Part 21 (2/2)
”Tell them 'The White Crow's Last Flight,'” urged the priest.
But Nicholas was not in the vein, and when they all urged him overmuch, he, in self-defence, pulled a knife out of his pocket and a bit of walrus ivory about the size of his thumb, and fell to carving.
”What you makin'?”
”b.u.t.ton,” says Nicholas; ”me heap hurry get him done.”
”It looks more like a bird than a b.u.t.ton,” remarked the Boy.
”Him bird--him b.u.t.ton,” replied the imperturbable one.
”Half the folk-lore of the North has to do with the crow (or raven),”
the priest went on. ”Seeing Kaviak's feather reminded me of a native cradle-song that's a kind of a story, too. It's been roughly translated.”
”Can you say it?”
”I used to know how it went.”
He began in a deep voice:
”'The wind blows over the Yukon.
My husband hunts deer on the Koyukun mountains.
Ahmi, ahmi, sleep, little one.
There is no wood for the fire, The stone-axe is broken, my husband carries the other.
Where is the soul of the sun? Hid in the dam of the beaver, waiting the spring-time.
Ahmi, ahmi, sleep little one, wake not!
Look not for ukali, old woman.
Long since the cache was emptied, the crow lights no more on the ridge pole.
Long since, my husband departed. Why does he wait in the mountains?
Ahmi, ahmi, sleep little one, softly.
Where, where, where is my own?
Does he lie starving on the hillside? Why does he linger?
Comes he not soon I must seek him among the mountains.
Ahmi, ahmi, little one, sleep sound.
Hus.h.!.+ hus.h.!.+ hus.h.!.+ The crow cometh laughing.
Red is his beak, his eyes glisten, the false one!
”Thanks for a good meal to Kuskokala the Shaman-- On the far mountain quietly lieth your husband.”
Ahmi, ahmi, sleep little one, wake not.
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