Page:Many Many Moons.djvu/87

Rolling,
Rolling,
Rolling up and rolling under,
Growling with a mighty thunder,—
Higher, higher, wildly leaping higher—
Flashing tongues across the sky,
Fire in the crackling clouds, fire!—
Wave, wave, wave,
Rolling up and tumbling over,
Shattering silver spray
On the Indian in the Chée-mon,
Battering iron fists upon his birch-bark,—
Crazy laughing crazy-waters,
Crazy hands and crazy arms
Splashing wildly in the wind,
Crashing madly on the tossing birch-bark,
Smashing wildly at the wailing 'Cheebway . . .
And the Indian walking on the waters
Flings his chantings to the Spirits in the sky:

 "Hah-eee-ooooo! Keétch-ie Má-ni-dó,
 I sing the chant of death!
To be read with
wailing and
chanting.
 O pity me!
 And stop the crasy-waters,
 Ai-yee! the rolling waves of white men. . . .
 O pity me!
 Hah-eee-ooo00! Keétch-ie Má-ni-dó!
 I am asking with a good heart
 That———

 "Ai-yee! The Spirit cannot hear me;
 Nothing does he hear