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Prairie Smoke

by Melvin R. Gilmore

27 of 47 · Contents · Download EPUB

The Song of the Wild Rose

The following is a translation into English out of the Dakota language by Dr. A. McG. Beede, of an old Dakota song. The people of the Dakota nation, and other tribes also, think of the various plant and animal species as having each their own songs. With these people music, song, is an expression of the soul and not a mere artistic or artful exercise.

Where the word “Mother” appears in the following song it refers to “Mother Earth,” a living, conscious, holy being in Indian thought. The earth was truly venerated and loved by these people, who considered themselves not as owners or potential owners of any part of the land, but as being owned by the land which gave them birth and which supplied their physical needs from her bounty and satisfied their love of the beautiful by the beauty of her face in the landscape.

The trilled musical syllables at the close of the last two stanzas express the spontaneous joy which comes to a person who has “life-appreciation of Holy Earth.”

The first stanza is an introduction by the narrator; not a part of the “Song of the Wild Rose.” The remaining stanzas are the song itself, of the Wild Rose.

I will tell you of something I know,
And you can’t half imagine how good;
It’s the song of wild roses that grow
In the land the Dakota-folk love.

From the heart of the Mother we come,
The kind Mother of Life and of All;
And if ever you think she is dumb,
You should know that flowers are her songs.

And all creatures that live are her songs,
And all creatures that die are her songs,
And the winds blowing by are her songs,
And she wants you to sing all her songs.

Like the purple in Daydawn we come,
And our hearts are so brimful of joy
That whene’er we’re not singing we hum
Ti-li-li-li-i, ta-la-la-loo, ta-la-la-loo!

When a maiden is ready to wed
Pin wild roses all over her dress,
And a rose in the hair of her head;
Put new moccasins onto her feet.

Then the heart of the Mother will give
Her the songs of her own heart to sing;
And she’ll sing all the moons she may live,
Ti-li-li-li-i, ta-la-la-loo, ta-la-la-loo!

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