain,
Amid the bracing northern air,
Unvexed by wave or gusty flaw;
They soon a distant view attain,
Of Tei-o-dan-do-ra-gie fair --
The far-famed Isle of Mackinaw.
Upon the Lake it seems to float,
A Turtle of enormous weight;
It stands a strong -- eternal moat,
To guard the passes of the strait.
Its rugged cliffs are lifted high;
Its tree tops mingle with the sky:
We fresh inhale upon its coast,
The purest air the world can boast.
The gleaming pebbles, on the strand,
Seem emeralds of fairy land.
The waters that its base invade,
Have many wizard grottoes made.
Those waters, in the solar beam,
The clearest, purest crystal seem;
And 'neath the tide we clearly see
The trout preside in majesty.

VII.

The skiff is on the islet strand;
Its prow is buried in the sand.
The baited hook for eager trout
Is thrown; the captive flounders out.
Secure the boat and scanty freight,
With guarded step and air sedate,
To cliff the trio make their way:
They there behold the setting day.
The sky is clear, the air serene;
No clouds obscure or intervene.
From glances of the setting rays,
The mighty West is all ablaze.
The sun, a central ball of light,
Is sinking to the shades of night;
But as he sinks he upward flings,
The flashes of a thousand wings.
The pensive drake, to islet bay,
His little navy leads away.
The muskelonge leaps up on high,
To see these glories of the sky.
The nighthawk and the gull aspire,
And seem, to natural sight,
To circle through the liquid fire,
As if in pure delight.
The central ball below has fled,
And yet a sky of gorgeous red,
Is looming from the watery plain,
Like burning Moscow seen again.

VIII.

And now the flint is struck, the fire is made;
The trout and tender fawn, with ready blade,
Are quickly dressed; the joints and slices fry
Upon the burning coals; a rich supply.
A day of hardy life will early bring
The gnawing appetite; and rudely fling
To pampered city life, affected choice,
That rings thro' dining hall stentorian voice.
The evening grace, with sign of cross, is said;
And then the meal, with neither salt or bread,
Is shared among the three; delicious meat!
That peers and kings without a blush might eat.
The feast is ample, full enough and more,
And yet Wa-bas-so from his private store,
For rich dessert, in calmness can essay,
A slice from fallen chief at Thunder Bay.

IX.

The night was coming on apace,
And where should be the resting place?
Upon the strand in open skiff,
Or 'neath the oak upon the cliff?
Perhaps a shelter might be found
Beneath a rock, or under ground;
Perhaps a manitou or bear,
A friendly cave or den might share.
A hasty search at once they ply,
And in the twilight shade espy
A darksome figure, grim and spare,
That seems a demon moving there.
The form is bent like aged friar;
The eyes are piercing balls of fire.
The floating hair is thin and gray;
The wrinkled skin bespeaks decay.
Her only dress -- a tattered rag;
A staff sustains the withered hag.
Her voice is like the hollow wail,
When ghosts the frighted night assail.
To arching cave, for nightly rest,
She beckons now the stranger guest;
Nor longer there prolongs her stay,
But like a shadow glides away.

X.

The lonely vault, in deepest gloom,
Suggests the pit of final doom.
The air is heavy, close and dread,
As in the chambers of the dead;
Or like the dismal catacomb,
Along the ways of ancient Rome.
And yet the three, with troubled breast,
At once compose themselves to rest.
The bed is hard and rough indeed;
And yet in times of pressing need,
Kind sleep will close the wakeful eye,
And consciousness will quickly fly.
The surfeit of the evening meal,
A fevered indigestion bred;
And troubled slumbers quick reveal
A goblin host around the head.
The demons of the nether world,
With shady banners high unfurled,
Arose to war, in hideous night,
With spirits of the upper light.
The two in mystic ranks arrayed,
Their helms and shining arms displayed;
And fierce the airy battle rose,
Of manitous with demon foes.
Opposing shields are in the sky;
Arms flash in horrid circles high.
The lance a thunderbolt is sped,
To call the living to the dead.
And ghastly wounds are gaping wide;
And blood, an overwhelming tide,
In torrents flows; and heavy moan
Is mingled with the dying groan;
While all around, the heaps of slain
Obscure the wide extended plain.
At length the blows and struggle cease;
The scene proclaims returning peace:
The warrior phantoms melt away,
Nor leave a sign of battle fray.

