A Yankee Paradise unsung, unknown, To beautiful tradition; even their names, Of cotton-mill and rail-car, will look kindly Of our dim Past, and listen with pleased ear I. THE MERRIMACK. Он, child of that white-crested mountain whose springs Down whose slopes to the lowlands thy wild waters shine, From that cloud-curtained cradle so cold and so lone, No bridge arched thy waters save that where the trees Green-tufted, oak-shaded, by Amoskeag's fall But thy Pennacook valley was fairer than these, In their sheltered repose looking out from the wood There the old smoked in silence their pipes, and the young Oh, Stream of the Mountains! if answer of thine Not for thee the dull jar of the loom and the wheel, LIFT we the twilight curtains of the Past, A glance upon Tradition's shadowy ground, The faded coloring of Time's tapestry, Let Fancy, with her dream-dipped brush supply. Roof of bark and walls of pine, Through whose chinks the sunbeams shine, *This was the name which the Indians of New England gave to two or three of their principal chiefs, to whom all their inferior sagamores acknow ledged allegiance. Passaconaway seems to have been one of these chiefs. His residence was at Pennacook. ·Mass. Hist. Coll., vol. iii., pp. 21, 22. "He was regarded," says Hubbard, "as a great sorcerer, and his fame was widely spread. It was said of him that he could cause a green leaf to grow in winter, trees to dance, water to burn, &c. He was, undoubtedly, one of those shrewd and powerful men whose achievements are always regarded by a barbarous people as the result of supernatural aid. The Indians gave to such the names of Powahs or Panisees." "The Panisees are men of great courage and wisdom, and to these the Devill appeareth more familiarly than to others."- Winslow's Relation. Tracing many a golden line On the ample floor within; Where upon that earth-floor stark, Lay the gaudy mats of bark, With the bear's hide, rough and dark, And the red-deer's skin. Window-tracery, small and slight, And the night-stars glimmered down, Gloomed behind the changeless shade, By the solemn pine-wood made; Through the rugged palisade, In the open fore-ground planted, Glimpses came of rowers rowing, Stir of leaves and wild flowers blowing, Steel-like gleams of water flowing, In the sun-light slanted. Here the mighty Bashaba, To the great sea's sounding shore; There his spoils of chase and war, Lay beside his axe and bow; In the smoke his scalp-locks swung Nightly down the river going, O'er the waters still and red; And the squaw's dark eye burned brighter, As, with quicker step and lighter, For that chief had magic skill, And a Panisee's dark will, Over powers of good and ill, Powers which bless and powers which ban Wizard lord of Pennacook, Chiefs upon their war-path shook, When they met the steady look Tales of him the grey squaw told, And the fire burned low and small, Till the very child a-bed, Drew its bear-skin over head, Shrinking from the pale lights shed On the trembling wall. All the subtle spirits hiding Misty clouds or morning breeze; Secret soul, and influence Of all things which outward sense Feels, or hears or sees, These the wizard's skill confessed, Stormful woke or lulled to rest Wind and cloud, and fire and flood; Bade through ice fresh lillies blow, Not untrue that tale of old! Moves the strong man still Still, to such, life's elements Over midnight skies. Still, to earnest souls, the sun Rests on towered Gibeon, And the moon of Ajalon Lights the battle-grounds of life; To his aid the strong reverses THE Soot-black brows of men the yell Of women thronging round the bed The tinkling charm of ring and shell The Powah whispering o'er the dead! - |