{"collection":"myth-cosmogony","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_19/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_19","id":"gutenberg_19","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/19","summary":null,"tags":["Category: American Literature","Category: Mythology, Legends & Folklore","Category: Poetry","Children's Literature","Hiawatha, active 15th century -- Poetry","Indians of North America -- Poetry","Iroquois Indians -- Kings and rulers -- Poetry","Native America","Poetry"],"text":"The Song of Hiawatha\n\nHenry W. Longfellow\n\n\nCONTENTS\n\n Introductory Note\n Introduction\n I. The Peace-Pipe\n II. The Four Winds\n III. Hiawatha\u2019s Childhood\n IV. Hiawatha and Mudjekeewis\n V. Hiawatha\u2019s Fasting\n VI. Hiawatha\u2019s Friends\n VII. Hiawatha\u2019s Sailing\n VIII. Hiawatha\u2019s Fishing\n IX. Hiawatha and the Pearl-Feather\n X. Hiawatha\u2019s Wooing\n XI. Hiawatha\u2019s Wedding-Feast\n XII. The Son of the Evening Star\n XIII. Blessing the Corn-Fields\n XIV. Picture-Writing\n XV. Hiawatha\u2019s Lamentation\n XVI. Pau-Puk-Keewis\n XVII. The Hunting of Pau-Puk-Keewis\n XVIII. The Death of Kwasind\n XIX. The Ghosts\n XX. The Famine\n XXI. The White Man\u2019s Foot\n XXII. Hiawatha\u2019s Departure\n Vocabulary\n\n\n\n\nIntroductory Note\n\n\nThe Song of Hiawatha is based on the legends and stories of many North\nAmerican Indian tribes, but especially those of the Ojibway Indians of\nnorthern Michigan, Wisconsin, and Minnesota. They were collected by\nHenry Rowe Schoolcraft, the reknowned historian, pioneer explorer, and\ngeologist. He was superintendent of Indian affairs for Michigan from\n1836 to 1841.\n\nSchoolcraft married Jane, O-bah-bahm-wawa-ge-zhe-go-qua (The Woman of\nthe Sound Which the Stars Make Rushing Through the Sky), Johnston. Jane\nwas a daughter of John Johnston, an early Irish fur trader, and\nO-shau-gus-coday-way-qua (The Woman of the Green Prairie), who was a\ndaughter of Waub-o-jeeg (The White Fisher), who was Chief of the\nOjibway tribe at La Pointe, Wisconsin.\n\nJane and her mother are credited with having researched, authenticated,\nand compiled much of the material Schoolcraft included in his Algic\nResearches (1839) and a revision published in 1856 as The Myth of\nHiawatha. It was this latter revision that Longfellow used as the basis\nfor The Song of Hiawatha.\n\nLongfellow began Hiawatha on June 25, 1854, he completed it on March\n29, 1855, and it was published November 10, 1855. As soon as the poem\nwas published its popularity was assured. However, it also was severely\ncriticized as a plagiary of the Finnish epic poem Kalevala. Longfellow\nmade no secret of the fact that he had used the meter of the Kalevala;\nbut as for the legends, he openly gave credit to Schoolcraft in his\nnotes to the poem.\n\nI would add a personal note here. My father\u2019s roots include Ojibway\nIndians: his mother, Margaret Caroline Davenport, was a daughter of\nSusan des Carreaux, O-gee-em-a-qua (The Chief Woman), Davenport whose\nmother was a daughter of Chief Waub-o-jeeg. Finally, my mother used to\nrock me to sleep reading portions of Hiawatha to me, especially:\n\n\u201cWah-wah-taysee, little fire-fly,\nLittle, flitting, white-fire insect\nLittle, dancing, white-fire creature,\nLight me with your little candle,\nEre upon my bed I lay me,\nEre in sleep I close my eyelids!\u201d\n\nWoodrow W. Morris\nApril 1, 1991\n\n\n\n\nThe Song of Hiawatha\n\n\n\n\nIntroduction\n\n\nShould you ask me, whence these stories?\nWhence these legends and traditions,\nWith the odors of the forest\nWith the dew and damp of meadows,\nWith the curling smoke of wigwams,\nWith the rushing of great rivers,\nWith their frequent repetitions,\nAnd their wild reverberations\nAs of thunder in the mountains?\n\nI should answer, I should tell you,\n\u201cFrom the forests and the prairies,\nFrom the great lakes of the Northland,\nFrom the land of the Ojibways,\nFrom the land of the Dacotahs,\nFrom the mountains, moors, and fen-lands\nWhere the heron, the Shuh-shuh-gah,\nFeeds among the reeds and rushes.\nI repeat them as I heard them\nFrom the lips of Nawadaha,\nThe musician, the sweet singer.\u201d\n\nShould you ask where Nawadaha\nFound these songs so wild and wayward,\nFound these legends and traditions,\nI should answer, I should tell you,\n\u201cIn the bird\u2019s-nests of the forest,\nIn the lodges of the beaver,\nIn the hoofprint of the bison,\nIn the eyry of the eagle!\n\n\u201cAll the wild-fowl sang them to him,\nIn the moorlands and the fen-lands,\nIn the melancholy marshes;\nChetowaik, the plover, sang them,\nMahng, the loon, the wild-goose, Wawa,\nThe blue heron, the Shuh-shuh-gah,\nAnd the grouse, the Mushkodasa!\u201d\n\nIf still further you should ask me,\nSaying, \u201cWho was Nawadaha?\nTell us of this Nawadaha,\u201d\nI should answer your inquiries\nStraightway in such words as follow.\n\n\u201cIn the vale of Tawasentha,\nIn the green and silent valley,\nBy the pleasant water-courses,\nDwelt the singer Nawadaha.\nRound about the Indian village\nSpread the meadows and the corn-fields,\nAnd beyond them stood the forest,\nStood the groves of singing pine-trees,\nGreen in Summer, white in Winter,\nEver sighing, ever singing.\n\n\u201cAnd the pleasant water-courses,\nYou could trace them through the valley,\nBy the rushing in the Spring-time,\nBy the alders in the Summer,\nBy the white fog in the Autumn,\nBy the black line in the Winter;\nAnd beside them dwelt the singer,\nIn the vale of Tawasentha,\nIn the green and silent valley.\n\n\u201cThere he sang of Hiawatha,\nSang the Song of Hiawatha,\nSang his wondrous birth and being,\nHow he prayed and how he fasted,\nHow he lived, and toiled, and suffered,\nThat the tribes of men might prosper,\nThat he might advance his people!\u201d\n\nYe who love the haunts of Nature,\nLove the sunshine of the meadow,\nLove the shadow of the forest,\nLove the wind among the branches,\nAnd the rain-shower and the snow-storm,\nAnd the rushing of great rivers\nThrough their palisades of pine-trees,\nAnd the thunder in the mountains,\nWhose innumerable echoes\nFlap like eagles in their eyries;--\nListen to these wild traditions,\nTo this Song of Hiawatha!\n\nYe who love a nation\u2019s legends,\nLove the ballads of a people,\nThat like voices from afar off\nCall to us to pause and listen,\nSpeak in tones so plain and childlike,\nScarcely can the ear distinguish\nWhether they are sung or spoken;--\nListen to this Indian Legend,\nTo this Song of Hiawatha!\n\nYe whose hearts are fresh and simple,\nWho have faith in God and Nature,\nWho believe that in all ages\nEvery human heart is human,\nThat in even savage bosoms\nThere are longings, yearnings, strivings\nFor the good they comprehend not,\nThat the feeble hands and helpless,\nGroping blindly in the darkness,\nTouch God\u2019s right hand in that darkness\nAnd are lifted up and strengthened;--\nListen to this simple story,\nTo this Song of Hiawatha!\n\nYe, who sometimes, in your rambles\nThrough the green lanes of the country,\nWhere the tangled barberry-bushes\nHang their tufts of crimson berries\nOver stone walls gray with mosses,\nPause by some neglected graveyard,\nFor a while to muse, and ponder\nOn a half-effaced inscription,\nWritten with little skill of song-craft,\nHomely phrases, but each letter\nFull of hope and yet of heart-break,\nFull of all the tender pathos\nOf the Here and the Hereafter;\nStay and read this rude inscription,\nRead this Song of Hiawatha!\n\n\n\n\nI\nThe Peace-Pipe\n\n\nOn the Mountains of the Prairie,\nOn the great Red Pipe-stone Quarry,\nGitche Manito, the mighty,\nHe the Master of Life, descending,\nOn the red crags of the quarry\nStood erect, and called the nations,\nCalled the tribes of men together.