ng from the Land of Shades, a
spirit from the happy fishing grounds beyond the lake of storms, and ran
into the woods like startled deer. And this was his song:

SONG OF THE MAN-FISH.

I live in the depths of brine,
Where grows the green grass slim and tall,
Among the coral rocks;
And I drink of their crystal streams, and eat
The year-old whale, and the mew;
And I ride along the dark blue waves
On the sportive dolphin's back;
And I sink to rest in the fathomless caves,
Beyond the sea-shark's track.

I hide my head, in the pitiless storm,
In caverns dark and deep;
My couch of ooze is pleasant and warm,
And soft and sweet my sleep.
I rise again when the winds are still,
And the waves have sunk to rest,
And call, with my conch-shell, strong and shrill,
My mate to the Salt Lake's breast.

"And there he would sit for hours, his fish-legs coiled up under him,
singing to the wondering ears of the Indians upon the shore the
pleasures he experienced, and the beautiful and strange things he saw,
in the depths of the ocean, always closing his strange stories with
these words, shouted at the top of his lungs: "Follow me, and see what I
will show you!" Every day, when the waves were still, and the winds had
gone to their resting-place in the depths of the earth(1), to get sleep
that they might come out refreshed for their race over the green vales
and meadows, the monster was sure to be seen near the shore where our
tribe dwelt. For a great many suns, they dared not adventure upon the
water in quest of food, doing nothing but wander along the beach,
watching the strange creature as he played his antics upon the surface
of the waves, and listening to his charming songs, and to his
invitation, "Follow me, and see what I will show you!" But the longer he
stayed, the less they feared him. They became used to him, and as, the
oftener the tiger glares upon you from the thicket, the oftener you hear
the whoop of death, the more you come to despise them, so in time they
began to think him a spirit who was neither made for harm, nor wished to
injure the poor Indian. Then they grew hungry, and their wives and
little ones cried for food. And as hunger does away all fear, except
that which relates to the satisfying it, in a few days three canoes,
with many men and warriors, no longer decorated with war-paint, no
longer armed with bows and arrows and sharp spears,