John Greenleaf Whittier (1807–1892). The Poetical Works in Four Volumes. 1892.
Narrative and Legendary PoemsThe Bridal of Pennacook
IV. The Wedding
C
But the Bashaba’s wigwam glowed with light,
For down from its roof, by green withes hung,
Flaring and smoking the pine-knots swung.
Shot into the night their long, red spires,
Showing behind the tall, dark wood,
Flashing before on the sweeping flood.
Now high, now low, that firelight played,
On tree-leaves wet with evening dews,
On gliding water and still canoes.
And the weary fisher on Contoocook,
Saw over the marshes, and through the pine,
And down on the river, the dance-lights shine.
The Bashaba’s daughter Weetamoo,
And laid at her father’s feet that night
His softest furs and wampum white.
The river Sagamores came to the feast;
And chiefs whose homes the sea-winds shook
Sat down on the mats of Pennacook.
From the snowy sources of Snooganock,
And from rough Coös whose thick woods shake
Their pine-cones in Umbagog Lake.
Wild as his home, came Chepewass;
And the Keenomps of the hills which throw
Their shade on the Smile of Manito.
Glowing with paint came old and young,
In wampum and furs and feathers arrayed,
To the dance and feast the Bashaba made.
All which the woods and the waters yield,
On dishes of birch and hemlock piled,
Garnished and graced that banquet wild.
From the rocky slopes of the Kearsarge;
Delicate trout from Babboosuck brook,
And salmon speared in the Contoocook;
In the gravelly bed of the Otternic;
And small wild-hens in reed-snares caught
From the banks of Sondagardee brought;
Nuts from the trees of the Black Hills shaken,
Cranberries picked in the Squamscot bog,
And grapes from the vines of Piscataquog:
In the river scooped by a spirit’s hands,
Garnished with spoons of shell and horn,
Stood the birchen dishes of smoking corn.
All which the woods and the waters yield,
Furnished in that olden day
The bridal feast of the Bashaba.
On the fire-lit green the dance begun,
With squaws’ shrill stave, and deeper hum
Of old men beating the Indian drum.
And red arms tossing and black eyes glowing,
Now in the light and now in the shade
Around the fires the dancers played.
And the beat of the small drums louder still
Whenever within the circle drew
The Saugus Sachem and Weetamoo.
Their snow upon that chieftain’s head,
And toil and care and battle’s chance
Had seamed his hard, dark countenance.
Why turns the bride’s fond eye on him,
In whose cold look is naught beside
The triumph of a sullen pride?
The rough oak with her arm of vines;
And why the gray rock’s rugged cheek
The soft lips of the mosses seek:
To harmonize her wide extremes,
Linking the stronger with the weak,
The haughty with the soft and meek!