\n\nFrom his footprints flowed a river,\nLeaped into the light of morning,\nO\u2019er the precipice plunging downward\nGleamed like Ishkoodah, the comet.\nAnd the Spirit, stooping earthward,\nWith his finger on the meadow\nTraced a winding pathway for it,\nSaying to it, \u201cRun in this way!\u201d\n\nFrom the red stone of the quarry\nWith his hand he broke a fragment,\nMoulded it into a pipe-head,\nShaped and fashioned it with figures;\nFrom the margin of the river\nTook a long reed for a pipe-stem,\nWith its dark green leaves upon it;\nFilled the pipe with bark of willow,\nWith the bark of the red willow;\nBreathed upon the neighboring forest,\nMade its great boughs chafe together,\nTill in flame they burst and kindled;\nAnd erect upon the mountains,\nGitche Manito, the mighty,\nSmoked the calumet, the Peace-Pipe,\nAs a signal to the nations.\n\nAnd the smoke rose slowly, slowly,\nThrough the tranquil air of morning,\nFirst a single line of darkness,\nThen a denser, bluer vapor,\nThen a snow-white cloud unfolding,\nLike the tree-tops of the forest,\nEver rising, rising, rising,\nTill it touched the top of heaven,\nTill it broke against the heaven,\nAnd rolled outward all around it.\n\nFrom the Vale of Tawasentha,\nFrom the Valley of Wyoming,\nFrom the groves of Tuscaloosa,\nFrom the far-off Rocky Mountains,\nFrom the Northern lakes and rivers\nAll the tribes beheld the signal,\nSaw the distant smoke ascending,\nThe Pukwana of the Peace-Pipe.\n\nAnd the Prophets of the nations\nSaid: \u201cBehold it, the Pukwana!\nBy the signal of the Peace-Pipe,\nBending like a wand of willow,\nWaving like a hand that beckons,\nGitche Manito, the mighty,\nCalls the tribes of men together,\nCalls the warriors to his council!\u201d\n\nDown the rivers, o\u2019er the prairies,\nCame the warriors of the nations,\nCame the Delawares and Mohawks,\nCame the Choctaws and Camanches,\nCame the Shoshonies and Blackfeet,\nCame the Pawnees and Omahas,\n\nCame the Mandans and Dacotahs,\nCame the Hurons and Ojibways,\nAll the warriors drawn together\nBy the signal of the Peace-Pipe,\nTo the Mountains of the Prairie,\nTo the great Red Pipe-stone Quarry,\n\nAnd they stood there on the meadow,\nWith their weapons and their war-gear,\nPainted like the leaves of Autumn,\nPainted like the sky of morning,\nWildly glaring at each other;\nIn their faces stern defiance,\nIn their hearts the feuds of ages,\nThe hereditary hatred,\nThe ancestral thirst of vengeance.\n\nGitche Manito, the mighty,\nThe creator of the nations,\nLooked upon them with compassion,\nWith paternal love and pity;\nLooked upon their wrath and wrangling\nBut as quarrels among children,\nBut as feuds and fights of children!\n\nOver them he stretched his right hand,\nTo subdue their stubborn natures,\nTo allay their thirst and fever,\nBy the shadow of his right hand;\nSpake to them with voice majestic\nAs the sound of far-off waters,\nFalling into deep abysses,\nWarning, chiding, spake in this wise:\n\n\u201cO my children! my poor children!\nListen to the words of wisdom,\nListen to the words of warning,\nFrom the lips of the Great Spirit,\nFrom the Master of Life, who made you!\n\n\u201cI have given you lands to hunt in,\nI have given you streams to fish in,\nI have given you bear and bison,\nI have given you roe and reindeer,\nI have given you brant and beaver,\nFilled the marshes full of wild-fowl,\nFilled the rivers full of fishes:\nWhy then are you not contented?\nWhy then will you hunt each other?\n\n\u201cI am weary of your quarrels,\nWeary of your wars and bloodshed,\nWeary of your prayers for vengeance,\nOf your wranglings and dissensions;\nAll your strength is in your union,\nAll your danger is in discord;\nTherefore be at peace henceforward,\nAnd as brothers live together.\n\n\u201cI will send a Prophet to you,\nA Deliverer of the nations,\nWho shall guide you and shall teach you,\nWho shall toil and suffer with you.\nIf you listen to his counsels,\nYou will multiply and prosper;\nIf his warnings pass unheeded,\nYou will fade away and perish!\n\n\u201cBathe now in the stream before you,\nWash the war-paint from your faces,\nWash the blood-stains from your fingers,\nBury your war-clubs and your weapons,\nBreak the red stone from this quarry,\nMould and make it into Peace-Pipes,\nTake the reeds that grow beside you,\nDeck them with your brightest feathers,\nSmoke the calumet together,\nAnd as brothers live henceforward!\u201d\n\nThen upon the ground the warriors\nThrew their cloaks and shirts of deer-skin,\nThrew their weapons and their war-gear,\nLeaped into the rushing river,\nWashed the war-paint from their faces.\nClear above them flowed the water,\nClear and limpid from the footprints\nOf the Master of Life descending;\nDark below them flowed the water,\nSoiled and stained with streaks of crimson,\nAs if blood were mingled with it!\n\nFrom the river came the warriors,\nClean and washed from all their war-paint;\nOn the banks their clubs they buried,\nBuried all their warlike weapons.\nGitche Manito, the mighty,\nThe Great Spirit, the creator,\nSmiled upon his helpless children!\n\nAnd in silence all the warriors\nBroke the red stone of the quarry,\nSmoothed and formed it into Peace-Pipes,\nBroke the long reeds by the river,\nDecked them with their brightest feathers,\nAnd departed each one homeward,\nWhile the Master of Life, ascending,\nThrough the opening of cloud-curtains,\nThrough the doorways of the heaven,\nVanished from before their faces,\nIn the smoke that rolled around him,\nThe Pukwana of the Peace-Pipe!\n\n\n\n\nII\nThe Four Winds\n\n\n\u201cHonor be to Mudjekeewis!\u201d\nCried the warriors, cried the old men,\nWhen he came in triumph homeward\nWith the sacred Belt of Wampum,\nFrom the regions of the North-Wind,\nFrom the kingdom of Wabasso,\nFrom the land of the White Rabbit.\n\nHe had stolen the Belt of Wampum\nFrom the neck of Mishe-Mokwa,\nFrom the Great Bear of the mountains,\nFrom the terror of the nations,\nAs he lay asleep and cumbrous\nOn the summit of the mountains,\nLike a rock with mosses on it,\nSpotted brown and gray with mosses.\n\nSilently he stole upon him\nTill the red nails of the monster\nAlmost touched him, almost scared him,\nTill the hot breath of his nostrils\nWarmed the hands of Mudjekeewis,\nAs he drew the Belt of Wampum\nOver the round ears, that heard not,\nOver the small eyes, that saw not,\nOver the long nose and nostrils,\nThe black muffle of the nostrils,\nOut of which the heavy breathing\nWarmed the hands of Mudjekeewis.\n\nThen he swung aloft his war-club,\nShouted loud and long his war-cry,\nSmote the mighty Mishe-Mokwa\nIn the middle of the forehead,\nRight between the eyes he smote him.\n\nWith the heavy blow bewildered,\nRose the Great Bear of the mountains;\nBut his knees beneath him trembled,\nAnd he whimpered like a woman,\nAs he reeled and staggered forward,\nAs he sat upon his haunches;\nAnd the mighty Mudjekeewis,\nStanding fearlessly before him,\nTaunted him in loud derision,\nSpake disdainfully in this wise:\n\n\u201cHark you, Bear! you are a coward;\nAnd no Brave, as you pretended;\nElse you would not cry and whimper\nLike a miserable woman!\nBear! you know our tribes are hostile,\nLong have been at war together;\nNow you find that we are strongest,\nYou go sneaking in the forest,\nYou go hiding in the mountains!\nHad you conquered me in battle\nNot a groan would I have uttered;\nBut you, Bear! sit here and whimper,\nAnd disgrace your tribe by crying,\nLike a wretched Shaugodaya,\nLike a cowardly old woman!\u201d\n\nThen again he raised his war-club,\nSmote again the Mishe-Mokwa\nIn the middle of his forehead,\nBroke his skull, as ice is broken\nWhen one goes to fish in Winter.\nThus was slain the Mishe-Mokwa,\nHe the Great Bear of the mountains,\nHe the terror of the nations.\n\n\u201cHonor be to Mudjekeewis!