Legends

Book Description:

Purchase of this book includes free trial access to www.million-books.com where you can read more than a million books for free. This is an OCR edition with typos. Excerpt from book: FUNERAL SONG FOR THE INDIAN CHIEF BLACKBIRD Buried Sitting Upright On A Live Horse On A Bluff Overlooking The Missouri River He is dead, Our Chief. Al! Al! Al! Al! Our Chief On whom has fallen a sickness, He, our Leader, Who has grievously died. At his feet we are gathered, Warriors, his children, We have cut our flesh Before his body. Our blood drips on the willow-leaves, The willows with which we have pierced our arms. We beat the willow-sticks, We mourn our Brother, our Father, We chant slow songs To the listening spirit of the great Chief Blackbird. Yesterday, When the sky was red And the sun falling through it, They called to you, Your ancestors, From the middle of the sky; From a cloud, circling above you, They pronounced your name. He is dead, Our Leader. Al! Ai! Ai! Ai! Our Chief, Blackbird. Beat the willow-sticks, Let our blood drop before him. You have sung your death-song, To your friends you have sung it, To the grasses of the prairie, To the river, Cutting the prairie As the moon cuts the sky. See, we lift you, The blood of our willow-wounds drops upon you. We dress you in your shirt of white buckskin, We fasten your leggings of mountain-goat skin, We lay upon your shoulders Your robe of the skin of a young buffalo bull. We clasp your necklace of grizzly bears’ claws About your neck. We place upon your head Your war-bonnet of eagle plumes. All this you have commanded. Al! Al! Al! Al! Strike the willow-sticks. You shall depart From among us. It is time for you to depart, You are going on a long journey. Up to the tall cliff We carry you. Our blood drips upon the ground. And your horse, Your whi...