A CHIPPEWA LEGEND by James Russell Lowell: Summary, Meaning & Analysis
A dying Chippewa chief asks his two older children to take care of their little brother Sheemah, but one by one, they leave him to return to their tribe.
The poem
[Greek: algeina men moi kaalegein estin tade, algos de sigan.] AESCHYLUS, _Prom. Vinct._ 197, 198. For the leading incidents in this tale I am indebted to the very valuable _Algic Researches_ of Henry R. Schoolcraft, Esq. J.R.L. The old Chief, feeling now wellnigh his end, Called his two eldest children to his side, And gave them, in few words, his parting charge! 'My son and daughter, me ye see no more; The happy hunting-grounds await me, green With change of spring and summer through the year: But, for remembrance, after I am gone, Be kind to little Sheemah for my sake: Weakling he is and young, and knows not yet To set the trap, or draw the seasoned bow; 10 Therefore of both your loves he hath more need, And he, who needeth love, to love hath right; It is not like our furs and stores of corn, Whereto we claim sole title by our toil, But the Great Spirit plants it in our hearts, And waters it, and gives it sun, to be The common stock and heritage of all: Therefore be kind to Sheemah, that yourselves May not be left deserted in your need.' Alone, beside a lake, their wigwam stood, 20 Far from the other dwellings of their tribe: And, after many moons, the loneliness Wearied the elder brother, and he said, 'Why should I dwell here far from men, shut out From the free, natural joys that fit my age? Lo, I am tall and strong, well skilled to hunt, Patient of toil and hunger, and not yet Have seen the danger which I dared not look Full in the face; what hinders me to be A mighty Brave and Chief among my kin?' 30 So, taking up his arrows and his bow, As if to hunt, he journeyed swiftly on, Until he gained the wigwams of his tribe, Where, choosing out a bride, he soon forgot, In all the fret and bustle of new life, The little Sheemah and his father's charge. Now when the sister found her brother gone, And that, for many days, he came not back, She wept for Sheemah more than for herself; For Love bides longest in a woman's heart, 40 And flutters many times before he flies, And then doth perch so nearly, that a word May lure him back to his accustomed nest; And Duty lingers even when Love is gone, Oft looking out in hope of his return; And, after Duty hath been driven forth, Then Selfishness creeps in the last of all, Warming her lean hands at the lonely hearth, And crouching o'er the embers, to shut out Whatever paltry warmth and light are left, 50 With avaricious greed, from all beside. So, for long months, the sister hunted wide, And cared for little Sheemah tenderly; But, daily more and more, the loneliness Grew wearisome, and to herself she sighed, 'Am I not fair? at least the glassy pool, That hath no cause to flatter, tells me so; But, oh, how flat and meaningless the tale, Unless it tremble on a lover's tongue! Beauty hath no true glass, except it be 60 In the sweet privacy of loving eyes.' Thus deemed she idly, and forgot the lore Which she had learned of nature and the woods, That beauty's chief reward is to itself, And that Love's mirror holds no image long Save of the inward fairness, blurred and lost Unless kept clear and white by Duty's care. So she went forth and sought the haunts of men, And, being wedded, in her household cares, Soon, like the elder brother, quite forgot 70 The little Sheemah and her father's charge. But Sheemah, left alone within the lodge, Waited and waited, with a shrinking heart, Thinking each rustle was his sister's step, Till hope grew less and less, and then went out, And every sound was changed from hope to fear. Few sounds there were:--the dropping of a nut, The squirrel's chirrup, and the jay's harsh scream, Autumn's sad remnants of blithe Summer's cheer, Heard at long intervals, seemed but to make 80 The dreadful void of silence silenter. Soon what small store his sister left was gone, And, through the Autumn, he made shift to live On roots and berries, gathered in much fear Of wolves, whose ghastly howl he heard ofttimes, Hollow and hungry, at the dead of night. But Winter came at last, and, when the snow, Thick-heaped for gleaming leagues o'er hill and plain, Spread its unbroken silence over all, Made bold by hunger, he was fain to glean 90 (More sick at heart than Ruth, and all alone) After the harvest of the merciless wolf, Grim Boaz, who, sharp-ribbed and gaunt, yet feared A thing more wild and starving than himself; Till, by degrees, the wolf and he grew friends, And shared together all the winter through. Late in the Spring, when all the ice was gone, The elder brother, fishing in the lake, Upon whose edge his father's wigwam stood, Heard a low moaning noise upon the shore: 100 Half like a child it seemed, half like a wolf, And straightway there was something in his heart That said, 'It is thy brother Sheemah's voice.' So, paddling swiftly to the bank, he saw, Within a little thicket close at hand, A child that seemed fast clinging to a wolf, From the neck downward, gray with shaggy hair, That still crept on and upward as he looked. The face was turned away, but well he knew That it was Sheemah's, even his brother's face. 110 Then with his trembling hands he hid his eyes, And bowed his head, so that he might not see The first look of his brother's eyes, and cried, 'O Sheemah! O my brother, speak to me! Dost thou not know me, that I am thy brother? Come to me, little Sheemah, thou shall dwell With me henceforth, and know no care or want!' Sheemah was silent for a space, as if 'T were hard to summon up a human voice, And, when he spake, the voice was as a wolf's: 120 'I know thee not, nor art thou what thou say'st; I have none other brethren than the wolves, And, till thy heart be changed from what it is, Thou art not worthy to be called their kin.' Then groaned the other, with a choking tongue, 'Alas! my heart is changed right bitterly; 'Tis shrunk and parched within me even now!' And, looking upward fearfully, he saw Only a wolf that shrank away, and ran, Ugly and fierce, to hide among the woods. 130
A dying Chippewa chief asks his two older children to take care of their little brother Sheemah, but one by one, they leave him to return to their tribe. Sheemah endures a harsh winter alone, eventually becoming half-wolf. When the elder brother finally returns and pleads for forgiveness, Sheemah has already changed too much — he vanishes into the woods as a wolf, leaving his brother with nothing but guilt.