\u201d\nWith a shout exclaimed the people,\n\u201cHonor be to Mudjekeewis!\nHenceforth he shall be the West-Wind,\nAnd hereafter and forever\nShall he hold supreme dominion\nOver all the winds of heaven.\nCall him no more Mudjekeewis,\nCall him Kabeyun, the West-Wind!\u201d\n\nThus was Mudjekeewis chosen\nFather of the Winds of Heaven.\nFor himself he kept the West-Wind,\nGave the others to his children;\nUnto Wabun gave the East-Wind,\nGave the South to Shawondasee,\nAnd the North-Wind, wild and cruel,\nTo the fierce Kabibonokka.\n\nYoung and beautiful was Wabun;\nHe it was who brought the morning,\nHe it was whose silver arrows\nChased the dark o\u2019er hill and valley;\nHe it was whose cheeks were painted\nWith the brightest streaks of crimson,\nAnd whose voice awoke the village,\nCalled the deer, and called the hunter.\n\nLonely in the sky was Wabun;\nThough the birds sang gayly to him,\nThough the wild-flowers of the meadow\nFilled the air with odors for him;\nThough the forests and the rivers\nSang and shouted at his coming,\nStill his heart was sad within him,\nFor he was alone in heaven.\n\nBut one morning, gazing earthward,\nWhile the village still was sleeping,\nAnd the fog lay on the river,\nLike a ghost, that goes at sunrise,\nHe beheld a maiden walking\nAll alone upon a meadow,\nGathering water-flags and rushes\nBy a river in the meadow.\n\nEvery morning, gazing earthward,\nStill the first thing he beheld there\nWas her blue eyes looking at him,\nTwo blue lakes among the rushes.\nAnd he loved the lonely maiden,\nWho thus waited for his coming;\nFor they both were solitary,\nShe on earth and he in heaven.\n\nAnd he wooed her with caresses,\nWooed her with his smile of sunshine,\nWith his flattering words he wooed her,\nWith his sighing and his singing,\nGentlest whispers in the branches,\nSoftest music, sweetest odors,\nTill he drew her to his bosom,\nFolded in his robes of crimson,\nTill into a star he changed her,\nTrembling still upon his bosom;\nAnd forever in the heavens\nThey are seen together walking,\nWabun and the Wabun-Annung,\nWabun and the Star of Morning.\n\nBut the fierce Kabibonokka\nHad his dwelling among icebergs,\nIn the everlasting snow-drifts,\nIn the kingdom of Wabasso,\nIn the land of the White Rabbit.\nHe it was whose hand in Autumn\nPainted all the trees with scarlet,\nStained the leaves with red and yellow;\nHe it was who sent the snow-flake,\nSifting, hissing through the forest,\nFroze the ponds, the lakes, the rivers,\nDrove the loon and sea-gull southward,\nDrove the cormorant and curlew\nTo their nests of sedge and sea-tang\nIn the realms of Shawondasee.\n\nOnce the fierce Kabibonokka\nIssued from his lodge of snow-drifts\nFrom his home among the icebergs,\nAnd his hair, with snow besprinkled,\nStreamed behind him like a river,\nLike a black and wintry river,\nAs he howled and hurried southward,\nOver frozen lakes and moorlands.\n\nThere among the reeds and rushes\nFound he Shingebis, the diver,\nTrailing strings of fish behind him,\nO\u2019er the frozen fens and moorlands,\nLingering still among the moorlands,\nThough his tribe had long departed\nTo the land of Shawondasee.\n\nCried the fierce Kabibonokka,\n\u201cWho is this that dares to brave me?\nDares to stay in my dominions,\nWhen the Wawa has departed,\nWhen the wild-goose has gone southward,\nAnd the heron, the Shuh-shuh-gah,\nLong ago departed southward?\nI will go into his wigwam,\nI will put his smouldering fire out!\u201d\n\nAnd at night Kabibonokka,\nTo the lodge came wild and wailing,\nHeaped the snow in drifts about it,\nShouted down into the smoke-flue,\nShook the lodge-poles in his fury,\nFlapped the curtain of the door-way.\nShingebis, the diver, feared not,\nShingebis, the diver, cared not;\nFour great logs had he for firewood,\nOne for each moon of the winter,\nAnd for food the fishes served him.\nBy his blazing fire he sat there,\nWarm and merry, eating, laughing,\nSinging, \u201cO Kabibonokka,\nYou are but my fellow-mortal!\u201d\n\nThen Kabibonokka entered,\nAnd though Shingebis, the diver,\nFelt his presence by the coldness,\nFelt his icy breath upon him,\nStill he did not cease his singing,\nStill he did not leave his laughing,\nOnly turned the log a little,\nOnly made the fire burn brighter,\nMade the sparks fly up the smoke-flue.\n\nFrom Kabibonokka\u2019s forehead,\nFrom his snow-besprinkled tresses,\nDrops of sweat fell fast and heavy,\nMaking dints upon the ashes,\nAs along the eaves of lodges,\nAs from drooping boughs of hemlock,\nDrips the melting snow in spring-time,\nMaking hollows in the snow-drifts.\n\nTill at last he rose defeated,\nCould not bear the heat and laughter,\nCould not bear the merry singing,\nBut rushed headlong through the door-way,\nStamped upon the crusted snow-drifts,\nStamped upon the lakes and rivers,\nMade the snow upon them harder,\nMade the ice upon them thicker,\nChallenged Shingebis, the diver,\nTo come forth and wrestle with him,\nTo come forth and wrestle naked\nOn the frozen fens and moorlands.\n\nForth went Shingebis, the diver,\nWrestled all night with the North-Wind,\nWrestled naked on the moorlands\nWith the fierce Kabibonokka,\nTill his panting breath grew fainter,\nTill his frozen grasp grew feebler,\nTill he reeled and staggered backward,\nAnd retreated, baffled, beaten,\nTo the kingdom of Wabasso,\nTo the land of the White Rabbit,\nHearing still the gusty laughter,\nHearing Shingebis, the diver,\nSinging, \u201cO Kabibonokka,\nYou are but my fellow-mortal!\u201d\n\nShawondasee, fat and lazy,\nHad his dwelling far to southward,\nIn the drowsy, dreamy sunshine,\nIn the never-ending Summer.\nHe it was who sent the wood-birds,\nSent the robin, the Opechee,\nSent the bluebird, the Owaissa,\nSent the Shawshaw, sent the swallow,\nSent the wild-goose, Wawa, northward,\nSent the melons and tobacco,\nAnd the grapes in purple clusters.\n\nFrom his pipe the smoke ascending\nFilled the sky with haze and vapor,\nFilled the air with dreamy softness,\nGave a twinkle to the water,\nTouched the rugged hills with smoothness,\nBrought the tender Indian Summer\nTo the melancholy north-land,\nIn the dreary Moon of Snow-shoes.\n\nListless, careless Shawondasee!\nIn his life he had one shadow,\nIn his heart one sorrow had he.\nOnce, as he was gazing northward,\nFar away upon a prairie\nHe beheld a maiden standing,\nSaw a tall and slender maiden\nAll alone upon a prairie;\nBrightest green were all her garments,\nAnd her hair was like the sunshine.\n\nDay by day he gazed upon her,\nDay by day he sighed with passion,\nDay by day his heart within him\nGrew more hot with love and longing\nFor the maid with yellow tresses.\nBut he was too fat and lazy\nTo bestir himself and woo her.\nYes, too indolent and easy\nTo pursue her and persuade her;\nSo he only gazed upon her,\nOnly sat and sighed with passion\nFor the maiden of the prairie.\n\nTill one morning, looking northward,\nHe beheld her yellow tresses\nChanged and covered o\u2019er with whiteness,\nCovered as with whitest snow-flakes.\n\u201cAh! my brother from the North-land,\nFrom the kingdom of Wabasso,\nFrom the land of the White Rabbit!\nYou have stolen the maiden from me,\nYou have laid your hand upon her,\nYou have wooed and won my maiden,\nWith your stories of the North-land!\u201d\n\nThus the wretched Shawondasee\nBreathed into the air his sorrow;\nAnd the South-Wind o\u2019er the prairie\nWandered warm with sighs of passion,\nWith the sighs of Shawondasee,\nTill the air seemed full of snow-flakes,\nFull of thistle-down the prairie,\nAnd the maid with hair like sunshine\nVanished from his sight forever;\nNever more did Shawondasee\nSee the maid with yellow tresses!\n\nPoor, deluded Shawondasee!