Poetry Archives

Note: An-pe-tu Sa-pa—Clouded Day—was the name of the Dakota mother who
committed suicide, as related in this legend, by plunging over the Falls
of St. Anthony. Schoolcraft calls her “Ampata Sapa.” Ampata
is not Dakota. There are several versions of this legend, all agreeing in
the main points.

[Read at the celebration of the Old Settlers of Hennepin County, at the
Academy of Music, Minneapolis, July 4, 1879.]


On the Spirit-Island [a] sitting under midnight’s misty moon,
Lo I see the spirits flitting o’er the waters one by one!
Slumber wraps the silent city, and the droning mills are dumb;
One lone whippowil’s shrill ditty calls her mate that ne’er will come.
Sadly moans the mighty river, foaming down the fettered falls,
Where of old he thundered ever o’er abrupt and lofty walls.
Great Unktehee —god of waters—lifts no more his mighty head;—
Fled he with the timid otters?—lies he in the cavern dead?

[a] The small island of rock a few rods below the Falls, was called by the
Dakotas Wanagee We-ta—Spirit-Island. They say the spirit of Anpetu Sapa
sits upon that island at night and pours forth her sorrow in song. They
also say that from time out of mind, war-eagles nested on that island,
until the advent of white men frightened them away. This seems to be true.
Carver’s Travels. London. 1778, p. 71.

Hark!—the waters hush their sighing, and the whippowil her call,
Through the moon-lit mists are flying dusky shadows silent all.
Lo from out the waters foaming—from the cavern deep and dread—
Through the glamour and the gloaming, comes a spirit of the dead.
Sad she seems, her tresses raven on her tawny shoulders rest;

Sorrow on her brow is graven, in her arms a babe is pressed.
Hark!—she chants the solemn story,—sings the legend sad and old,
And the river wrapt in glory listens while the tale is told.
Would you hear the legend olden, hearken while I tell the tale—
Shorn, alas, of many a golden, weird Dakota chant and wail.