Line-by-line
The old Chief, feeling now wellnigh his end, / Called his two eldest children to his side,
Alone, beside a lake, their wigwam stood, / Far from the other dwellings of their tribe:
Now when the sister found her brother gone, / And that, for many days, he came not back,
But Sheemah, left alone within the lodge, / Waited and waited, with a shrinking heart,
Late in the Spring, when all the ice was gone, / The elder brother, fishing in the lake,
Tone & mood
The tone remains mournful and morally serious, but it avoids being preachy or heavy-handed. Lowell conveys a steady, quiet sadness, much like someone sharing a cautionary tale they truly believe in. There’s a sense of tenderness toward Sheemah, paired with a clear-eyed, almost clinical disappointment in the two older siblings — it’s not about rage, but rather sorrow at how ordinary selfishness can lead to extraordinary harm. The ending strikes with a cold finality that feels deserved rather than punitive.
Symbols & metaphors
- The wolf — The wolf begins as a threat — the hollow, hungry howl that Sheemah dreads in the dark — and ultimately becomes his only family. This change shows that when a child is entirely let down by the human community, the wild takes its place. The wolf isn't portrayed as evil here; it’s just what’s left when love fades away.
- The wigwam beside the lake — The isolated lodge reflects the family's responsibilities and their vulnerability. Its distance from the tribe amplifies the siblings' departure, leaving them without neighbors or a safety net. The lake also serves as the place where the elder brother returns and confronts his turning point.
- The gray fur creeping upward — Sheemah's physical transformation — wolf-fur spreading from his neck upward as his brother looks on — shows just how long he was left alone. The fur isn’t some kind of supernatural punishment; it's the body marking the toll of abandonment.
- The common stock of love — The dying chief's metaphor — love as a shared crop planted by the Great Spirit, rather than a private possession earned through hard work — serves as the poem's moral core. The siblings view love as something they can take away and use elsewhere, reflecting the very mistake the chief cautioned against.
- Winter and silence — Winter is more than just a season here; it embodies the feeling of abandonment. The snow's 'unbroken silence' reflects the quiet of the siblings who never come back. Sheemah's ability to endure winter shows just how much he had to transform into something beyond human.
Historical context
James Russell Lowell published this poem in the 1840s, drawing on Henry Rowe Schoolcraft's *Algic Researches* (1839), one of the first major collections of Native American oral traditions recorded by a non-Native scholar. Schoolcraft collected stories from Ojibwe (Chippewa) communities around the Great Lakes, and his work—filtered through a 19th-century lens—provided American poets like Lowell and Longfellow with access to Indigenous narrative traditions. At just twenty-something, Lowell wrote this poem, already dedicated to the abolitionist cause and interested in moral poetry that drew from non-European sources. The Greek epigraph from Aeschylus ("It is painful for me to speak of these things, and painful to be silent") indicates that Lowell viewed the story as a true tragedy, not merely an exotic curiosity. The poem is part of a tradition of American Romantic verse that aimed to seriously engage with Indigenous life, though it always came through the perspective of a white, classically educated poet.
FAQ
A dying chief asks his two older children to look after their little brother, Sheemah. However, both siblings eventually leave him behind to follow their own paths. Sheemah endures a harsh winter by living with wolves, gradually becoming more wolf-like himself. When the elder brother returns and pleads for forgiveness, Sheemah — now almost unrecognizable as human — turns him away and vanishes into the forest.
Both, really. The poem reflects the Ojibwe oral tradition it draws from, where changing between human and animal is a genuine narrative possibility, not merely a figure of speech. At the same time, Lowell makes the transformation feel psychologically justified — Sheemah takes on wolf-like traits because he had to live as one. You can interpret it either way, and the poem remains cohesive.
Because the brother's remorse arrives too late to repair the damage. Sheemah has already lost his human connections — language, family, identity — after years spent in isolation. The poem candidly acknowledges the limits of apology: saying sorry doesn’t bring back what neglect has taken away. Sheemah isn't being cruel; he just no longer has a self that fits into the human world.
The lines come from Aeschylus's *Prometheus Bound* and translate to: 'It is painful for me to speak of these things, and painful to be silent.' Lowell conveys that this is a true tragedy — a narrative that causes pain to share yet needs to be shared. He subtly positions an Indigenous American story alongside ancient Greek drama in terms of moral significance.
The chief argues that love isn’t something you can treat like property — you don’t earn it through hard work, and you can’t keep it all to yourself. It’s a gift from the Great Spirit, meant for everyone in the community. The siblings go against this belief by pulling their love away from Sheemah and focusing it solely on their own new families.
Lowell delves deeper into the sister's psychology, depicting her prolonged struggle—she searches for Sheemah for months before finally giving up. He outlines how love transforms into duty, and then how duty shifts into selfishness. In contrast, the brother simply walks away. The sister's decline is more gradual and relatable, which somehow makes it even more heartbreaking.
He states this clearly in his prefatory note: Henry Rowe Schoolcraft's *Algic Researches* (1839) is a collection of Ojibwe oral traditions. Schoolcraft collected these stories from Indigenous communities around the Great Lakes. A decade later, Longfellow drew from the same source for *The Song of Hiawatha*.
It suggests that family obligations don't just disappear when they become inconvenient. Both siblings have relatable reasons for leaving — feelings of loneliness, a yearning for companionship, and the allure of adult life — and the poem acknowledges that these reasons are significant. However, it emphasizes that the consequences of pursuing those desires, especially when a dependent child is left behind, are devastating and cannot be undone.