'Ah, showain nemeshin, Nosa! Pity, pity me, my father!' "'Listen!' said the eldest sister,
'He is praying to his father! What a pity that the old man Does not stumble in the pathway,
Does not break his neck by falling!' And they laughed till all the forest Rang with their unseemly laughter.
"On their pathway through the woodlands
Lay an oak, by storms uprooted, Lay the great trunk of an oak-tree, Buried half in leaves and mosses,
Mouldering, crumbling, huge and hollow. And Osseo, when he saw it,
Gave a shout, a cry of anguish, Leaped into its yawning cavern, At one end went in an old man, Wasted, wrinkled, old, and ugly;
From the other came a young man,
Tall and straight and strong and handsome.
"Thus Osseo was transfigured, Thus restored to youth and beauty; But, alas for good Osseo,
And for Oweenee, the faithful! Strangely, too, was she transfigured. Changed into a weak old woman, With a staff she tottered onward, Wasted, wrinkled, old, and ugly! And the sisters and their husbands Laughed until the echoing forest Rang with their unseemly laughter. "But Osseo turned not from her, Walked with slower step beside her,
Took her hand, as brown and withered
As an oak-leaf is in Winter,
Called her sweetheart, Nenemoosha, Soothed her with soft words of kindness, Till they reached the lodge of feasting, Till they sat down in the wigwam,
Sacred to the Star of Evening, To the tender Star of Woman. "Wrapt in visions, lost in dreaming, At the banquet sat Osseo;
All were merry, all were happy, All were joyous but Osseo. Neither food nor drink he tasted, Neither did he speak nor listen; But as one bewildered sat he, Looking dreamily and sadly,
First at Oweenee, then upward At the gleaming sky above them. "Then a voice was heard, a whisper,
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Coming from the starry distance, Coming from the empty vastness, Low, and musical, and tender;
And the voice said: 'O Osseo! O my son, my best beloved!
Broken are the spells that bound you, All the charms of the magicians,
All the magic powers of evil; Come to me; ascend, Osseo!
"'Taste the food that stands before you: It is blessed and enchanted,
It has magic virtues in it,
It will change you to a spirit.
All your bowls and all your kettles
Shall be wood and clay no longer;
But the bowls be changed to wampum, And the kettles shall be silver;
They shall shine like shells of scarlet, Like the fire shall gleam and glimmer. "'And the women shall no longer Bear the dreary doom of labor,
But be changed to birds, and glisten With the beauty of the starlight, Painted with the dusky splendors
Of the skies and clouds of evening!' "What Osseo heard as whispers, What as words he comprehended, Was but music to the others,
Music as of birds afar off,
Of the whippoorwill afar off, Of the lonely Wawonaissa Singing in the darksome forest.
"Then the lodge began to tremble, Straight began to shake and tremble, And they felt it rising, rising,
Slowly through the air ascending, From the darkness of the tree-tops Forth into the dewy starlight,
Till it passed the topmost branches; And behold! the wooden dishes
All were changed to shells of scarlet! And behold! the earthen kettles
All were changed to bowls of silver! And the roof-poles of the wigwam Were as glittering rods of silver,
And the roof of bark upon them As the shining shards of beetles. "Then Osseo gazed around him, And he saw the nine fair sisters, All the sisters and their husbands,
Changed to birds of various plumage. Some were jays and some were magpies, Others thrushes, others blackbirds;
And they hopped, and sang, and twittered, Perked and fluttered all their feathers, Strutted in their shining plumage,
And their tails like fans unfolded. "Only Oweenee, the youngest,
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Was not changed, but sat in silence, Wasted, wrinkled, old, and ugly, Looking sadly at the others;
Till Osseo, gazing upward, Gave another cry of anguish, Such a cry as he had uttered By the oak-tree in the forest.
"Then returned her youth and beauty, And her soiled and tattered garments Were transformed to robes of ermine, And her staff became a feather,
Yes, a shining silver feather!
"And again the wigwam trembled, Swayed and rushed through airy currents, Through transparent cloud and vapor, And amid celestial splendors
On the Evening Star alighted,
As a snow-flake falls on snow-flake,
As a leaf drops on a river,
As the thistledown on water.
"Forth with cheerful words of welcome
Came the father of Osseo,
He with radiant locks of silver, He with eyes serene and tender. And he said: 'My son, Osseo,
Hang the cage of birds you bring there, Hang the cage with rods of silver,
And the birds with glistening feathers, At the doorway of my wigwam.'
"At the door he hung the bird-cage, And they entered in and gladly Listened to Osseo's father,
Ruler of the Star of Evening, As he said: 'O my Osseo!
I have had compassion on you,
Given you back your youth and beauty, Into birds of various plumage
Changed your sisters and their husbands; Changed them thus because they mocked you In the figure of the old man,
In that aspect sad and wrinkled, Could not see your heart of passion, Could not see your youth immortal; Only Oweenee, the faithful,
Saw your naked heart and loved you. "'In the lodge that glimmers yonder, In the little star that twinkles
Through the vapors, on the left hand, Lives the envious Evil Spirit,
The Wabeno, the magician,
Who transformed you to an old man. Take heed lest his beams fall on you, For the rays he darts around him
Are the power of his enchantment, Are the arrows that he uses.'
"Many years, in peace and quiet, On the peaceful Star of Evening Dwelt Osseo with his father;
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Many years, in song and flutter, At the doorway of the wigwam, Hung the cage with rods of silver, And fair Oweenee, the faithful, Bore a son unto Osseo,
With the beauty of his mother, With the courage of his father.
"And the boy grew up and prospered, And Osseo, to delight him,
Made him little bows and arrows, Opened the great cage of silver, And let loose his aunts and uncles, All those birds with glossy feathers, For his little son to shoot at.
"Round and round they wheeled and darted, Filled the Evening Star with music,
With their songs of joy and freedom Filled the Evening Star with splendor, With the fluttering of their plumage; Till the boy, the little hunter,
Bent his bow and shot an arrow, Shot a swift and fatal arrow,
And a bird, with shining feathers, At his feet fell wounded sorely.
"But, O wondrous transformation!
'T was no bird