\n\u2019T was no woman that you gazed at,\n\u2019T was no maiden that you sighed for,\n\u2019T was the prairie dandelion\nThat through all the dreamy Summer\nYou had gazed at with such longing,\nYou had sighed for with such passion,\nAnd had puffed away forever,\nBlown into the air with sighing.\nAh! deluded Shawondasee!\n\nThus the Four Winds were divided\nThus the sons of Mudjekeewis\nHad their stations in the heavens,\nAt the corners of the heavens;\nFor himself the West-Wind only\nKept the mighty Mudjekeewis.\n\n\n\n\nIII\nHiawatha\u2019s Childhood\n\n\nDownward through the evening twilight,\nIn the days that are forgotten,\nIn the unremembered ages,\nFrom the full moon fell Nokomis,\nFell the beautiful Nokomis,\nShe a wife, but not a mother.\n\nShe was sporting with her women,\nSwinging in a swing of grape-vines,\nWhen her rival the rejected,\nFull of jealousy and hatred,\nCut the leafy swing asunder,\nCut in twain the twisted grape-vines,\nAnd Nokomis fell affrighted\nDownward through the evening twilight,\nOn the Muskoday, the meadow,\nOn the prairie full of blossoms.\n\u201cSee! a star falls!\u201d said the people;\n\u201cFrom the sky a star is falling!\u201d\n\nThere among the ferns and mosses,\nThere among the prairie lilies,\nOn the Muskoday, the meadow,\nIn the moonlight and the starlight,\nFair Nokomis bore a daughter.\nAnd she called her name Wenonah,\nAs the first-born of her daughters.\nAnd the daughter of Nokomis\nGrew up like the prairie lilies,\nGrew a tall and slender maiden,\nWith the beauty of the moonlight,\nWith the beauty of the starlight.\n\nAnd Nokomis warned her often,\nSaying oft, and oft repeating,\n\u201cOh, beware of Mudjekeewis,\nOf the West-Wind, Mudjekeewis;\nListen not to what he tells you;\nLie not down upon the meadow,\nStoop not down among the lilies,\nLest the West-Wind come and harm you!\u201d\n\nBut she heeded not the warning,\nHeeded not those words of wisdom,\nAnd the West-Wind came at evening,\nWalking lightly o\u2019er the prairie,\nWhispering to the leaves and blossoms,\nBending low the flowers and grasses,\nFound the beautiful Wenonah,\nLying there among the lilies,\nWooed her with his words of sweetness,\nWooed her with his soft caresses,\nTill she bore a son in sorrow,\nBore a son of love and sorrow.\n\nThus was born my Hiawatha,\nThus was born the child of wonder;\nBut the daughter of Nokomis,\nHiawatha\u2019s gentle mother,\nIn her anguish died deserted\nBy the West-Wind, false and faithless,\nBy the heartless Mudjekeewis.\n\nFor her daughter long and loudly\nWailed and wept the sad Nokomis;\n\u201cOh that I were dead!\u201d she murmured,\n\u201cOh that I were dead, as thou art!\nNo more work, and no more weeping,\nWahonowin! Wahonowin!\u201d\n\nBy the shores of Gitche Gumee,\nBy the shining Big-Sea-Water,\nStood the wigwam of Nokomis,\nDaughter of the Moon, Nokomis.\nDark behind it rose the forest,\nRose the black and gloomy pine-trees,\nRose the firs with cones upon them;\nBright before it beat the water,\nBeat the clear and sunny water,\nBeat the shining Big-Sea-Water.\n\nThere the wrinkled old Nokomis\nNursed the little Hiawatha,\nRocked him in his linden cradle,\nBedded soft in moss and rushes,\nSafely bound with reindeer sinews;\nStilled his fretful wail by saying,\n\u201cHush! the Naked Bear will hear thee!\u201d\nLulled him into slumber, singing,\n\u201cEwa-yea! my little owlet!\nWho is this, that lights the wigwam?\nWith his great eyes lights the wigwam?\nEwa-yea! my little owlet!\u201d\n\nMany things Nokomis taught him\nOf the stars that shine in heaven;\nShowed him Ishkoodah, the comet,\nIshkoodah, with fiery tresses;\nShowed the Death-Dance of the spirits,\nWarriors with their plumes and war-clubs,\nFlaring far away to northward\nIn the frosty nights of Winter;\nShowed the broad white road in heaven,\nPathway of the ghosts, the shadows,\nRunning straight across the heavens,\nCrowded with the ghosts, the shadows.\n\nAt the door on summer evenings\nSat the little Hiawatha;\nHeard the whispering of the pine-trees,\nHeard the lapping of the waters,\nSounds of music, words of wonder;\n\u201cMinne-wawa!\u201d said the Pine-trees,\n\u201cMudway-aushka!\u201d said the water.\n\nSaw the fire-fly, Wah-wah-taysee,\nFlitting through the dusk of evening,\nWith the twinkle of its candle\nLighting up the brakes and bushes,\nAnd he sang the song of children,\nSang the song Nokomis taught him:\n\u201cWah-wah-taysee, little fire-fly,\nLittle, flitting, white-fire insect,\nLittle, dancing, white-fire creature,\nLight me with your little candle,\nEre upon my bed I lay me,\nEre in sleep I close my eyelids!\u201d\n\nSaw the moon rise from the water\nRippling, rounding from the water,\nSaw the flecks and shadows on it,\nWhispered, \u201cWhat is that, Nokomis?\u201d\nAnd the good Nokomis answered:\n\u201cOnce a warrior, very angry,\nSeized his grandmother, and threw her\nUp into the sky at midnight;\nRight against the moon he threw her;\n\u2019T is her body that you see there.\u201d\n\nSaw the rainbow in the heaven,\nIn the eastern sky, the rainbow,\nWhispered, \u201cWhat is that, Nokomis?\u201d\nAnd the good Nokomis answered:\n\u201c\u2019T is the heaven of flowers you see there;\nAll the wild-flowers of the forest,\nAll the lilies of the prairie,\nWhen on earth they fade and perish,\nBlossom in that heaven above us.\u201d\n\nWhen he heard the owls at midnight,\nHooting, laughing in the forest,\n\u201cWhat is that?\u201d he cried in terror,\n\u201cWhat is that,\u201d he said, \u201cNokomis?\u201d\nAnd the good Nokomis answered:\n\u201cThat is but the owl and owlet,\nTalking in their native language,\nTalking, scolding at each other.\u201d\n\nThen the little Hiawatha\nLearned of every bird its language,\nLearned their names and all their secrets,\nHow they built their nests in Summer,\nWhere they hid themselves in Winter,\nTalked with them whene\u2019er he met them,\nCalled them \u201cHiawatha\u2019s Chickens.\u201d\n\nOf all beasts he learned the language,\nLearned their names and all their secrets,\nHow the beavers built their lodges,\nWhere the squirrels hid their acorns,\nHow the reindeer ran so swiftly,\nWhy the rabbit was so timid,\nTalked with them whene\u2019er he met them,\nCalled them \u201cHiawatha\u2019s Brothers.\u201d\n\nThen Iagoo, the great boaster,\nHe the marvellous story-teller,\nHe the traveller and the talker,\nHe the friend of old Nokomis,\nMade a bow for Hiawatha;\nFrom a branch of ash he made it,\nFrom an oak-bough made the arrows,\nTipped with flint, and winged with feathers,\nAnd the cord he made of deer-skin.\n\nThen he said to Hiawatha:\n\u201cGo, my son, into the forest,\nWhere the red deer herd together,\nKill for us a famous roebuck,\nKill for us a deer with antlers!\u201d\n\nForth into the forest straightway\nAll alone walked Hiawatha\nProudly, with his bow and arrows;\nAnd the birds sang round him, o\u2019er him,\n\u201cDo not shoot us, Hiawatha!\u201d\nSang the robin, the Opechee,\nSang the bluebird, the Owaissa,\n\u201cDo not shoot us, Hiawatha!\u201d\n\nUp the oak-tree, close beside him,\nSprang the squirrel, Adjidaumo,\nIn and out among the branches,\nCoughed and chattered from the oak-tree,\nLaughed, and said between his laughing,\n\u201cDo not shoot me, Hiawatha!\u201d\n\nAnd the rabbit from his pathway\nLeaped aside, and at a distance\nSat erect upon his haunches,\nHalf in fear and half in frolic,\nSaying to the little hunter,\n\u201cDo not shoot me, Hiawatha!\u201d\n\nBut he heeded not, nor heard them,\nFor his thoughts were with the red deer;\nOn their tracks his eyes were fastened,\nLeading downward to the river,\nTo the ford across the river,\nAnd as one in slumber walked he.\n\nHidden in the alder-bushes,\nThere he waited till the deer came,\nTill he saw two antlers lifted,\nSaw two eyes look from the thicket,\nSaw two nostrils point to windward,\nAnd a deer came down the pathway,\nFlecked with leafy light and shadow.