Pennell Institute - Whirlpool Yearbook (Gray, ME)

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TILE WITRLPOOL Wampum strings, her lover's totem. Now she wished to paint her pictures Where the rock was smoothest, sheerest, Rising out of Lake Sebago Straight and steep as falls a raindrop. Growing on the rocky terrace, Clinging to its smooth gray edges, Drooped a mass of strong wild grapevines. Touching the vine, she was thinking Wondering if the vine would hold her, Trustingly she stepped upon it, Clinging to its strongest branches. Painted she her lover's wigwam, Then beside the lonely dwelling Painted many other pictures, Now at last all was completed, All was ready for her sweetheart. Now she stood upon the terrace, Gazing at her work completed, Then she went back to the village. There the warriors were preparing For the war with the Algonquins, All their war-gear had been mustered, Mustered ready for departing. And Waneta could not stop them Though she pleaded with her father. But the haughty Indian chieftain Would not listen to his daughter. Passed Waneta to the clif-side And sat down upon the ledges. All was still about the forests And the lake was at its calmest. Soon she shumbered in the quiet, Dropped asleep in the pale moonlight. In the land of dreams she wandered Far away across Sebago, In that other land and country. Now she heard the din of battle. Saw the awfulness of fighting. Then she saw her true young lover, All resplendent in his war-gear, Round his neck were strings of wampum: On his head were eagle feathers.

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TLE WIIRLPOOL Here he told her all his conquests Over bear or other foeman ; First he told her of his wigwam, Then his new Cheemaun for sailing. They were standing thus at twilight, Wh en they heard far in the distance Mingled noises as from feasting At this hour among the Indians. “Tush!” she said. “It is K’chiskotek, The great council-fire, W’chiskotek There will soon be war between us, Twixtimy tribe and the Algonquins.” Late that evening he departed, Went to fight among his people. But he never would forget her, Neer forget his lovely sweetheart, And he cautioned her at leaving, “Come here every eve at twilight, Come and watch for me at twilight, Ior T may be waiting for you, Por my lovely starlight maiden.” True to him, the falling shadows Found her on the cliffs at twilight. As the pale night-sun was rising, Lighting up the limpid waters Of the lovely Lake Sebago, Thus she waited for her lover, While the whip-poor-will, Wawonaissa, Broke the lonesomeness of evening, Thinking, dreaming of the future, There a wondrous thought came to her. Quickly went she to her wigwai, Took her Owlamon, her red paint, Pigment green, and yellow ochre. Then she in the glow of sunset On the terraces of granite Painted many, many pictures. First of all was Mishe-Mokwa, Greatest bear of all the woodlands, Telling of her lover's combat With the great hear of the forests. Then his great Cheemaun for sailing Grew beneath her hands’ strange cunning, a |

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THE WHIRLPOOL Then she saw a brave leap at him From the shelter of a pine tree, Saw him raise his heavy war-club, Then she saw her lover falling, Sinking backward ’mong the bushes. Ah! the awful deed, it woke her! Was it but an idle vision? Yet it troubled and disturbed her, For she felt it was prophetic. Ou the cool gray rock she painted, Drew her true Algonquin’s likeness, Painted there her Indian lover, Painted him as she had seen him, With his many strings of wampuimn And his shining eagle feathers. It was lifelike when ’twas finished, Very best of all her pictures. Then she went back to the wigwam, Waited patiently for evening, Then to seek again the cHil-side There to wait her lover's coming. All the warriors of the village, Were bedecked with gaudy war-paints, Panting, eager for the war-trail. So the braves embarked for battle, And Waneta, always faithful, Sought her clits of many pictures, Heard the ripple of the paddles Die away and lapse in silence, Stood there, watching, watching, waiting With a sinking heart her lover. Then she sought her lover's picture, Gazing at it in the moonlight, Dropped upon the ground beside it, Fell asleep there in the silence. In her dreams she saw Sebago, Deep and lovely Lake Sebago, Saw the blue-green rippling water, Sparkling, shining in the moonlight. Far away on Lake Sebago, Sailing down a path of moonlight Like a long and graceful shadow Came a white canoe and slender.