I. The Wooing of Manyhoho In the land of Lakes and Mountains By the shores of Derwentwater In the shadow of the pinetree Sat the noble Sneckiwika Fashioning his bow of pinewood, Making arrowheads of slatestone. Idly now his gaze is resting On the gently moving water, Then he spies an object floating Drifting to him on the lakeside. Nothing but a slab of birchbark, Sneckiwika goes to find it, Wading in the crystal water Dries it on his deerskin jerkin. There upon the bark is painted Matchless beauty, captivating. Manyhoho, warrior princess Battledressed in boots of canvas, Daubed in mud from chin to ankle Indian head in pose alarming. Countenance of blazing triumph Heroine of many battles, Many goals and much great cheering, Far across the big sea water In the land of the Ohios In the land of handsome women. Sneckiwika gathers brushwood, Sprinkles herbs and fragrant petals, Lights the fire and lets it smoulder As thus his heart fills up with passion All the spirits spur him onward Move him on to send a signal. Soon the smoke curls in a spiral Through the pinetrees' highest branches Up beyond the eagle's erie Far above the purple mountain. Heart shaped smoke rings ever rising Pledge the troth of Sneckiwika He would woo the warrior beauty He would give her beads of wampum. Far across the big sea-water In the land of the Ohios At the doorway to her wigwam Manyhoho weaves a basket Turquoise beads and grasses twining; Tiring of her hours of handwork Manyhoho scans the distance Far above the great sequoias Spies the smoke of Sneckiwika Signals from beyond the mountains From beyond the big sea water. Long he waits beside the lakeside, Turns his eyes towards the sunset, Cast his sighs upon the East wind. Scanning Catbell's purple summit, Waiting for the maiden's signal, Drinking of the great firewater. Wounded was his pride and manhood, Fierce his countenance and sombre, Sad the mighty Sneckiwika! II. Sneckiwika’s Rival Far across the big sea waters In the land of handsome women Where the ocean leaves its wampum Near the land of the Mohicans By the bay of broken teachests Sits the Wiseowl Eagle Feather Sharpening his blade of whalebone Musing on his harpooned trophies Sipping from his tea of berries From the barrel by his wigwam. Waiting for the great Creator In the land of Lakes and Mountains With every sunset every sunrise Sneckiwicka sets his smoke fire Waiting for the maiden’s answer. Painful is the ache that ailed him Wounded is his pride and manhood. Dreaming of his Manyhoho Daubed with mud from knee to eyebrow Battledressed in boots of canvas Indian head in pose alarming. Sneckiwika needs a potion Medicine to find his truelove. Seeks the Mighty Grouchimanky Drinking of the great firewater From the barrel by his wigwam In the land of fire and thunder Where'er the moccasins are wooden; He has told our Sneckiwika How to woo the warrior princess How she fought her wars beside him On the plain between the mountains. As the days grow long and warmer Birdsong fills the pine tree forests, Overhead the geese are calling, Becks are full of rushing water. There along the pebbled lakeshore Tiny snowdrops greet the springtime. Moons are waxing waning passing - Daffodils are dancing gaily; Words are worth a million visions Skies are blue and blossom bursting! Trees stretch heavy shade below them - Eagle Feather lifts his peace pipe With the coming of the morning; Sees the warming sun ascending, Sees the Beaver moon departing - Slowly brings his eyes to focus At a patch on the horizon Sees it curl towards the heavens Far above the Big Sea Water. Eagle Feather brings his dugout; Climbs inside his cedar vessel, Paddles out to read the signal Telling of the Warrior Maiden, Telling of her matchless beauty - Fills him with a fiery passion. Swiftly now his boat is turning Down the coast and to the sunset Past the land of many waters Past the island of tall wigwams Through the shark infested waters. Suddenly he spots a signal Rising up above the forest From the land of the Ohios. By the land of Handsome Women. "Sneckiwika come and save me I am here and lost without thee. Bored to tears with basket weaving Pining for my life of battle In the land of Lakes and Mountains By the shores of Derwent Water." Thus the mighty Wiseowl Eagle Brings his dugout up the river In the land of the Potomak.........
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