\nAnd his heart within him fluttered,\nTrembled like the leaves above him,\nLike the birch-leaf palpitated,\nAs the deer came down the pathway.\n\nThen, upon one knee uprising,\nHiawatha aimed an arrow;\nScarce a twig moved with his motion,\nScarce a leaf was stirred or rustled,\nBut the wary roebuck started,\nStamped with all his hoofs together,\nListened with one foot uplifted,\nLeaped as if to meet the arrow;\nAh! the singing, fatal arrow,\nLike a wasp it buzzed and stung him!\n\nDead he lay there in the forest,\nBy the ford across the river;\nBeat his timid heart no longer,\nBut the heart of Hiawatha\nThrobbed and shouted and exulted,\nAs he bore the red deer homeward,\nAnd Iagoo and Nokomis\nHailed his coming with applauses.\n\nFrom the red deer\u2019s hide Nokomis\nMade a cloak for Hiawatha,\nFrom the red deer\u2019s flesh Nokomis\nMade a banquet to his honor.\nAll the village came and feasted,\nAll the guests praised Hiawatha,\nCalled him Strong-Heart, Soan-ge-taha!\nCalled him Loon-Heart, Mahn-go-taysee!\n\n\n\n\nIV\nHiawatha and Mudjekeewis\n\n\nOut of childhood into manhood\nNow had grown my Hiawatha,\nSkilled in all the craft of hunters,\nLearned in all the lore of old men,\nIn all youthful sports and pastimes,\nIn all manly arts and labors.\n\nSwift of foot was Hiawatha;\nHe could shoot an arrow from him,\nAnd run forward with such fleetness,\nThat the arrow fell behind him!\nStrong of arm was Hiawatha;\nHe could shoot ten arrows upward,\nShoot them with such strength and swiftness,\nThat the tenth had left the bow-string\nEre the first to earth had fallen!\n\nHe had mittens, Minjekahwun,\nMagic mittens made of deer-skin;\nWhen upon his hands he wore them,\nHe could smite the rocks asunder,\nHe could grind them into powder.\nHe had moccasins enchanted,\nMagic moccasins of deer-skin;\nWhen he bound them round his ankles,\nWhen upon his feet he tied them,\nAt each stride a mile he measured!\n\nMuch he questioned old Nokomis\nOf his father Mudjekeewis;\nLearned from her the fatal secret\nOf the beauty of his mother,\nOf the falsehood of his father;\nAnd his heart was hot within him,\nLike a living coal his heart was.\n\nThen he said to old Nokomis,\n\u201cI will go to Mudjekeewis,\nSee how fares it with my father,\nAt the doorways of the West-Wind,\nAt the portals of the Sunset!\u201d\n\nFrom his lodge went Hiawatha,\nDressed for travel, armed for hunting;\nDressed in deer-skin shirt and leggings,\nRichly wrought with quills and wampum;\nOn his head his eagle-feathers,\nRound his waist his belt of wampum,\nIn his hand his bow of ash-wood,\nStrung with sinews of the reindeer;\nIn his quiver oaken arrows,\nTipped with jasper, winged with feathers;\nWith his mittens, Minjekahwun,\nWith his moccasins enchanted.\n\nWarning said the old Nokomis,\n\u201cGo not forth, O Hiawatha!\nTo the kingdom of the West-Wind,\nTo the realms of Mudjekeewis,\nLest he harm you with his magic,\nLest he kill you with his cunning!\u201d\n\nBut the fearless Hiawatha\nHeeded not her woman\u2019s warning;\nForth he strode into the forest,\nAt each stride a mile he measured;\nLurid seemed the sky above him,\nLurid seemed the earth beneath him,\nHot and close the air around him,\nFilled with smoke and fiery vapors,\nAs of burning woods and prairies,\nFor his heart was hot within him,\nLike a living coal his heart was.\n\nSo he journeyed westward, westward,\nLeft the fleetest deer behind him,\nLeft the antelope and bison;\nCrossed the rushing Esconaba,\nCrossed the mighty Mississippi,\nPassed the Mountains of the Prairie,\nPassed the land of Crows and Foxes,\nPassed the dwellings of the Blackfeet,\nCame unto the Rocky Mountains,\nTo the kingdom of the West-Wind,\nWhere upon the gusty summits\nSat the ancient Mudjekeewis,\nRuler of the winds of heaven.\n\nFilled with awe was Hiawatha\nAt the aspect of his father.\nOn the air about him wildly\nTossed and streamed his cloudy tresses,\nGleamed like drifting snow his tresses,\nGlared like Ishkoodah, the comet,\nLike the star with fiery tresses.\n\nFilled with joy was Mudjekeewis\nWhen he looked on Hiawatha,\nSaw his youth rise up before him\nIn the face of Hiawatha,\nSaw the beauty of Wenonah\nFrom the grave rise up before him.\n\n\u201cWelcome!\u201d said he, \u201cHiawatha,\nTo the kingdom of the West-Wind\nLong have I been waiting for you\nYouth is lovely, age is lonely,\nYouth is fiery, age is frosty;\nYou bring back the days departed,\nYou bring back my youth of passion,\nAnd the beautiful Wenonah!\u201d\n\nMany days they talked together,\nQuestioned, listened, waited, answered;\nMuch the mighty Mudjekeewis\nBoasted of his ancient prowess,\nOf his perilous adventures,\nHis indomitable courage,\nHis invulnerable body.\n\nPatiently sat Hiawatha,\nListening to his father\u2019s boasting;\nWith a smile he sat and listened,\nUttered neither threat nor menace,\nNeither word nor look betrayed him,\nBut his heart was hot within him,\nLike a living coal his heart was.\n\nThen he said, \u201cO Mudjekeewis,\nIs there nothing that can harm you?\nNothing that you are afraid of?\u201d\nAnd the mighty Mudjekeewis,\nGrand and gracious in his boasting,\nAnswered, saying, \u201cThere is nothing,\nNothing but the black rock yonder,\nNothing but the fatal Wawbeek!\u201d\n\nAnd he looked at Hiawatha\nWith a wise look and benignant,\nWith a countenance paternal,\nLooked with pride upon the beauty\nOf his tall and graceful figure,\nSaying, \u201cO my Hiawatha!\nIs there anything can harm you?\nAnything you are afraid of?\u201d\n\nBut the wary Hiawatha\nPaused awhile, as if uncertain,\nHeld his peace, as if resolving,\nAnd then answered, \u201cThere is nothing,\nNothing but the bulrush yonder,\nNothing but the great Apukwa!\u201d\n\nAnd as Mudjekeewis, rising,\nStretched his hand to pluck the bulrush,\nHiawatha cried in terror,\nCried in well-dissembled terror,\n\u201cKago! kago! do not touch it!\u201d\n\u201cAh, kaween!\u201d said Mudjekeewis,\n\u201cNo indeed, I will not touch it!\u201d\n\nThen they talked of other matters;\nFirst of Hiawatha\u2019s brothers,\nFirst of Wabun, of the East-Wind,\nOf the South-Wind, Shawondasee,\nOf the North, Kabibonokka;\nThen of Hiawatha\u2019s mother,\nOf the beautiful Wenonah,\nOf her birth upon the meadow,\nOf her death, as old Nokomis\nHad remembered and related.\n\nAnd he cried, \u201cO Mudjekeewis,\nIt was you who killed Wenonah,\nTook her young life and her beauty,\nBroke the Lily of the Prairie,\nTrampled it beneath your footsteps;\nYou confess it! you confess it!\u201d\nAnd the mighty Mudjekeewis\nTossed upon the wind his tresses,\nBowed his hoary head in anguish,\nWith a silent nod assented.\n\nThen up started Hiawatha,\nAnd with threatening look and gesture\nLaid his hand upon the black rock,\nOn the fatal Wawbeek laid it,\nWith his mittens, Minjekahwun,\nRent the jutting crag asunder,\nSmote and crushed it into fragments,\nHurled them madly at his father,\nThe remorseful Mudjekeewis,\nFor his heart was hot within him,\nLike a living coal his heart was.\n\nBut the ruler of the West-Wind\nBlew the fragments backward from him,\nWith the breathing of his nostrils,\nWith the tempest of his anger,\nBlew them back at his assailant;\nSeized the bulrush, the Apukwa,\nDragged it with its roots and fibres\nFrom the margin of the meadow,\nFrom its ooze the giant bulrush;\nLong and loud laughed Hiawatha!\n\nThen began the deadly conflict,\nHand to hand among the mountains;\nFrom his eyry screamed the eagle,\nThe Keneu, the great war-eagle,\nSat upon the crags around them,\nWheeling flapped his wings above them.\n\nLike a tall tree in the tempest\nBent and lashed the giant bulrush;\nAnd in masses huge and heavy\nCrashing fell the fatal Wawbeek;\nTill the earth shook with the tumult\nAnd confusion of the battle,\nAnd the air was full of shoutings,\nAnd the thunder of the mountains,\nStarting, answered, \u201cBaim-wawa!