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 Entered acronUng to Act of Purl ia men t of Canada, in the year one thousand e'^bt 
 hundred and eiglity-five by J. Tmeo. Robinson, in the office of tlie Minister 
 of Agriculture. 
 
 .1. THKO. [{OUINSOK, PlUNTKH, VONItlKAt, 
 
A CRY FROM THE SASKATCHEWAN 
 
 My pale-face brothers, I am no longer young 
 
 And hot of blood like the young buffalo 
 
 Seeking a foe. The wind, long winters past, 
 
 Tliat rocked the cedar and pine that made your cradles, 
 
 Cooled my breast and drifted snow-flakes in my hair. 
 
 More than a thousand moons I've seen take shape, 
 
 Like to fair slender daughters of your race, 
 
 That love rounds into perfect symmetry. 
 
 Yes ! I am old, and soon shall lay me down, 
 
 And calmly wait the unseen messengers 
 
 Who will clasp my hands and make me young again, 
 
 And bear me to wide plains, and forests deep. 
 
 That shall for ever bud and blossom untilled. 
 
 brothers, I have ever been your friend, 
 
 1 have not sat within the Shabandoan 
 
 In moody silence, when the barking dogs 
 
 Told me some stranger to my race appeared. 
 
 Nay ! I have arisen, and come witli open hands 
 
 To meet him, and make him welcome to my fire, 
 
 And laid the fairest matting for his rest. 
 
 And with these hands that knew not how to serve, 
 
Have I prepared the best that stream or plain 
 Could yield, to satisfy his hungered lips. 
 Upon these withered hands is there a stain 
 Of the bright life-blood of your favoured race ? 
 Ay, one, and only one. It is a tale 
 So short it scarce can weary. 
 
 He came to us, 
 Lost, frozen, starving, and I said, " Son, 
 Whether there be scant or plenty you shall share." 
 And all the native skill I had to cure 
 The ills and accidents that do befall my people, 
 I lavished on him ; and he lived with us. 
 And all the arts, that you call rude, he learned. 
 His hand could set the snare, could carve the pipe, 
 Could bend the bark to the swan-breasted craft ; 
 Could dip its cedar wing in the treacherous waves 
 Of giddy rapids, and bring it safely curving 
 Up the swift-backing eddy, where he could poise 
 His spear a moment, like a fatal shaft 
 From the Great Spirit's quiver ; then strike and lift 
 With one continuous unerring motion, 
 From tlie blood-dabbled wave, the river chieftain. 
 All this, and more, these lips and hands of mine 
 Taught him, as though he were my llesh and blood. 
 
 One child I had, more than the rest I loved. 
 Her mother's latest love and pain and joy, 
 Made sacred by the life-blood of that mother, 
 Splashed on its little face on wild dark night 
 
1^ 
 I 
 
 When my tribe's deadly foe came down on us. 
 
 She grew like the red willow swaying in the wind, 
 
 As lithe, as strong, as supple. Oh ! her lips 
 
 Were like the rich frost-darkened berry unplucked ; 
 
 Her eyes, such as I've seen when suddenly, 
 
 In the deep winding of a forest trail, 
 
 In early spring I have mot a startled doe 
 
 Wandering alone — I could not wing a shaft — 
 
 The same sweet eyes in wonder, fear and love. 
 
 He left us to go eastward to his ])eople. 
 And come again when our long, pointed shoes 
 Would make swift knifelike slashes on the bo.soms 
 ( )f glistening snow-drifts. But, when he was gone, 
 I found her moaning near the river bank. 
 And gazing in the wateis and drawing nigher, 
 And looking over into a foaming pool 
 Where once I saw whirl for a moment, and crush, 
 A bark canoe, and a great chieftain's arms 
 Thrown upward, ami then pass away for ever. 
 
 I caught her arm and looked witiiin her eyes, 
 And they were like her mother's, when Hr.^t .slie knew 
 A .son of hers might some day go to batth; ; 
 Except that these swam with cloud-shadowed tears, 
 And those with drops that glisteiieil in the sun. 
 
