Long, bright, ribbon of gold, blending, graying,
into the deep blue of a twilight sky, set atop
of a mountain line, rugged irregular ; the breath
of a night wind, soft, uncertain, rustling faintly
across the broad expanse of tree tops ; a thread
of shining white in the valley just below her,
all this Nittany saw and was thankful. Many were
the moons and long, since her warrior went out
to battle. Many were the flocks of wild geese
that had flown northward and southward above her,
and still, he had not returned. Manitou, Manitou
the Mighty, was cruel, and yet-the south wind
grew bolder and kissed her brown cheek, withered
now and old ; the dying light in the west lingered
on her face, kindled answering lights in her eyes,-
another day was gone.
Down in the valley, lived an old warrior and
his squaw. Weak, feeble, scarcely able to grind
the corn or gather the berries which were their
food, they lived alone, the remnant of a people
once great and powerful. Frequently it had happened
that just when the maize they had planted with
so much labor was ready to reap, the north wind
had come, bending the oak trees in his strong
fingers, and had wrested it from them so that
in the long winter there was little to eat. And
this Indian maid, since she was good and kind,
had come down from her hilltop into the valley
when all was dark, and had built a shield for
them against the northwind, a barrier that even
his strong fingers could not break. The old people
saw this with wonder the thing that she had done,
and called her Nittany, which means "wind
breaker."
Then a great sickness came upon her and she died,
and the old warrior and his squaw mourned her,
and all who had known her mourned her ; called
her pious, called her good. And they built a mound
over the place where she lay that her resting
place might be remembered. Then in the night came
the Great Spirit with thunderings and lightnings
; the earth shook, great trees came crashing down
and the people were sore afraid. After a time,
the thunders grew duller and duller, the lightnings
flashed less and less often, and peace, dark,
silent, brooded over the valley. When the dawn
came, the first pale light of morning, the people
came forth and marveled ; for in the place where
they had builded the mound, now rose a great mountain.
And they called it Nittany in honor of her who
was called pious and good.
The snows of many winters had lain on the valley,
many summers have come and gone. A new people
had come up from the southward and taken possession
of the land. Men with white faces had come from
the eastward. There arose among this new people
a great warrior chief named Woap-a-lanne, whom
the men with white faces called Bald Eagle. He
lived in this same broad valley, and he extended
his hunting grounds far to the northward. Brave
was he and led his warriors to victory, and many
were the songs that the singers made in his honor
of his bravery and his daring. Woap-a-lanne loved
his brothers with the pale faces and made treaties
with them and bartered with them under a great
pine tree which still is standing. And when the
time came that he should go to the Happy Hunting
Grounds, even the white men mourned him and in
his honor named mountains and valleys and even
the creek that flowed thru his native valley with
his name.
And again many snows and rains came. The people
of Woap-a-lanne, they of the tribe of Lenni-Lenape
grew fewer and fewer ; the white brothers came
and took their hunting grounds ; and their mountains
and valleys saw them no more. Then in this broad
valley, there rose the Great Mother, not of men
but of minds of men. To her came the young men
from many miles, and she taught them the wisdom
of times past, taught them the use of tools, taught
them the art of working. With her teaching was
the sweetness, the gentleness, the goodness of
Nittany, and into their hearts she instilled the
bravery, the courage of Woap-a-lanne. And her
sons went out into the world and worked with the
arts she had taught them and brought back to her,
honor and glory. The world knew them; for in their
minds was the gentleness of Nittany, in their
hearts, was the strength of Woap-a-lanne.
From
Penn State La Vie 1916
Pages 23 - 24
Source:
The Penn State Life: 100+ Years of La Vie
https://secureapps.libraries.psu.edu/content/lavie/1910s.html