\u201d\n\nBack retreated Mudjekeewis,\nRushing westward o\u2019er the mountains,\nStumbling westward down the mountains,\nThree whole days retreated fighting,\nStill pursued by Hiawatha\nTo the doorways of the West-Wind,\nTo the portals of the Sunset,\nTo the earth\u2019s remotest border,\nWhere into the empty spaces\nSinks the sun, as a flamingo\nDrops into her nest at nightfall\nIn the melancholy marshes.\n\n\u201cHold!\u201d at length cried Mudjekeewis,\n\u201cHold, my son, my Hiawatha!\n\u2019T is impossible to kill me,\nFor you cannot kill the immortal\nI have put you to this trial,\nBut to know and prove your courage;\nNow receive the prize of valor!\n\n\u201cGo back to your home and people,\nLive among them, toil among them,\nCleanse the earth from all that harms it,\nClear the fishing-grounds and rivers,\nSlay all monsters and magicians,\nAll the Wendigoes, the giants,\nAll the serpents, the Kenabeeks,\nAs I slew the Mishe-Mokwa,\nSlew the Great Bear of the mountains.\n\n\u201cAnd at last when Death draws near you,\nWhen the awful eyes of Pauguk\nGlare upon you in the darkness,\nI will share my kingdom with you,\nRuler shall you be thenceforward\nOf the Northwest-Wind, Keewaydin,\nOf the home-wind, the Keewaydin.\u201d\n\nThus was fought that famous battle\nIn the dreadful days of Shah-shah,\nIn the days long since departed,\nIn the kingdom of the West-Wind.\nStill the hunter sees its traces\nScattered far o\u2019er hill and valley;\nSees the giant bulrush growing\nBy the ponds and water-courses,\nSees the masses of the Wawbeek\nLying still in every valley.\n\nHomeward now went Hiawatha;\nPleasant was the landscape round him,\nPleasant was the air above him,\nFor the bitterness of anger\nHad departed wholly from him,\nFrom his brain the thought of vengeance,\nFrom his heart the burning fever.\n\nOnly once his pace he slackened,\nOnly once he paused or halted,\nPaused to purchase heads of arrows\nOf the ancient Arrow-maker,\nIn the land of the Dacotahs,\nWhere the Falls of Minnehaha\nFlash and gleam among the oak-trees,\nLaugh and leap into the valley.\n\nThere the ancient Arrow-maker\nMade his arrow-heads of sandstone,\nArrow-heads of chalcedony,\nArrow-heads of flint and jasper,\nSmoothed and sharpened at the edges,\nHard and polished, keen and costly.\n\nWith him dwelt his dark-eyed daughter,\nWayward as the Minnehaha,\nWith her moods of shade and sunshine,\nEyes that smiled and frowned alternate,\nFeet as rapid as the river,\nTresses flowing like the water,\nAnd as musical a laughter:\nAnd he named her from the river,\nFrom the water-fall he named her,\nMinnehaha, Laughing Water.\n\nWas it then for heads of arrows,\nArrow-heads of chalcedony,\nArrow-heads of flint and jasper,\nThat my Hiawatha halted\nIn the land of the Dacotahs?\n\nWas it not to see the maiden,\nSee the face of Laughing Water\nPeeping from behind the curtain,\nHear the rustling of her garments\nFrom behind the waving curtain,\nAs one sees the Minnehaha\nGleaming, glancing through the branches,\nAs one hears the Laughing Water\nFrom behind its screen of branches?\n\nWho shall say what thoughts and visions\nFill the fiery brains of young men?\nWho shall say what dreams of beauty\nFilled the heart of Hiawatha?\nAll he told to old Nokomis,\nWhen he reached the lodge at sunset,\nWas the meeting with his father,\nWas his fight with Mudjekeewis;\nNot a word he said of arrows,\nNot a word of Laughing Water.\n\n\n\n\nV\nHiawatha\u2019s Fasting\n\n\nYou shall hear how Hiawatha\nPrayed and fasted in the forest,\nNot for greater skill in hunting,\nNot for greater craft in fishing,\nNot for triumphs in the battle,\nAnd renown among the warriors,\nBut for profit of the people,\nFor advantage of the nations.\n\nFirst he built a lodge for fasting,\nBuilt a wigwam in the forest,\nBy the shining Big-Sea-Water,\nIn the blithe and pleasant Spring-time,\nIn the Moon of Leaves he built it,\nAnd, with dreams and visions many,\nSeven whole days and nights he fasted.\n\nOn the first day of his fasting\nThrough the leafy woods he wandered;\nSaw the deer start from the thicket,\nSaw the rabbit in his burrow,\nHeard the pheasant, Bena, drumming,\nHeard the squirrel, Adjidaumo,\nRattling in his hoard of acorns,\nSaw the pigeon, the Omeme,\nBuilding nests among the pinetrees,\nAnd in flocks the wild-goose, Wawa,\nFlying to the fen-lands northward,\nWhirring, wailing far above him.\n\u201cMaster of Life!\u201d he cried, desponding,\n\u201cMust our lives depend on these things?\u201d\n\nOn the next day of his fasting\nBy the river\u2019s brink he wandered,\nThrough the Muskoday, the meadow,\nSaw the wild rice, Mahnomonee,\nSaw the blueberry, Meenahga,\nAnd the strawberry, Odahmin,\nAnd the gooseberry, Shahbomin,\nAnd the grape-vine, the Bemahgut,\nTrailing o\u2019er the alder-branches,\nFilling all the air with fragrance!\n\u201cMaster of Life!\u201d he cried, desponding,\n\u201cMust our lives depend on these things?\u201d\n\nOn the third day of his fasting\nBy the lake he sat and pondered,\nBy the still, transparent water;\nSaw the sturgeon, Nahma, leaping,\nScattering drops like beads of wampum,\nSaw the yellow perch, the Sahwa,\nLike a sunbeam in the water,\nSaw the pike, the Maskenozha,\nAnd the herring, Okahahwis,\nAnd the Shawgashee, the crawfish!\n\u201cMaster of Life!\u201d he cried, desponding,\n\u201cMust our lives depend on these things?\u201d\n\nOn the fourth day of his fasting\nIn his lodge he lay exhausted;\nFrom his couch of leaves and branches\nGazing with half-open eyelids,\nFull of shadowy dreams and visions,\nOn the dizzy, swimming landscape,\nOn the gleaming of the water,\nOn the splendor of the sunset.\n\nAnd he saw a youth approaching,\nDressed in garments green and yellow,\nComing through the purple twilight,\nThrough the splendor of the sunset;\nPlumes of green bent o\u2019er his forehead,\nAnd his hair was soft and golden.\n\nStanding at the open doorway,\nLong he looked at Hiawatha,\nLooked with pity and compassion\nOn his wasted form and features,\nAnd, in accents like the sighing\nOf the South-Wind in the tree-tops,\nSaid he, \u201cO my Hiawatha!\nAll your prayers are heard in heaven,\nFor you pray not like the others;\nNot for greater skill in hunting,\nNot for greater craft in fishing,\nNot for triumph in the battle,\nNor renown among the warriors,\nBut for profit of the people,\nFor advantage of the nations.\n\n\u201cFrom the Master of Life descending,\nI, the friend of man, Mondamin,\nCome to warn you and instruct you,\nHow by struggle and by labor\nYou shall gain what you have prayed for.\nRise up from your bed of branches,\nRise, O youth, and wrestle with me!\u201d\n\nFaint with famine, Hiawatha\nStarted from his bed of branches,\nFrom the twilight of his wigwam\nForth into the flush of sunset\nCame, and wrestled with Mondamin;\nAt his touch he felt new courage\nThrobbing in his brain and bosom,\nFelt new life and hope and vigor\nRun through every nerve and fibre.\n\nSo they wrestled there together\nIn the glory of the sunset,\nAnd the more they strove and struggled,\nStronger still grew Hiawatha;\nTill the darkness fell around them,\nAnd the heron, the Shuh-shuh-gah,\nFrom her nest among the pine-trees,\nGave a cry of lamentation,\nGave a scream of pain and famine.\n\n\u201c\u2019T is enough!\u201d then said Mondamin,\nSmiling upon Hiawatha,\n\u201cBut tomorrow, when the sun sets,\nI will come again to try you.\u201d\nAnd he vanished, and was seen not;\nWhether sinking as the rain sinks,\nWhether rising as the mists rise,\nHiawatha saw not, knew not,\nOnly saw that he had vanished,\nLeaving him alone and fainting,\nWith the misty lake below him,\nAnd the reeling stars above him.