I said no word ; but to her brothers' care 
 
 I gave her. Then with quiver full, and tomahawk. 
 
 And hunting knife keen-edged, alone I weAt 
 
 More swiftly than a winged arrow, or flight 
 
 Of soutiiern-ftying crane ; upon his trail. 
 
 And he had travelled with a coward heart 
 
 That lent swift wings unto his flying feet ; 
 
 But mine were borne by hurricanes of hate. 
 
 An. I on the second day, as I presswd through 
 
 The last thick willow growtli of a great swamp, 
 
 There stood he, a score of bow lengths from my liand. 
 
 His ear had caught tlie sound of breaking stems, 
 
 And turning fuM about, liis swart face grew 
 
 Like a last summer's sapless sun-dried leaf ; 
 
 While round t\\t' haft of a knife that once was mine, 
 
 His fingers made a quick convulsive clasp, 
 
 That proved hira traitor. J was in no mood 
 
 To even the odds of fight that favoured me. 
 
 I flashed a long, barbed arrow from the sheath, 
 
 And running forward, set it in the string. 
 
 And drew it, with the strength of NTaua, to tlie liead ; 
 
 But all too madly, for like a withered rush. 
 
 The bow snapt, and the barb drew back and tore 
 
 A furrow in my hand that spurted blood. 
 
 He gave a mocking laugh, for now the odds 
 
 Were even, and he was young and broad and strong. 
 
 I stopped not ; had the arrow sped aright, 
 
 I think my blade would have drink blood as soon. 
 
 He made a blow or guard, I know not what. 
 
But I was l)lown upon liim like 'a pinn 
 Reft from a mountain, and hf. fell without a cry. 
 I tore the hleeiliuLj tropliy froia iiis head, 
 And turned me back unto my desolate camp. 
 
 The sun was j^oinjf down behind the Iiills, 
 
 As I strode to my wigwam. Enterinj^j tiiere 
 
 1 found lier sitting, rocking to and fro 
 
 And chanting over a charm of beads and shells. 
 
 She looked up witli lips parted like one athirst. 
 
 1 knew not wliat I did, for still I raged, 
 
 And tiirowing down the tuft of bloody hair 
 
 Nigh to her, then paced me to the door, 
 
 And turning, said, luilf fiercely : " Minnota ! Child ! 
 
 A lock of lover's hair I bring you back." 
 
 She was my race, my blood in very trutli I 
 She made no moan, nor cry, nor any sign 
 Of her intent ; but reaching slowly out, 
 Picked up the shrivelling skin and gazed at it 
 For one long moment ; then, into my eyes ; 
 Then let slip back, from her shining shoulders 
 That were red golden with a shaft of flame 
 Shot from the hills, the blanket that was caught 
 Across her bosom, and with her left hand laid 
 The lock beneath the swelling of her ripening breast, 
 And swinging her right arm with a swift flash, 
 Pinned it there with a bright blade, and felt back. 
 
Slijill I tell you more < Say, tliere is no more. 
 
 Tlie sun of my life went down Iteliind tiiosi; hills, 
 
 And left me nothin«i; l)ut twilight and <lark nij,djt. 
 
 Oil ! 1 was like a mountainside liereft 
 
 Of its fresh verdure Ity a summer frost. 
 
 I planned a terrilde reven;^'e for this, 
 
 That would have swollen a river hi^di with Mood ; 
 
 But once, a motherless infant of your race 
 
 Smiled in my face and turned me from my purpose. 
 
 And thus, O my white i»rotliers, I have not 
 
 l)one one of all your race a single wron«;. 
 
 How many of your race have injured mine, 
 
 How many of mine have made a red return, 
 
 1 know not, but that wrongs for ever cry. 
 
 But I am old and guided not by passion, 
 
 And I have striven to learn and know your ways. 
 
 I have loved many of you, as I loved my own ; 
 
 And I would ray race could at a simple bound, 
 
 Leap the great ocean of change that you have crossed 
 
 Alter a thousand years of buffetings. 
 
 I know of your traditions but an ecluj. 
 
