Classic Poem

Hear an ancient Indian legend told in many a lodge of yore
Where the great Mahican-ittuck rolls on Mannahatta's shore;

Where across the silent river frown in furrowed lights and shades
Fire-born basalt, brave with verdure, forest-crowned, the Palisades.

“Know ye why our corn is golden ere the forest breaks in flame?
Why our rivers leap with salmon? Why our woodland stirs with game?

“Children of the Ancient People! over all your home is blest;
For of all the lands beneath him, yours the Manitou loved best.

“High among old hills that knew not council-flare nor hunter's trail
Slept a lake, unrilled though forests crashed before the northern gale;

“For, upon a central island raised, the mystic wigwam stood
Where the Mighty Spirit brooded, planning for his people's good.

“Envious, the Sons of Evil vexed the lake with frightful dreams
Till the billows, white with terror, stormed the isle in torrent streams,

“Forced the gateway of the hills, and headlong to the vale below
Plunged in panic, dashing, tumbling—formed the river that ye know.

“Rose in wrath the Mighty Spirit; caught and bound the evil band;
Spake unto the waves and calmed them; led the river with his hand.

“Where the turbid waters mingled with the brine of ocean waves,
There the Master flung his captives howling down the dismal caves.

“Over them his potent magic reared the massive cliffs that stand
Jailers of the Sons of Evil, wardens of the favored land.

“Through the bitter Moon of Snowshoes, by your lodge-flames crouching warm,
Ye may hear the captives wailing to their brothers of the storm;

“But they may not force their prison; nor may spirit evil-crazed
Ever pass the charmèd ramparts by the hand of God upraised.

“Hail! ye shaggy-breasted Giants, rugged guards of field and glade!
Tempest-quelling, stand forever; matchless, changeless, unafraid!”