\n\nOn the morrow and the next day,\nWhen the sun through heaven descending,\nLike a red and burning cinder\nFrom the hearth of the Great Spirit,\nFell into the western waters,\nCame Mondamin for the trial,\nFor the strife with Hiawatha;\nCame as silent as the dew comes,\nFrom the empty air appearing,\nInto empty air returning,\nTaking shape when earth it touches,\nBut invisible to all men\nIn its coming and its going.\n\nThrice they wrestled there together\nIn the glory of the sunset,\nTill the darkness fell around them,\nTill the heron, the Shuh-shuh-gah,\nFrom her nest among the pine-trees,\nUttered her loud cry of famine,\nAnd Mondamin paused to listen.\n\nTall and beautiful he stood there,\nIn his garments green and yellow;\nTo and fro his plumes above him,\nWaved and nodded with his breathing,\nAnd the sweat of the encounter\nStood like drops of dew upon him.\n\nAnd he cried, \u201cO Hiawatha!\nBravely have you wrestled with me,\nThrice have wrestled stoutly with me,\nAnd the Master of Life, who sees us,\nHe will give to you the triumph!\u201d\n\nThen he smiled, and said: \u201cTo-morrow\nIs the last day of your conflict,\nIs the last day of your fasting.\nYou will conquer and o\u2019ercome me;\nMake a bed for me to lie in,\nWhere the rain may fall upon me,\nWhere the sun may come and warm me;\nStrip these garments, green and yellow,\nStrip this nodding plumage from me,\nLay me in the earth, and make it\nSoft and loose and light above me.\n\n\u201cLet no hand disturb my slumber,\nLet no weed nor worm molest me,\nLet not Kahgahgee, the raven,\nCome to haunt me and molest me,\nOnly come yourself to watch me,\nTill I wake, and start, and quicken,\nTill I leap into the sunshine\u201d\n\nAnd thus saying, he departed;\nPeacefully slept Hiawatha,\nBut he heard the Wawonaissa,\nHeard the whippoorwill complaining,\nPerched upon his lonely wigwam;\nHeard the rushing Sebowisha,\nHeard the rivulet rippling near him,\nTalking to the darksome forest;\nHeard the sighing of the branches,\nAs they lifted and subsided\nAt the passing of the night-wind,\nHeard them, as one hears in slumber\nFar-off murmurs, dreamy whispers:\nPeacefully slept Hiawatha.\n\nOn the morrow came Nokomis,\nOn the seventh day of his fasting,\nCame with food for Hiawatha,\nCame imploring and bewailing,\nLest his hunger should o\u2019ercome him,\nLest his fasting should be fatal.\n\nBut he tasted not, and touched not,\nOnly said to her, \u201cNokomis,\nWait until the sun is setting,\nTill the darkness falls around us,\nTill the heron, the Shuh-shuh-gah,\nCrying from the desolate marshes,\nTells us that the day is ended.\u201d\n\nHomeward weeping went Nokomis,\nSorrowing for her Hiawatha,\nFearing lest his strength should fail him,\nLest his fasting should be fatal.\nHe meanwhile sat weary waiting\nFor the coming of Mondamin,\nTill the shadows, pointing eastward,\nLengthened over field and forest,\nTill the sun dropped from the heaven,\nFloating on the waters westward,\nAs a red leaf in the Autumn\nFalls and floats upon the water,\nFalls and sinks into its bosom.\n\nAnd behold! the young Mondamin,\nWith his soft and shining tresses,\nWith his garments green and yellow,\nWith his long and glossy plumage,\nStood and beckoned at the doorway.\nAnd as one in slumber walking,\nPale and haggard, but undaunted,\nFrom the wigwam Hiawatha\nCame and wrestled with Mondamin.\n\nRound about him spun the landscape,\nSky and forest reeled together,\nAnd his strong heart leaped within him,\nAs the sturgeon leaps and struggles\nIn a net to break its meshes.\nLike a ring of fire around him\nBlazed and flared the red horizon,\nAnd a hundred suns seemed looking\nAt the combat of the wrestlers.\n\nSuddenly upon the greensward\nAll alone stood Hiawatha,\nPanting with his wild exertion,\nPalpitating with the struggle;\nAnd before him breathless, lifeless,\nLay the youth, with hair dishevelled,\nPlumage torn, and garments tattered,\nDead he lay there in the sunset.\n\nAnd victorious Hiawatha\nMade the grave as he commanded,\nStripped the garments from Mondamin,\nStripped his tattered plumage from him,\nLaid him in the earth, and made it\nSoft and loose and light above him;\nAnd the heron, the Shuh-shuh-gah,\nFrom the melancholy moorlands,\nGave a cry of lamentation,\nGave a cry of pain and anguish!\n\nHomeward then went Hiawatha\nTo the lodge of old Nokomis,\nAnd the seven days of his fasting\nWere accomplished and completed.\nBut the place was not forgotten\nWhere he wrestled with Mondamin;\nNor forgotten nor neglected\nWas the grave where lay Mondamin,\nSleeping in the rain and sunshine,\nWhere his scattered plumes and garments\nFaded in the rain and sunshine.\n\nDay by day did Hiawatha\nGo to wait and watch beside it;\nKept the dark mould soft above it,\nKept it clean from weeds and insects,\nDrove away, with scoffs and shoutings,\nKahgahgee, the king of ravens.\n\nTill at length a small green feather\nFrom the earth shot slowly upward,\nThen another and another,\nAnd before the Summer ended\nStood the maize in all its beauty,\nWith its shining robes about it,\nAnd its long, soft, yellow tresses;\nAnd in rapture Hiawatha\nCried aloud, \u201cIt is Mondamin!\nYes, the friend of man, Mondamin!\u201d\n\nThen he called to old Nokomis\nAnd Iagoo, the great boaster,\nShowed them where the maize was growing,\nTold them of his wondrous vision,\nOf his wrestling and his triumph,\nOf this new gift to the nations,\nWhich should be their food forever.\n\nAnd still later, when the Autumn\nChanged the long, green leaves to yellow,\nAnd the soft and juicy kernels\nGrew like wampum hard and yellow,\nThen the ripened ears he gathered,\nStripped the withered husks from off them,\nAs he once had stripped the wrestler,\nGave the first Feast of Mondamin,\nAnd made known unto the people\nThis new gift of the Great Spirit.\n\n\n\n\nVI\nHiawatha\u2019s Friends\n\n\nTwo good friends had Hiawatha,\nSingled out from all the others,\nBound to him in closest union,\nAnd to whom he gave the right hand\nOf his heart, in joy and sorrow;\nChibiabos, the musician,\nAnd the very strong man, Kwasind.\n\nStraight between them ran the pathway,\nNever grew the grass upon it;\nSinging birds, that utter falsehoods,\nStory-tellers, mischief-makers,\nFound no eager ear to listen,\nCould not breed ill-will between them,\nFor they kept each other\u2019s counsel,\nSpake with naked hearts together,\nPondering much and much contriving\nHow the tribes of men might prosper.\n\nMost beloved by Hiawatha\nWas the gentle Chibiabos,\nHe the best of all musicians,\nHe the sweetest of all singers.\nBeautiful and childlike was he,\nBrave as man is, soft as woman,\nPliant as a wand of willow,\nStately as a deer with antlers.\n\nWhen he sang, the village listened;\nAll the warriors gathered round him,\nAll the women came to hear him;\nNow he stirred their souls to passion,\nNow he melted them to pity.\n\nFrom the hollow reeds he fashioned\nFlutes so musical and mellow,\nThat the brook, the Sebowisha,\nCeased to murmur in the woodland,\nThat the wood-birds ceased from singing,\nAnd the squirrel, Adjidaumo,\nCeased his chatter in the oak-tree,\nAnd the rabbit, the Wabasso,\nSat upright to look and listen.\n\nYes, the brook, the Sebowisha,\nPausing, said, \u201cO Chibiabos,\nTeach my waves to flow in music,\nSoftly as your words in singing!\u201d\n\nYes, the bluebird, the Owaissa,\nEnvious, said, \u201cO Chibiabos,\nTeach me tones as wild and wayward,\nTeach me songs as full of frenzy!\u201d\n\nYes, the robin, the Opechee,\nJoyous, said, \u201cO Chibiabos,\nTeach me tones as sweet and tender,\nTeach me songs as full of gladness!\u201d\n\nAnd the whippoorwill, Wawonaissa,\nSobbing, said, \u201cO Chibiabos,\nTeach me tones as melancholy,\nTeach me songs as full of sadness!