his footsteps as the Morning's,
In his hand were buds and blossoms,
On his brow a blooming garland.
Straightway to the icy wigwam
Of old Peboean, the Winter,
Strode Segun and quickly entered.
There old Peboean sat and shivered,
Shivered o'er his dying lodge-fire.

"Ah, my son, I bid you welcome;
Sit and tell me your adventures;
I will tell you of my power;
We will pass the night together."
Thus spake Peboean--the Winter;
Then he filled his pipe and lighted;
Then by sacred custom raised it
To the spirits in the ether;
To the spirits in the caverns
Of the hollow earth he lowered it.
Thus he passed it to the spirits,
And the unseen spirits puffed it.
Next himself old Peboean honored;
Thrice he puffed his pipe and passed it,
Passed it to the handsome stranger.

"Lo I blow my breath," said Winter,
"And the laughing brooks are silent.
Hard as flint become the waters,
And the rabbit runs upon them."

Then Segun, the fair youth, answered:
"Lo, I breathe upon the hillsides,
On the valleys and the meadows,
And behold, as if by magic--
By the magic of the spirits,
Spring the flowers and tender grasses."

Then old Peboean replying:
"Nah![37] I breathe upon the forests,
And the leaves fall sere and yellow;
Then I shake my locks and snow falls,
Covering all the naked landscape."

Then Segun arose and answered:
"_Nashke_![37]--see!--I shake my ringlets;
On the earth the warm rain falleth,
And the flowers look up like children
Glad-eyed from their mother's bosom.
Lo, my voice recalls the robin,
Brings the bobolink and bluebird,
And the woods are full of music.
With my breath I melt their fetters,
And the brooks leap laughing onward."

Then old Peboean looked upon him,
Looked and knew Segun, the Summer,
From his eyes the big tears started
And his boastful tongue was silent.
Now Keezis--the great life-giver,
From his wigwam in Waubu-nong[38]
Rose and wrapped his shining blanket
Round his giant form and started,
Westward started on his journey,
Striding on from hill to hill-top.
Upward then he climbed the ether--
On the Bridge of Stars[39] he traveled,
Westward traveled on his journey
To the far-off Sunset Mountains--
To the gloomy land of shadows.

On the lodge-poles sang the robin--
And the brooks began to murmur.
On the South-wind floated fragrance
Of the early buds and blossoms.
From old Peboean's eyes the tear-drops
Down his pale face ran in streamlets;
Less and less he grew in stature
Till he