"These legends (with two or three exceptions) were told to me personally by my honored friend, the late Chief Joe Capilano, of Vancouver, whom I had the privilege of first meeting in London in 1906, when he visited England and was received at Buckingham Palace by their Majesties King Edward VII and Queen Alexandra. To the fact that I was able to greet Chief Capilano in the Chinook tongue, while we were both many thousands of miles from home, I owe the friendship and the confidence which he so freely gave me when I came to reside on the Pacific coast. These legends he told me from time to time, just as the mood possessed him, and he frequently remarked that they had never been revealed to any other English-speaking person save myself."--Author's pref.

Emily Pauline Johnson, who was also known by the Mohawk name Tekahionwake, was a Canadian poet and author born in 1861. Born to a Mohawk father and an English mother, she was known for introducing indigenous culture to a wider North American and European audience. In Legends of Vancouver, perhaps her best-known prose work, Johnson tells stories of the Squamish people, as relayed to her by Chief Joe Capilano, whom she befriended upon moving to Vancouver in 1909. She provides her own framing for these stories, placing them in the context of her relationship with the Squamish people. In 1911, a group of Johnson’s friends collected this series of stories, that had previously been published in the Daily Province, in order to raise funds to support her as she struggled with poverty and health issues. In the intervening years, Legends of Vancouver has become a foundational piece of Vancouver’s literary heritage. This book is part of the Standard Ebooks project, which produces free public domain ebooks.

Emily Pauline Johnson, who was also known by the Mohawk name Tekahionwake, was a Canadian poet and author born in 1861. Born to a Mohawk father and an English mother, she was known for introducing indigenous culture to a wider North American and European audience. In Legends of Vancouver, perhaps her best-known prose work, Johnson tells stories of the Squamish people, as relayed to her by Chief Joe Capilano, whom she befriended upon moving to Vancouver in 1909. She provides her own framing for these stories, placing them in the context of her relationship with the Squamish people. In 1911, a group of Johnson’s friends collected this series of stories, that had previously been published in the Daily Province, in order to raise funds to support her as she struggled with poverty and health issues. In the intervening years, Legends of Vancouver has become a foundational piece of Vancouver’s literary heritage.

A search for the timeless connection to the old world presages a vision of the future in the haunting story of The Lost Island from the Legends of Vancouver, a book inspired by the friendship between a Mohawk poet and a Salish chief and storyteller.

Pauline Johnson was born on the Six Nations Indian Reserve in Ontario to a Mohawk father and an English mother. Legends of Vancouver was originally published around 1910 as a series of newspaper articles based on stories related by Johnson's friend, Chief Joe Capilano of the Squamish people. It is the first collection of native legends retold by a native artist and has become a classic of Canadian literature.

I NEVER saw that land before, And now can never see it again Yet, as if by acquaintance hoar Endeared, by gladness and by pain, Great was the affection that I bore To the valley and the river small, The cattle, the grass, the bare ash trees, The chickens from the farmsteads, all Elm-hidden, and the tributaries Descending at equal interval The blackthorns down along the brook With wounds yellow as crocuses Where yesterday the labourers hook Had sliced them cleanly and the breeze That hinted all and nothing spoke. I neither expected anything Nor yet remembered but some goal I touched then and if I could sing What would not even whisper my sul As I went on my journeying, I should use, as the trees and birds did, A language not to be betrayed And what was hid should still be hid Excepting from those like me made Who answer when such whispers bid. DARK is the forest and deep, and overhead Hang stars like seeds of light In vain, though not since they were sown was bred Anything more bright. And evermore mighty multitudes ride About, nor enter in Of the other multitudes that dwell inside Never yet was one seen. The forest foxglove is purple, the- marguerite Outside is gold and white, Nor can those that pluck either blossom greet The others, day or night. CELANDINE THINKING of her had saddened me at first, Until I saw the sun on the celandines lie Redoubled, and she stood up like a flame, A living thing, not what before I nursed, The shadow I was growing to love almost, The phantom, not the creature with bright eye That I had thought ,never to see, once lost. She found the celandines of February Always before us all. Her nature and name Were like those flowers, and now immediately For a short swift eternity back she came, Beautiful, happy, simply as when she wore Her brightest bloom among the winter hues Of all the world and I was happy too, Seeing the blossoms and the maiden who Had seen them with me Februarys before, Bending to them as in and out she trod And laughed, with locks sweeping the mossy sod. But this was a dream the flowers were not true, Until I stooped to pluck from the grass there One of five petals and I smelt the juice Which made me sigh, remembering she was no more, Gone like a never perfectly recalled air...