Rushing river, Watta-puddel—
Stood the ancient nurse's wigwam,
Stood the wigwam of Marcosset:
Back behind it dark the woods were,
Dark as pitch the woods behind it;
Swift before it rolled the river,
Rolled its torrent ever onward,
Through the long and dismal forests,
Through the mountains and the valleys,
In the sunlight and the moonlight,
Toward the unknown Ponee-rag-bag,
Toward the regions farther downward.
Here Marcosset, ancient female,
Nursed the baby Milkanwatha;
Gave him porridge, gave him catnip,
Gave him pap and water-gruel;
When he fretted, quickly hushed him,
Saying, "Wild-cat, scratch his eyes out." Saying, "Bulldog, bite his toes off;" Put him fast asleep by humming, "Hitta-ka-dink, my duck, my darling,
Who's this with the funny snub-nose,
Snub-nose, so uncommon snubby?
Hitta-ka-dink, my duck, my darling."
Here he, day by day, grew older,
Sat alone upon the door-step,
Heard the summer breezes moaning,
Heard the waters ever plashing,
Sounds unusual and peculiar;
"Tizzarizzen," sighed the breezes—
Splosh-ka-swosh-ky," plashed the river.
Here he saw the Melee-wee-git,
Lightning-bug, the Melee-wee-git,
Saw the Feesh-go-bang, musquito,
Saw Snappo, the pinching-beetle,
Saw the dragon-fly, Snap-peter,
And the flea, too, Sticka-ta-wa-in.
Saw above him, in the heavens,
The Aurora red and glowing-
Wondered what it was that did it-
Said, "What is that there, Marcosset?"
And Marcosset up and answered,
"Once an angry boy I know of,
Took and clutched his uncle To-bee,
Took and pitched him, in the evening,
Up into the starry heavens;
Right against the boulder pavement
Of the Milky-way he pitched him,
And his blood and brains went splashing
Over all the sky around there;
That's what makes them spots upon it
That is why it's called Aurora."*
Saw the dazzling planet Venus
Blushing o'er the dark horizon;
"What is that there, Marcosset?"
And Marcosset up and answered,
"That's the hole your mother fell through, When she tumbled from the plum-treePlum-tree in the planet Venus
Down to Plow-e-tup the cornfield."
*A capital pun upon this word, in the original, is entirely lost in the translation.
And whenever, in the evening,
Brek-e-kex-co-ax, the bull-frog,
Made all kinds of dismal noises,
Milkanwatha, trembling, whispered,
"What an awful noise; what does it?"
And Marcosset up and answered;
""Tis the bull-frog's way of singing,
Singing to another bull-frog
In the marshes and the duck-ponds-
Only that, my Milkanwatha."
So, by slow degrees, it turned out,
That he learned the names of all things,
Of the birds, and beasts, and fishes,
Of the bugs of each description,
How they looked and where they hided,
And their general mode of living;
So he gained from old Marcosset,
Much important information,
Much which we can never know of
In our day and generation—
Our degenerate generation.
Now, about this time, Sumpunkin,
He, the jolly wag, Sumpunkin,
He, the crony of Marcosset,
Made a very stylish blow-gun
For our hero, Milkanwatha;
Made it from a stalk of alder,
From a willow made some arrows-
Little arrows for to blow through-
And each arrow had a pin in.
This he gave to Milkanwatha
For to keep, he said, remarking,
"You must go, my little fellow,
Go into the woods behind here,
Go and kill a pretty squirrel,
Go and kill a rather big one.”
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