 Yet if it be the truth, it tells me this : 
 
 That you have come through gradual years of change 
 
 To commune now with strange mysterious powers, 
 
 From the high pinacle where I see you stand. 
 
 Like a long journey from tiie Eastern plain 
 
 For ever rising higher to the West, 
 
Until Mie moiuitains lilt tlicir he.itls into tlio sky, 
 And see for evor the jijoMon si<le.s ot'clomls. 
 I would thai we could stand Iteside you there ; 
 Rut the way is lon^' ami weary to our feet ; 
 And we must rest upon a thorn and slopes 
 Before we touch the mountains where you stand. 
 
 U, my white brother, you have wron;^'ed us much — 
 
 Mayhap unwittingly, yet are we wronged. 
 
 Does not the glancing arrow from a l^rother's bow 
 
 Bury its fang as cevp within the breast, 
 
 As if a vengeful arm Ijad strained the sinew ^ 
 
 But there are those who hate us — I know not why- 
 
 Whose lives seem nothing but a violent iiate 
 
 Of all things time and custom have made revered ; 
 
 And others, who say they truly pity us. 
 
 But that we idly stand upon the way 
 
 Of a great something that they call progress, 
 
 That like the shrieking, tire-breathing demon, 
 
 That drags your luxury across the earth, 
 
 Mangles the child that wondering stands to gaze. 
 
 Far back before my earliest memory, 
 Before my father's, came people of your race, 
 With twofold object. Some there came to trade 
 And give in barter for fur-coated skins, 
 
8 
 
 Clothing and food, and swift death- breathing weapons, 
 And deftly fashioned snares, whereby we brought 
 Great store of wealth and happiness to them; 
 Who gave us value as we counted worth. 
 
 And there came others garmented in black, 
 Who sought no recompense for what they gave. 
 They told us of a new God, and his Son 
 Who died that we might live forever anew, 
 In some fair after-life. 
 
 And those who bought 
 Our beaver-skins were also of this faith, 
 And we believed them and were satisfied. 
 And there came many who joined their lives with ours, 
 Who brought from you some learning of your race. 
 Who caught from us the love of boundless freedom, 
 And these two races side by side, perchance, 
 Were walking slowly towards your higher life. 
 
 ^% 
 
 
 Yet, I can see not that the new belief 
 Is better or purer than the one we held. 
 We worshipped one great, everlasting Spirit, 
 Who, like a chief, ruled lands beyond the grave : 
 We strove to quell within the throbbing breast. 
 All trembling fear, and fit ourselves to join 
 In the heart-lifting dangers that our fathers 
 Rejoice to combat in the happy hunting grounds. 
 
 I 
 
We taught a stern creed, giving blood for blood. 
 Blood for a broken word : it was the one, 
 The only final penalty for all wrong. 
 The culprit was not hedged and fenced about 
 With laws so nicely intertwined and balanced, 
 That each might counteract and dull the efl'ect 
 Of the other. Nor any new law made we, 
 Tagged like a new line to a rotten one. 
 Which latter, breaking at the ravelled Haw, 
 Gives freedom to the captive struggling fish : 
 Our laws were simple with full, swift effect. 
 
 And now I think you weary of and chafe 
 Against the doctrines that you taught us first. 
 The doctrines of your gentle, peace-loving Christ, 
 Who wore upon his brow a crown of thorns. 
 And you have made yourselves another Christ, 
 Tliis Progress, crowned with iron, and fire and gokl ; 
 And all who will not turn and follow him. 
 Must go down beneath his iron feet, and die. 
 
 I 
 
 I 
 
 There came a time when many of your race 
 Builded their wigwams along the eastern rim 
 Of our great prairie that stretches like a world : 
 Built on the fertile bank of a broad stream. 
 And there were many there wiio joined with us 
 As others had before. And so we lived in peace. 
 
10 
 
 ) " 
 
 Then came a day, when we were told that these, 
 
 Our own true brothers bound to us by blood, 
 
 Had risen against you, and broken some new fetter 
 
 That you had made to bind them to one spot, 
 
 But you had ever spoken kind words to us, 
 
 And so we lifted not a hand to strike. 
 
