Chapter II: The Story of Nipon the Summer

[_Passamaquoddy_]

_Piʿche weligit ēpit
Liwiha Nipon
Metchimiû wikos
Kwihio kizosek._[63]

In the far old time
Lived near the sun
A beautiful woman,
Nipon her name.
Green were her garments
All of fresh leaves.
And with green leaves
And beautiful flowers
She covered her wigwam.

She had a grandmother,
Kʾmēwun, the rain,
Who dwelt far away.
But when she came
To visit her grandchild
One thing she ever
Said ere she left her:
“One thing I bid thee
With hardest warning,
To one thing I bind thee
With a strong will:
Look that thou never
Seek in thy wandering
The Laʿtogwesnuk,
The land of the North:
For there dwells Pûn,
Pûn, the winter;
A deadly foe
Thou wilt surely find him.
Should thy feet fall
In the Laʿtogwesnuk
Thy beauty will leave thee,
Thy green dress fade,
Hair turning gray
Thy strength become weakness.”

Little heed
And scant attention
Gave Nipon
To Kʾmēwun, the rain.
One fair morning
She sat by her wigwam
In the bright sunshine,
And looking afar
At the Laʿtogwesnuk
All that she saw
Seemed strangely lovely
As if enchanted.
No human being
Was in the Northland,
But o’er it all
Was beautiful sunshine;
There she beheld
At a long distance
A wonderful land:
Broad shining lakes,
High blue mountains,
Bright rolling rivers
All strange and sweet.
Something came over her,
She knew not what;
A dream or a voice;
There was no help,
She must rise and go.
Must go to the land
Of Laʿtogwesnuk
Unto the Northland.

Up rose Nipon
Unto the North
Wending her way,
When she heard a voice,
The voice of the Rain
(Though she could not see her),
Kʾmēwun, a-wailing:
“Bide, my daughter!
If thou goest
Unto the Northland
Pûn the winter
Will surely kill thee!”
She heard nothing
Of all the warning,
She could not stay
For a spell was on her;
Ever onward
She went to the North.

For many days,
For many moons,
Still the sun shone,
Still she saw
The beautiful country
Of mountains and rivers,
Until one day
Nipon noted
That as she followed,
The land went onward,
And as she travelled,
It travelled before her.

All around her
Was nothing but sunshine.
Stopping a little
To think of the wonder,
She heard a whisper,
The voice of the Rain:
“Stay, my daughter!”
It made her wilful,
She still went onward;
On to the North.

Still the far country
Went on before her,
And something she never
Had known came o’er her--
She felt the cold!
An unseen power
Now drove her onward;
Will had departed,
Still the mountains
Went on before her;
The green leaves
Of her beautiful garment
Grew yellow and faded,
And were blown away
By the grim wind;
Her long hair
Turned gray and white;
The sun grew dim
And then shone no more;
She was very weak;
The beautiful mountains
Were heaps of snow;
The beautiful rivers
And lakes were of ice--
All in the North.

Kʾmēwun, the Rain,
Was sad in her soul.
She looked afar
No smoke was rising
From Nipon’s wigwam:
“She has not returned,”
Said the Rain-mother,
So in her fear
She went to the wigwam.

All was silent,
The boughs and the flowers
Which covered the wigwam
Were yellow and faded:
“My child!--my child!
Thou art caught at last
By the icy Pûn,
By the wicked winter!
Afar in the North.”

Straight she called for
Her bravest warriors.
The ever-unseen.
These were their names:
Saunésen the south wind,
Wchîpi the east wind,
With Sĕnusóktun
The warming breeze.
Quickly she cried:
“Hasten away
To the Laʿtogwésnuk,
Fight like heroes,
Use all your power
To rescue Nĭpon
From Pûn, the winter,
Fly to the North!”

The wind warriors,
The unseen by man,
Flew like lightning
On their long journey.
As they entered
The Laʿtogwesnuk
Pûn the winter
Felt ill at ease;
He called his chieftains:
Great Laʿtogwĕsin
The terrible north wind,
And the wild north-wester,
The chill north-east wind,
With all the frosts
Sleet-spirits, snow-spirits,
And every child
Of the killing cold
Who dwell in the North.

“Fly!” he cried,
“For our foes are coming!
Up from the Southland,
The home of Summer!”
Even as he spoke
The sweat dropped from him
His face grew thin,
His feet seemed smaller:
“I feel them coming!
Fly to the battle!”

The mighty wind-giants
Flew to the fight,
Great snow-flakes
And heavy hail-stones
Met and melted
With the great rain-drops;
Winds were loud roaring,
Thunder pealing,
Tempest fighting tempest,
Storm against storm;
The drops of sweat
Grew ever bigger
On Pûn’s cheeks;
On Nipon’s head
The hair grew whiter;
Louder and louder
The winds were blowing,
Snow was falling,
Thicker and thicker,
But the driving rain
And the mild south winds
Were ever warmer
And bigger the drops
Grew on Pûn’s face;
His strength had left him.
Down he fell
And in his falling
A leg was broken:

“Lo, I must perish
If this lasts longer,
Set Nipon free!
She it is
Who has brought this trouble
And made this battle.
By my own prisoner
I have been conquered.
Set Nipon free!”

At the word spoken,
Even in the instant,
The winds were silent.
Snow and rain ceased.
Turning her back
To the Laʿtogwesnuk
And Pûn the winter,
Weary Nipon
Set out on her journey.
Old she was, old
As she bore from the North
In her white hair
The hue of its snows,
In her tottering weakness
Its chilling frosts.
Many moons passed,
Still she travelled;
The sun grew warmer,
Days and shadows
Were ever longer;
The air was softer;
Greener and greener
Grew the mountains;
Freer from ice
Rivers were rushing;
Lakes were shining
In the sunlight;
Flowers were unfolding
To the warm breezes.

Weary Nipon
Was weary no longer;
Her heart grew lighter,
Her hair grew darker,
Her face was fairer,
Brighter and younger,
Thus becoming
All she had been
In her early beauty.

Then the butterflies
Knew her again,
And fluttered round her,
And all the flowers
Greeted with perfume
In scent-voices
As she went past.

On she went
To the grandmother’s wigwam,
To old Kʾmēwun.
As she drew near
The clouds grew thicker;
Rain-winds were blowing,
Rain-drops falling,
Showers pelting,
Torrents pouring,
Thunder roaring round:
Still she went on,
Her path lit
By wild lightning,
Till in the midst
Where the clouds were darkest
She found the wigwam
And entered the door.
There as if dying
Lay Kʾmēwun
The ancient Rain-mother,
Weaker and older,
And worn and weary.

“Thou, my daughter!”
She said to Nipon,
“Hast well-nigh killed me!
By disobedience
Thou hast brought suffering
On me and all things.
But for my battle
With Pûn the winter
All life had perished:
Never again though,
While life is in me
Can I venture
On such a struggle!
Be this thy warning!
Else will Pûn,
The cruel winter,
Conquer all things
And ice and snow
For ever and ever
Cover the world.” L.

FOOTNOTES:

[63] Long ago a fair woman named Nipon always lived near the sun.