In
short, nothing is wanting but a Homer to build our Iliad material into
"lofty rhyme," or a Scott to weave it into border romance; and as we are
encouraged to look for Scotts and Homers at some future day, it is
manifestly our duty to be recording fleeting traditions and describing
peculiar customs, before the waves of time shall have swept over the
retreating footsteps of the "salvage man," and left us nothing but lake
and forest, mountains and cataracts, out of which to make our poetry
and romance.
The Indians themselves are full of poetry. Their legends embody poetic
fancy of the highest and most adventurous flight; their religious
ceremonies refer to things unseen with a directness which shows how bold
and vivid are their conceptions of the imaginative. The war-song--the
death-song--the song of victory--the cradle-chant--the lament for the
slain--these are the overflowings of the essential poetry of their
untaught souls. Their eloquence is proverbially soaring and figurative;
and in spite of all that renders gross and mechanical their ordinary
mode of marrying and giving in marriage, instances are not rare among
them of love as true, as fiery, and as fatal, as that of the most
exalted hero of romance.
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