The Fire Bird

By Gene Stratton-Porter

Long poem about native Americans and their mythology.According to Wikipedia: Gene Stratton-Porter (August 17, 1863 – December 6, 1924) was an American author, amateur naturalist, wildlife photographer, and one of the earliest women to form a movie studio and production company. She wrote some best-selling novels and well-received columns in national magazines, such as McCalls. Her works were translated into several languages, including Braille, and Stratton-Porter was estimated to have had 50 million readers around the world."

• Language: English
• Publisher: Seltzer Books
• Release date: Mar 1, 2018
• ISBN: 9781455430642

Gene Stratton-Porter

Gene Stratton-Porter (1863-1924) was an American author, photographer, and naturalist. Born in Indiana, she was raised in a family of eleven children. In 1874, she moved with her parents to Wabash, Indiana, where her mother would die in 1875. When she wasn’t studying literature, music, and art at school and with tutors, Stratton-Porter developed her interest in nature by spending much of her time outdoors. In 1885, after a year-long courtship, she became engaged to druggist Charles Dorwin Porter, with whom she would have a daughter. She soon grew tired of traditional family life, however, and dedicated herself to writing by 1895. At their cabin in Indiana, she conducted lengthy studies of the natural world, focusing on birds and ecology. She published her stories, essays, and photographs in Outing, Metropolitan, and Good Housekeeping before embarking on a career as a novelist. Freckles (1904) and A Girl of the Limberlost (1909) were both immediate bestsellers, entertaining countless readers with their stories of youth, romance, and survival. Much of her works, fiction and nonfiction, are set in Indiana’s Limberlost Swamp, a vital wetland connected to the Wabash River. As the twentieth century progressed, the swamp was drained and cultivated as farmland, making Stratton-Porter’s depictions a vital resource for remembering and celebrating the region. Over the past several decades, however, thousands of acres of the wetland have been restored, marking the return of countless species to the Limberlost, which for Stratton-Porter was always “a word with which to conjure; a spot wherein to revel.”

Book preview

THE FIRE BIRD BY GENE STRATTON-PORTER

Published by Seltzer Books

established in 1974, now offering over 14,000  books

feedback welcome: [e-mail]

Children's books by Gene Stratton-Porter available from Seltzer Books:

At the Foot of the Rainbow

A Daughter of the Land

The Fire Bird

Freckles

A Girl of the Limberlost

The Harvester

Her Father's Daughter

Laddie: a True Blue Story

Michael O'Halloran

Moths of the Limberlost

The Song of the Cardinal

First published by:

GARDEN CITY, N. Y., AND TORONTO

DOUBLEDAY, PAGE & COMPANY

1922

COPYRIGHT, 1922, BY GENE STRATTON-PORTER

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED, INCLUDING THAT OF TRANSLATION INTO FOREIGN LANGUAGES, INCLUDING THE SCANDINAVIAN

PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES AT THE COUNTRY LIFE PRESS, GARDEN CITY, N. Y.

First Edition

TO EDWARD SHERIFF CURTIS, BLOOD BROTHER TO THE INDIANS BY CEREMONIAL, SPIRIT BROTHER TO HIS FELLOW MEN BY BIRTH

              "Medicine Man, O Medicine Man,

              Make for me a new, a sure medicine

              That will ease my scorched heart

              Of the fire of a flaming red bird

              And take from my tortured hands

              Their burden of moon white lilies."

PART I    THE LOVE DANCE OF PRINCESS YIADA      

PART II    COÜY-OÜY AND MOUNTAIN LION           

PART III   YIADA'S FLIGHT TO THE MANDANAS       

PART I  THE LOVE DANCE OF YIADA

    Medicine Man, O Medicine Man,

    Make for me High Magic.

    I, Yiada, daughter of White Wolf,

    Mighty Chief of the Canawacs,

    Mate of Star Face, Brave of the Mandanas,

    I of your blood, I have said it!

    From the roots of the white toluache lilies

    Make me a strong medicine

    That will drown my scorching spirit-fire

    And empty my hands of their fulness.

    Beat your sacred turtle drums

    Loud and threateningly.

    Drive back to the fear peopled forest

    Of the far and dread Shadow Land

    The flaming ghost of the fire bird

    And the white flower of the still water.

    Heal me of the dread head-sickness

    Like the midsummer madness

    Of foaming-mouthed quiota.

    I, Yiada, proud daughter of the fierce Canawacs,

    I, mate of the Brave, Star Face,

    Chief of a forest of wigwams,

    With ponies like the sands of the sea, have said it.

    Hear me, for the healing of my sickened spirit!

    Where the triumphant blue sea water,

    Sky-gold all day in the slanting sunlight,

    Silver-white in the uncertain moonlight,

    Teases the pale sands of the craggy beaches,

    Lay the lodge of my Father, White Wolf,

    The savage hunter of beast and enemy,

    First at the kill, Chief of great wealth,

    Next in power to the high Sachem,

    Chief of all Chiefs.

    Many were the strong sons

    Who sprang from White Wolf's loins--

    I, Yiada, his one daughter, pride of Falcon Eye,

    His daring chieftainess, from the far Mandanas.

    Tall our wigwams of deer and bear and elk skins,

    Stout our warm lodges of cedar and pine tree,

    Many our robes of beaver and buffalo and marten,

    Heavy our necklaces with cunningly carved beads,

    Polished elk teeth and eagle talons,

    Shining black obsidian and precious blue shell;

    Our war ponies flocking like birds fleeing winter.

    Always for me, the one daughter,

    The warm spot by the storm fire,

    The floating sweet fat from the cooking kettles,

    The first crusty brown cake

    From the smoking red baking stones,

    The clear flowing gold sweet

    From the tall nests of the wood bees;

    The soft sun coloured robe of down fine doeskin

    Embroidered with broad bands of white beads,

    Luring beads of green, and blue, and yellow,

    The red stained singing quills of the porcupine,

    And downy snow white under feathers

    From the breast of the white swan.

    I, first in the picking of the juicy berries

    The fruits of earth and bush,

    Most skilful in the weaving

    Of the bright story baskets,

    Swiftest at embroidering robes of doeskin

    For chieftain or little fatling;

    Leader in the ceremonial dances

    Of the young women of our tribe,

    In