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[88]

II. the Bashaba1

Lift we the twilight curtains of the Past,
     And, turning from familiar sight and sound,
Sadly and full of reverence let us cast
     A glance upon Tradition's shadowy ground,
Led by the few pale lights which, glimmering round
     That dim, strange land of Eld, seem dying fast;
And that which history gives not to the eye,
     The faded coloring of Time's tapestry,
Let Fancy, with her dream-dipped brush, supply.

Roof of bark and walls of pine,
     Through whose chinks the sunbeams shine,
Tracing many a golden line
     On the ample floor within;
Where, upon that earth-floor stark,
     Lay the gaudy mats of bark,
With the bear's hide, rough and dark,
     And the red-deer's skin,

Window-tracery, small and slight,
     Woven of the willow white,
Lent a dimly checkered light;
     And the night-stars glimmered down,
Where the lodge-fire's heavy smoke,
     Slowly through an opening broke,
In the low roof, ribbed with oak,
     Sheathed with hemlock brown.

Gloomned behind the changeless shade
     By the solemn pine-wood made;
Through the rugged palisade,
     In the open foreground planted, [89]
Glimpses came of rowers rowing,
     Stir of leaves and wild-flowers blowing,
Steel-like gleams of water flowing,
     In the sunlight slanted.

Here the mighty Bashaba
     Held his long-unquestioned sway,
From the White Hills, far away,
     To the great sea's sounding shore;
Chief of chiefs, his regal word
     All the river Sachems heard,
At his call the war-dance stirred,
     Or was still once more.

There his spoils of chase and war,
     Jaw of wolf and black bear's paw,
Panther's skin and eagle's claw,
     Lay beside his axe and bow;
And, adown the roof-pole hung,
     Loosely on a snake-skin strung,
In the smoke his scalp-locks swung
     Grimly to and fro.

Nightly down the river going,
     Swifter was the hunter's rowing,
When he saw that lodge-fire glowing
     O'er the waters still and red;
And the squaw's dark eye burned brighter,
     And she drew her blanket tighter,
As, with quicker step and lighter,
     From that door she fled.

For that chief had magic skill,
     And a Panisee's dark will, [90]
Over powers of good and ill,
     Powers which bless and powers which ban;
Wizard lord of Pennacook,
     Chiefs upon their war-path shook,
When they met the steady look
     Of that wise dark man.

Tales of him the gray squaw told,
     When the winter night-wind cold
Pierced her blanket's thickest fold,
     And her fire burned low and small,
Till the very child abed,
     Drew its bear-skin over head,
Shrinking from the pale lights shed
     On the trembling wall.

All the subtle spirits hiding
     Under earth or wave, abiding
In the caverned rock, or riding
     Misty clouds or morning breeze;
Every dark intelligence,
     Secret soul, and influence
Of all things which outward sense
     Feels, or hears, or sees,—

These the wizard's skill confessed,
     At his bidding banned or blessed,
Stormful woke or lulled to rest
     Wind and cloud, and fire and flood;
Burned for him the drifted snow,
     Bade through ice fresh lilies blow,
And the leaves of summer grow
     Over winter's wood!

[91] Not untrue that tale of old!
     Now, as then, the wise and bold
All the powers of Nature hold
     Subject to their kingly will;
From the wondering crowds ashore,
     Treading life's wild waters o'er,
As upon a marble floor,
     Moves the strong man still.

Still, to such, life's elements
     With their sterner laws dispense,
And the chain of consequence
     Broken in their pathway lies;
Time and change their vassals making,
     Flowers from icy pillows waking,
Tresses of the sunrise shaking
     Over midnight skies.

Still, to th' earnest soul, the sun
     Rests on towered Gibeon,
And the moon of Ajalon
     Lights the battle-grounds of life;
To his aid the strong reverses
     Hidden powers and giant forces,
And the high stars, in their courses,
     Mingle in his strife!

1 Bashaba was the name which the Indians of New England gave to two or three of their principal chiefs, to whom all their inferior sagamores acknowledged allegiance. Passaconaway seems to have been one of these chiefs. His residence was at Pennacook. (mass. Hist. Coll., vol. III. pp. 21, 22.) ‘he was regarded,’ says Hubbard, ‘as a great sorcerer, and his fame was widely spread. It was said of him that he could cause a green leaf to grow in winter, trees to dance, water to burn, etc. He was, undoubtedly, one of those shrewd and powerful men whose achievements are always regarded by a barbarous people as the result of supernatural aid. The Indians gave to such the names of Powahs or Panisees.’

‘the Panisees are men of great courage and wisdom, and to these the Devill appeareth more familiarly than to others.’ —Winslow's Relation.

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