The Poetical Works of Jonathan E. Hoag/Giants of Mariposa

by Jonathan E. Hoag

Giants of Mariposa

Giants on the lofty mountains,
Mountains clad with fir and maple,
All their branches heavy-laden,
Laden with the moss of ages.
Dense and dark where grow the monarchs,
Mighty monarchs towering heavenward,
Bearing cones on tossing branches,
Branches of the giant redwoods,
Here the redmen built their wigwams,
Wigwams made from bark of birchtree,
Covered o'er with heavy bearskins,
Fagots blazing in the wigwam.
Here Iago, arrow-maker,
Strong his bows and straight his arrows,
Arrows tipped with flint and jasper,
Bowstring made of tightened sinews,
Sinews of the deer and panther,
Dwelt beneath the giant redwoods,
With his faithful wife, Nakomis,
He the strong arm, mighty hunter,
Hunter of the bear and panther.
Minne-wawa, dusky maiden,
And Nakomis, in the forest,
Sang at eve, when shadows lengthened,
Sang beside the birchen wigwam.
Minne-wawa captured bénas,
Baby plovers, for her children.
Little baby names she gave them,
Gathered little seeds to feed them,
Seeds that lay among the bushes.
Then she made them tiny houses,
Gathered rushes on the mountain.

Old Nakomis plaited rushes,
In and out with nimble fingers,
Making houses for the pheasants.
Oft they played among the needles.
Minne-wawa sang a love-song
To her little baby pheasants.
Then she danced among the needles,
Needles from the firs above them,
While the west wind stirred the branches.
Oft Nakomis, calling softly,
Gently spake to Minne-wawa:
"Guard yourself, my only daughter,
Lest the great bear, Mishe-Mókwa,
Or the savage, fire-eyed panther,
Seize you, O my Minne-wawa!"
Then she spake to strong Iago,
To the mighty arrow-maker:
"Have your bow and arrows ready;
Let them hang beside the doorway;
Lest the bear or savage panther
Snatch away our Minne-wawa!"
Then Iago, grasping firmly,
Strung his bow with toughened sinew,
Twanged his bowstring till it quavered;
Like an aspen leaf it trembled.
Then his arrows tipped with jasper,
Quiver filled with pointed arrows,
Hung beside the wigwam entrance.
Minne-wawa and her pheasants
Marched around the little wigwam,
Running, flying as in laughter,
While she sang a little bird-song.
Then at eve, when shadows lengthened,
And the sun sank softly westward,
Crooned she low a little night-song
To her babies in their houses.

When the breezes stirred the branches,
Needles fell around the wigwam,
From the redwoods high above her;
Pitchy cones fell all about her.
Darkness gathered around the wigwam,
Wakeful nightbird trilling faintly;
Kó-kó-kó-kó, owl ill omened,
Woke the stillness of the mountain.
Suddenly shrieked Minne-wawa:
"Mishe-mokwa or fierce panther!
O my little baby pheasants!
Bring them swiftly to the wigwam.
For I see his glaring eyeballs;
See him ever nearer creeping!"
"Wake, Iago?" cried Nakomis.
"Mishe-mókwa, savage panther!"
Quick Iago seized his weapons,
Back to ear he drew his arrow,
Twanged the bowstring, drawn so tightly.
Arrow found the heart of panther.
See him lash the cones and needles,
While his death-scream frights the owlets,
Owlets in the hollow oaktree.
Seizing swift another arrow,
'Twixt his eyeballs then he struck him,
Red with blood the arrow hung there!
Soon the skin Iago fashioned
To a hammock for the maiden,
Fixed it to a sturdy grapewine,
From the grapevine hung the hammock.

Of Iago and Nakomis,
Asked we once of old traditions.
"Tell us of the ancient redwoods,
Redwoods high upon the mountain.
Tell us of their hoary ages,
What the legends of your people.
Did they see the tender saplings,
Ere their roots sank deep in mountain,
Ere they split the solid granite?
Did they name Sequoia region,
Where the redwoods still are growing?"
Turned Nakomis to the maiden,
And they reached their dusky fingers,
Till they touched a giant redwood,
Bowing, moving lips in silence.
Then they pointed to the needles.
To the leaves upon the branches,
Backward bowing, soft repeating:
"Gitche Manito, the Maker!"

1921