XI.

The restless trio, in their sleep,
A constant, painful vigil keep,
In terror and in dread;
They draw a heavy, stifled breath,
As in the grim embrace of death,
In mansions of the dead.
And now appears a fairy scene,
Upon a lawn of brightest green,
Beneath a charming grove;
The trees -- a varied colonade,
With mingled hues of light and shade --
Sweet bowers for gentle love.
And music steals upon the ear,
As from the distant waters clear,
A soft -- enchanting sound;
And breezes on the senses tell,
With Araba's delightful smell,
Where sweetest flowers abound.
And now the graceful fairy train
Comes pouring on the shadowy plain,
In dazzling bright array;
Their fleecy robes are airy light,
Begemed with stars of autumn night,
Like robes of milky-way.
They dance among the smiling trees,
They gently stir the evening breeze,
They quaff a pure delight;
With every grace beyond compare,
They seem to float upon the air,
As if in mystic rite.
And now, a rapid movement lent,
The forest mingles by consent;
The stars the call obey;
The sleepers draw a heavy sigh,
At once their pleasant visions fly;
The fairies hie away.

XII.

Nor yet the dreamy night is o'er;
Another scene is yet in store;
The monarch of this haunted shore,
Will now his right reclaim:
His birth was in this cabin shade;
The northern lakes by him were made;
No mortal can his might evade;
Great Turtle is his name.
He rises slowly to the view --
The dread -- the mighty Michabou --
Of watery realm the Manitou,
In this his ancient cave:
Beneath his eye and frowning face,
Intrusive stranger, in his place,
May well despair of saving grace,
If coward or if brave.
A grinning skeleton his guise;
Deep sunken are his glassy eyes;
He gloats in human sacrifice,
In fiery furnace cast:
Gigantic is his horrid form;
Around him sprite and jeebi swarm;
His anger is the raging storm;
His voice the howling blast.
His bolt can rive the knotty oak,
And split the hoary headed rock;
The islands feel his thunder shock --
The terrors of his hate:
He strides around the darksome den;
His rattling joints resound agen;
He seems to tread on living men,
With crushing, deadly weight.
And now the native form is seen:
The Manitou, in Turtle screen,
Now hides himself. The ocean green,
Is now his robe of state:
Upon the rocky bed he glides;
Upon extended claws he rides;
Stern, fixed decree his will abides,
And dark, impending fate.
He stands erect upon the end;
His heavy limbs elastic bend;
To monster size his parts distend;
His armor and his head impend;
He meditates his fall:
The sleeping trio pant in vain;
In vain they sweat in drops of rain,
Or gasp a stifled groan of pain;
Fate holds as by eternal chain:
An instant crushes all.
Like judgment from an angry sky,
Impending death is poising high;
Nor can the tortured victims fly,
Nor utter an imploring cry,
Nor horrid bed forsake:
Down; down he comes! with rushing sound,
To grind the trio in the ground;
They start and spring with lofty bound;
Their loosened voices wild resound;
And quickly all awake.

XIII.

The morning sun is rising on the wave;
The twilight dim reveals the gloomy cave,
With damp, and chill, and heavy air;
Of rough and pointed stones, the sides and bed;
One vast projecting rock is over-head;
A score of men might harbor there.
The feast -- the surfeit of the night before,
Of trout and fawn and ready private store,
Might bring the night-mare to this desert shore,
With demon sprite and horrid groans;
Yet clearer light at once displays to view,
On every hand, a grinning, ghostly crew,
That all the terrors of the night renew --
A CHARNEL HOUSE OF HUMAN BONES.





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