 And you picked up the broken fetter that fell, 
 
 And welded it for those who fled not west. 
 
 But your new Christ followed, and followed, and followed. 
 
 And then, at last, you came unto our doors. 
 
 Gorgeous in dress of crimson and blue and gold, 
 
 And held out to us, on sharp points of steel, 
 
 A treaty by which we madly gave to you 
 
 Our fair illimitable hunting ground; 
 
 And got a scant meal, that leaves the belly starved. 
 
 And a small plot where we may make our graves. 
 
 I know but little of your past traditions ; 
 But I have heard, that for a thousand years 
 Your people have been skilled in making treaties 
 And keeping them — if thereby you profited. 
 my white brothers, glad am I this arm 
 Is weak, and that my blood is slow and cold ; 
 For I have smoked with you the pipe of peace, 
 And I have taken your hand within my own. 
 And called you my white brother and my friend : 
 
) ^ 
 
 11 
 
 Si) will I die and violate it not. 
 
 But my eyes are opened, and though very dim, 
 
 See both together, the future and the past. 
 
 4 
 
 Why did you come not to us at first and say, 
 
 " My brothers, in our land beyond the waters, ' 
 
 Our wives and children gasp for the pure air 
 
 In crowded wigwams ; and the chiefs who rule, 
 
 Would bind a starving beggar if he dared 
 
 To fill his cavernous belly with the food 
 
 That his own hand had slain upon the hills " 
 
 Why came you not to us, saying openly : 
 
 " Give us some portion of your boundless plains, 
 
 Your forests, lakes and streams ; and we will come 
 
 And build a nation by your side, and teach 
 
 Your children what they care to learn of us ; 
 
 And draw the limit line that shall divide 
 
 Our people from your people, our land from yours — 
 
 Only to mark the ownership — for our hands 
 
 Will stretch across to yours, and our grateful hearts 
 
 Will ever be with you in your wandering camps. 
 
 Would we have turned yo from us? 1 trow not. 
 
 Have we not given you all, for leave to die. 
 
 1 know not of myself; but one of my race 
 
 Who learned the signs and symbols of your tongue, 
 
 Told me that in those great leaves of knowledge 
 
12 
 
 Scattered, each sun, abroad among your people, 
 There are many burning and ungrateful words, 
 Calling us a useless and a dying race, 
 That soon must pass and leave the land to you. 
 
 Yes I my brothers, we are a dying race. 
 Dying of the very poison that you brought 
 And bartered with us for our native wealtli. 
 Then turned you homeward to warm luxury, 
 Leaving us stretched upon the frozen plain — 
 Dying of the diseases, O my brothers ! 
 That you have brought into our stainless blood. 
 
 Hark ! O my brothers, I hear a cry, a shriek, 
 And there are crimson stains upon the snow. 
 There will be pools of blood in the spring grass. 
 See, the half-brothers of my blood once more 
 Have broken their fetters, and set the arrow straight, 
 And drawn it to the head — I hear it sing — 
 Stand back ! or many of your race will weep. 
 
 I have no part in this, I am too old ; 
 
 But I have many sons, and their sons sons. 
 
 I know not whether they will cast themselves 
 
 Upon the glittering edge of strife, and die. 
 
 Like their forefathers in the golden past ; 
 
 Or whether they will fold their hands and sicken, 
 
 And drop like rotting branches, one by one. 
 
13 
 
 Iff 
 
 I see the cloud that blackens in the East, 
 
 I hear the murmur of the coming storm 
 
 Of blinding hail borne on a pitiless wind. 
 
 But, my brothers, the storm winds of these plains, 
 
 Blow not one way alone, but turn and whirl, 
 
 Sweeping; from you to me, then back again, 
 
 And smiting every face with their wild hands. 
 
 And this storm shall rage forward and ]>ackward, 
 
 And jagged lightning strike all sides alike. 
 
 Oh I the Ocean will thirst for the cool, fresh rivers, 
 
 For the streams will be salt with the tears of women.