Slow Smoke/Spotted-Face, the Tribal Fool, Prays
SPOTTED-FACE, THE TRIBAL FOOL, PRAYS
O Mystery, take my feast of maple-sugar
Set on this medicine-earth for you to eat—
And let your heart grow good to me with presents.
Set on this medicine-earth for you to eat—
And let your heart grow good to me with presents.
Give me the legs and sinews of the moose,
For trailing otters steadily from sleep
To sleep; the cunning of the timber-wolf,
That I may kill prime fishers, minks, and martens;
And put upon the pan of my trap the paws
Of silver foxes, and let its ragged teeth
Hold to the bone with the never-ending clutch
Of quicksand—ho! many foxes—eleven, twelve!
For trailing otters steadily from sleep
To sleep; the cunning of the timber-wolf,
That I may kill prime fishers, minks, and martens;
And put upon the pan of my trap the paws
Of silver foxes, and let its ragged teeth
Hold to the bone with the never-ending clutch
Of quicksand—ho! many foxes—eleven, twelve!
All this I ask, that I may pack much fur
To the village—pelts to the muzzle of my gun,
Pelts that will put white eyes in the heads of all
The pretty-colored women, bold round eyes
That burn my spotted face with naked asking.
Put in my hands your devil-magic herbs:
A medicine to kill Blue-Whooping-Crane,
Whose pretty talk, like tongue of rattlesnake,
Tickled my woman until she bared her breast
To it and took his poison in her blood;
A medicine to wither and rot the legs.
Of Pierre La Plante, who took her to his lodge,
And ran with her to parish Trois Pistoles.
To the village—pelts to the muzzle of my gun,
Pelts that will put white eyes in the heads of all
The pretty-colored women, bold round eyes
That burn my spotted face with naked asking.
Put in my hands your devil-magic herbs:
A medicine to kill Blue-Whooping-Crane,
Whose pretty talk, like tongue of rattlesnake,
Tickled my woman until she bared her breast
To it and took his poison in her blood;
A medicine to wither and rot the legs.
Of Pierre La Plante, who took her to his lodge,
And ran with her to parish Trois Pistoles.
Give me an herb to lock the jaws of women
Tight as a rusty trap, to freeze the lips
Of the dry old women of my tribe who speak
My name with mouths that flow with dirty laughter.
Tight as a rusty trap, to freeze the lips
Of the dry old women of my tribe who speak
My name with mouths that flow with dirty laughter.
Fix me a woman, a woman who will hold
Herself for me alone, as the trumpeter-swan
That waits through lonely silver nights for wings
That whistle down the wind like an old song.
Herself for me alone, as the trumpeter-swan
That waits through lonely silver nights for wings
That whistle down the wind like an old song.
Ho! Mighty-Spirit, let your heart grow good
To me with presents; so much I ask—no more.
To me with presents; so much I ask—no more.