Many Many Moons/Rain Song
RAIN SONG
Motive I
To be read withthe vigorousbeat of dancerhythm.God of the Thunders, Thunder-GodHear thou our medicine rattles!Hear! Hear our sounding drums!Hi! Our medicine bag on yonder rockHas a power, a big-good medicine power—Three silver scales of the Great Sea Monster—Ho! Big rain-medicine! Strong rain-medicine! Ho!Ugh! Behold! On the rock by the stream the BeastHas placed three scales from his slimy belly—Ho! Big medicine! Ho! Strong medicine!—Silver scales of the Big Sea Monster!Hi! Spirit-of-Thunder, come in thy fury,Come with thy wet winds, come with thy many waters;Come in thy wrath against thy foeThat taunts thee there with his filthy poison.All the children of the earth are good,Heap-good in the heart to the Thunders;All the children of the earth are bitter—Ugh!—hitter to thy foe, the Demon!—We spit!—Behold! we spit on him!Come with a heart that is good to thy children—Ho! And big-many waters and heap-much rain!Come with a heart that is bad to our enemy— Ho! And big-much lightning, plenty-big storm!Ho! Silver-wing God, with thy swift wet feet,Come! Come! Come in thy big black war clouds!Hurl thy arrows of flashing flame!Rush at our foe with thy whirlwind waters!Crush with thy storms the stinking beastThat defies thee here with his slimy poison—Ho! Big medicine! Ho! Strong medicine!—Silver scales of the Big Sea Snake!
Ho!
Motive II
Hah-yée! Hah-yó-ho-o-o-o! Hah-yó-ho-o-o-o!Dance rhythmceases. To bechanted with aminor wail.God of the Thunders, Thunder-God.Hear thou our medicine rattles!Hear! Hear our sounding drums!Two moons the mountain brooks have been dry,And the panting birds like ghosts in a row,Sit in the shade and sing no longer.Our Brother, the Sun, can find his faceNo more in the shining-glass of the river;His eyes see nothing but yellow cracked mudAs wrinkled as the skins of our old women!Eagerly the sunflower lifts her mouth to the dew,Yet her lips parch and her head droops,And her leafy arms grow thin and wither!
Ai-yee! Thunderer, Spirit of the Big Waters, With burning tongues all the children of the earth— The flower-people and the hungry grasses, The sky-flyers and the water-walkers— All, all are calling, calling, calling to thee!— Hear! Hear our many, many callings! Hah-yée! Hah-yó-ho-o-o-o! Hah-yó-ho-o-o-o!
Thick with hot dust the old men of the forestStand with bended heads, complaining wearily,Grumbling ever at the hot winds,Mumbling ever of the beating sun.Among the brittle pines the fires runWith many swift feet through the crackling bushes;And the deer, like whirling leaves in the wind,Scurry madly before their scorching breath.The sweet wet grass of our valley-meadowsIs blown by the hot winds into powder;And our ponies nibble at rustling rushes.Like the papoose that puts its hungry mouthTo the scrawny breast of an old squaw,The corn thirstily sucks at the earth—In the blistered earth there is dust, dust!And my brothers talk with thick hot tongues,And my people walk with skinny bellies,And die like the burning grass of the prairies!
Ai-yee! Thunderer, Spirit of the Big Waters, With parching mouths all the children of the earth— The many-foot-walkers and the belly-creepers, The timber-beasts and the all-over-the-earthwalkers— All, all are calling, calling, calling to thee! Hear! Hear their many, many callings! Hah-yée! Hah-yó-ho-o-o-o! Hah-yó-ho-o-o-o!
Ugh!Ugh!
Motive III
To be read withgreat vigor, andwith the lilt and the steady beatof dancerhythm.Háh-yaaaaaaah! Háh-yaaaaaaah!Háh-yaaaaaaah! Háh-yaaaaaaah!God of the Thunders, Thunder-GodHear thou our medicine rattles!Hear! Hear our sounding drums!Hi-yee! Behind the clouds on the far horizon,Beat, beat, beat on thy crashing war drums!Hí! Hi! Hí! To the war-dance beat,Shake the earth with thy stamping feet!Over the fires of the blazing skyFling thy blankets of thick wet mist!Roll from the hills the wet gray fog!Blow from the hills the cool wet winds!
Hi! Come! Come! Come, thou God of the Thunder!Come on thy whirling winds from the West!Come with a rush of thy wings of silver!Crush our foe with thy tramping feet!Hí! Hi! Hí! With thy flame-plumed war club,Crack the skies in wrath asunder;And pour from thy hand through thy silver fingersCool sweet-waters on the panting earth! Ho! Wingéd-One of the rumbling rain clouds,With thy war drums, sky drums, call thy Water-Spirits.On thy serpent-foe—we spit on him!—Let loose thy fire-flashing Thunder!Ho! Big Tornado! Ho! Thou Cyclone!Rouse from slumber, dash from the North!Ho! Big Hand-Walker, who goes head down,With twirling legs that walk in the sky,Come over the plains with thy trailing hairOf tangled winds and twisting rains!
Ho! Thou God of the Thunder-drums,Pour from thy hands the many-many waters:Ho! Rains like clouds of silver lances,Cool long rains that slant from the West;Rains that walk on gentle little moccasins,Softly slipping from the fogs in the East;Cold white rains from the Land-of-Winter,Dripping in the trees, beating on the birchbark;Soft rains, gray rains, rains that are gentle,Swift rains, big rains, rains that are windy—Rains, rains, many-many rains!
Hi! Thou God of the Sounding Thunder,Split the clouds with thy club asunder!Come! Come! Come with thy stamping feet!Hí! Hi! Hí! To the war-dance beat!Bitter in the heart to the Great Sea Monster;Bitter to our foe; bitter to his poison— Ho! Big medicine! Ho! Strong medicine!Silver scales of the Big Sea Snake!
Ho! Ho!
Medicine Man to the Assembled Tribe:
Conversation-ally in amatter-of-facttone.
Go to thy wigwams, my people. Already the morning star is high. Sleep with untroubled hearts.
Come tomorrow to the dancing-ring; The doctors will then dance the Thanks-Song. Bring presents—Ho!—and plenty grub!
Medicine Man to a Fellow Medicine Man:
Ugh! Lame-Wolf! . . . Tobacco! . . . Ugh! . . . I spit on your red-willow tobacco!Brusquely It has no teeth! It is for squaws! Give me your white man's tobacco— The black stick with the stuck-on silver dog!. . .
Ho!