11 I. THE PEACE-PIPE. On the Mountains of the Prairie, On the great Red Pipe-stone Quarry, He the Master of Life, descending, Stood erect, and called the nations, Traced a winding pathway for it, Saying to it, "Run in this way! From the red stone of the quarry With his hand he broke a fragment, Moulded it into a pipe-head, Shaped and fashioned it with figures; From the margin of the river Took a long reed for a pipe-stem, With its dark green leaves upon it; Smoked the calumet, the Peace-Pipe, And the smoke rose slowly, slowly, Through the tranquil air of morning, First a single line of darkness, Then a denser, bluer vapor, Then a snow-white cloud unfolding, Till it toucned the top of heaven, From the Vale of Tawasentha, And the Prophets of the nations Said: "Behold it, the Pukwana! By this signal from afar off, Waving like a hand that beckons, Calls the tribes of men together, Calls the warriors to his council!" Down the rivers, o'er the prairies, Came the warriors of the nations, Came the Delawares and Mohawks, Came the Choctaws and Camanches, Came the Shoshonies and Blackfeet, Came the Pawnees and Omawhaws, Came the Mandans and Dacotahs, Came the Hurons and Ojibways, All the warriors drawn together By the signal of the Peace-Pipe, To the Mountains of the Prairie, To the great Red Pipe-stone Quarry. And they stood there on the meadow, With their and their war gear, weapons Painted like the leaves of Autumn, Painted like the sky of morning, |