Many Many Moons/The Winds of Fifty Winters

by Lew Sarett

PART III

CHIPPEWA MONOLOGUES

A Group or Indian Council Talks

THE WINDS OF FIFTY WINTERS^[1]

The Weasel-Eye, the hawk-nosed one,
With the long white beard and soft white hands,
Arose before the Pillagers and Ottertails
Who squatted by the council-fire.
Fixing on his nose the little windows,
And putting on his face a pretty smile,
The Weasel-Eye "made talk, big talk":

The weasel-eye talks:

To be read with
a patronising
air in a florid,
declamatory
manner.

"My brothers, good red brothers,
Brothers each and all,
By me, his honest trusted agent
Whose heart is good to the Indian,
The Great White Chief sends greetings
To his good red children—
Ah! and many pretty presents!

(Ho!
Hi-yah! Hi-yah!
How! How! How!)

"Gaze ye!—Flashing silver-glass
And tinkling copper bells!
And powder kegs and beads,
And tall black shining hats!
Ye shall walk arrayed
Like yon gorgeous blazing sun
If ye but heed my counsel.

(Ho! Ho! Ho!)

"Go ye North!
Forsake these rolling hills;
This vast, too-vast country.
Forsake these wolf-infested forests,
That Pale-Face tillers of the soil
May lay their Iron-Roads
And scratch the ground for harvests.
Go ye North! to the barren lands,
To the land of the marked-out ground.
And though there be no moose
Within its flame-swept timber,
Nor whitefish in its waters,
Nor patches of wild berries,
Nor fields of nodding rice,
Yet will ye be content
For I will pay ye well;
To every warrior, guns,—
Six beavers' worth;
To every headman, blankets,—
Red as yonder sky;
To every chieftain, ponies,—
Six, more or less.
And there, in the marked-out North,
Your tribe may eat and dance
Forever and forever."

"Gaze upon me, O my brothers,
My good red brothers,
And heed ye well my counsel!
The winds of fifty winters
Have blown about my head,
And, lo! my hair is white with snow!
The winds of fifty winters
Have blown about my head,
And, lo! much wisdom lodged therein!
And from the winds of fifty winters,
Their wisdom, storms, and snows,
Lo! I counsel ye:
Sign ye this treaty!
Take ye the presents!
Go ye to the North!"

In the council-grove long silence fell,
Save for a little laughing wind
That wandered in the pines.
Then, sinuous and supple as the wildcat,
Ah-nah-mah-keé, the "Thunder-Bolt," strode forward.
And stood a moment silent—
Straight as the Norway pine
That rears its head above yon timber;
And in his eyes the many little lightnings flashed,
But on the corner of his mouth a sunbeam played:

Thunder-bolt talks:

"O my brothers, my red brothers,
Brothers each and all,
To be read sim
ply and quietly
with an under-
current of
humor and
innuendo.
The Weasel-Eye has spoken.
He has opened up his honey mouth;
And from the heart that is so good
He has poured his sounding words.
His heap-much pretty talk
Is like the tinkling stream
Of babbling sweet-water that gurgles
Down from the mountain springs.
But like the sweet-water of the brook,
That stops its pretty running
In the swamp and stands one sleep
In the deep and quiet pools,
The pretty words turn bitter-sour.

To be read in a
florid, pompous
manner.

"Gaze upon me, O my brothers,
My good red brothers!
The winds of fifty winters
Have blown about my head,
And, lo! my hair is white with snow!
The winds of fifty winters
Have blown about my head,
And lo! much wisdom lodged therein!
The winds of fifty winters
Have blown about my head—
But, lo! they have not blown away my brains!

I am done!"

(Ho!
Hi! Hi!
How! How! How!)

1. For supplementary notes on "The Winds of Fifty Winters" and other poems in Part III, see Appendix, page 71.