\u201d\n\nAll the many sounds of nature\nBorrowed sweetness from his singing;\nAll the hearts of men were softened\nBy the pathos of his music;\nFor he sang of peace and freedom,\nSang of beauty, love, and longing;\nSang of death, and life undying\nIn the Islands of the Blessed,\nIn the kingdom of Ponemah,\nIn the land of the Hereafter.\n\nVery dear to Hiawatha\nWas the gentle Chibiabos,\nHe the best of all musicians,\nHe the sweetest of all singers;\nFor his gentleness he loved him,\nAnd the magic of his singing.\n\nDear, too, unto Hiawatha\nWas the very strong man, Kwasind,\nHe the strongest of all mortals,\nHe the mightiest among many;\nFor his very strength he loved him,\nFor his strength allied to goodness.\n\nIdle in his youth was Kwasind,\nVery listless, dull, and dreamy,\nNever played with other children,\nNever fished and never hunted,\nNot like other children was he;\nBut they saw that much he fasted,\nMuch his Manito entreated,\nMuch besought his Guardian Spirit.\n\n\u201cLazy Kwasind!\u201d said his mother,\n\u201cIn my work you never help me!\nIn the Summer you are roaming\nIdly in the fields and forests;\nIn the Winter you are cowering\nO\u2019er the firebrands in the wigwam!\nIn the coldest days of Winter\nI must break the ice for fishing;\nWith my nets you never help me!\nAt the door my nets are hanging,\nDripping, freezing with the water;\nGo and wring them, Yenadizze!\nGo and dry them in the sunshine!\u201d\n\nSlowly, from the ashes, Kwasind\nRose, but made no angry answer;\nFrom the lodge went forth in silence,\nTook the nets, that hung together,\nDripping, freezing at the doorway;\nLike a wisp of straw he wrung them,\nLike a wisp of straw he broke them,\nCould not wring them without breaking,\nSuch the strength was in his fingers.\n\n\u201cLazy Kwasind!\u201d said his father,\n\u201cIn the hunt you never help me;\nEvery bow you touch is broken,\nSnapped asunder every arrow;\nYet come with me to the forest,\nYou shall bring the hunting homeward.\u201d\n\nDown a narrow pass they wandered,\nWhere a brooklet led them onward,\nWhere the trail of deer and bison\nMarked the soft mud on the margin,\nTill they found all further passage\nShut against them, barred securely\nBy the trunks of trees uprooted,\nLying lengthwise, lying crosswise,\nAnd forbidding further passage.\n\n\u201cWe must go back,\u201d said the old man,\n\u201cO\u2019er these logs we cannot clamber;\nNot a woodchuck could get through them,\nNot a squirrel clamber o\u2019er them!\u201d\nAnd straightway his pipe he lighted,\nAnd sat down to smoke and ponder.\nBut before his pipe was finished,\nLo! the path was cleared before him;\nAll the trunks had Kwasind lifted,\nTo the right hand, to the left hand,\nShot the pine-trees swift as arrows,\nHurled the cedars light as lances.\n\n\u201cLazy Kwasind!\u201d said the young men,\nAs they sported in the meadow:\n\u201cWhy stand idly looking at us,\nLeaning on the rock behind you?\nCome and wrestle with the others,\nLet us pitch the quoit together!\u201d\n\nLazy Kwasind made no answer,\nTo their challenge made no answer,\nOnly rose, and slowly turning,\nSeized the huge rock in his fingers,\nTore it from its deep foundation,\nPoised it in the air a moment,\nPitched it sheer into the river,\nSheer into the swift Pauwating,\nWhere it still is seen in Summer.\n\nOnce as down that foaming river,\nDown the rapids of Pauwating,\nKwasind sailed with his companions,\nIn the stream he saw a beaver,\nSaw Ahmeek, the King of Beavers,\nStruggling with the rushing currents,\nRising, sinking in the water.\n\nWithout speaking, without pausing,\nKwasind leaped into the river,\nPlunged beneath the bubbling surface,\nThrough the whirlpools chased the beaver,\nFollowed him among the islands,\nStayed so long beneath the water,\nThat his terrified companions\nCried, \u201cAlas! good-by to Kwasind!\nWe shall never more see Kwasind!\u201d\nBut he reappeared triumphant,\nAnd upon his shining shoulders\nBrought the beaver, dead and dripping,\nBrought the King of all the Beavers.\n\nAnd these two, as I have told you,\nWere the friends of Hiawatha,\nChibiabos, the musician,\nAnd the very strong man, Kwasind.\nLong they lived in peace together,\nSpake with naked hearts together,\nPondering much and much contriving\nHow the tribes of men might prosper.\n\n\n\n\nVII\nHiawatha\u2019s Sailing\n\n\n\u201cGive me of your bark, O Birch-tree!\nOf your yellow bark, O Birch-tree!\nGrowing by the rushing river,\nTall and stately in the valley!\nI a light canoe will build me,\nBuild a swift Cheemaun for sailing,\nThat shall float upon the river,\nLike a yellow leaf in Autumn,\nLike a yellow water-lily!\n\n\u201cLay aside your cloak, O Birch-tree!\nLay aside your white-skin wrapper,\nFor the Summer-time is coming,\nAnd the sun is warm in heaven,\nAnd you need no white-skin wrapper!\u201d\n\nThus aloud cried Hiawatha\nIn the solitary forest,\nBy the rushing Taquamenaw,\nWhen the birds were singing gayly,\nIn the Moon of Leaves were singing,\nAnd the sun, from sleep awaking,\nStarted up and said, \u201cBehold me!\nGheezis, the great Sun, behold me!\u201d\n\nAnd the tree with all its branches\nRustled in the breeze of morning,\nSaying, with a sigh of patience,\n\u201cTake my cloak, O Hiawatha!\u201d\n\nWith his knife the tree he girdled;\nJust beneath its lowest branches,\nJust above the roots, he cut it,\nTill the sap came oozing outward;\nDown the trunk, from top to bottom,\nSheer he cleft the bark asunder,\nWith a wooden wedge he raised it,\nStripped it from the trunk unbroken.\n\n\u201cGive me of your boughs, O Cedar!\nOf your strong and pliant branches,\nMy canoe to make more steady,\nMake more strong and firm beneath me!\u201d\n\nThrough the summit of the Cedar\nWent a sound, a cry of horror,\nWent a murmur of resistance;\nBut it whispered, bending downward,\n\u201cTake my boughs, O Hiawatha!\u201d\n\nDown he hewed the boughs of cedar,\nShaped them straightway to a frame-work,\nLike two bows he formed and shaped them,\nLike two bended bows together.\n\n\u201cGive me of your roots, O Tamarack!\nOf your fibrous roots, O Larch-tree!\nMy canoe to bind together,\nSo to bind the ends together\nThat the water may not enter,\nThat the river may not wet me!\u201d\n\nAnd the Larch, with all its fibres,\nShivered in the air of morning,\nTouched his forehead with its tassels,\nSlid, with one long sigh of sorrow.\n\u201cTake them all, O Hiawatha!\u201d\n\nFrom the earth he tore the fibres,\nTore the tough roots of the Larch-tree,\nClosely sewed the bark together,\nBound it closely to the frame-work.\n\n\u201cGive me of your balm, O Fir-tree!\nOf your balsam and your resin,\nSo to close the seams together\nThat the water may not enter,\nThat the river may not wet me!\u201d\n\nAnd the Fir-tree, tall and sombre,\nSobbed through all its robes of darkness,\nRattled like a shore with pebbles,\nAnswered wailing, answered weeping,\n\u201cTake my balm, O Hiawatha!\u201d\n\nAnd he took the tears of balsam,\nTook the resin of the Fir-tree,\nSmeared therewith each seam and fissure,\nMade each crevice safe from water.\n\n\u201cGive me of your quills, O Hedgehog!\nAll your quills, O Kagh, the Hedgehog!\nI will make a necklace of them,\nMake a girdle for my beauty,\nAnd two stars to deck her bosom!\u201d\n\nFrom a hollow tree the Hedgehog\nWith his sleepy eyes looked at him,\nShot his shining quills, like arrows,\nSaying with a drowsy murmur,\nThrough the tangle of his whiskers,\n\u201cTake my quills, O Hiawatha!\u201d\n\nFrom the ground the quills he gathered,\nAll the little shining arrows,\nStained them red and blue and yellow,\nWith the juice of roots and berries;\nInto his canoe he wrought them,\nRound its waist a shining girdle,\nRound its bows a gleaming necklace,\nOn its breast two stars resplendent.\n\nThus the Birch Canoe was builded\nIn the valley, by the river,\nIn the bosom of the forest;\nAnd the forest\u2019s life was in it,\nAll its mystery and its magic,\nAll the lightness of the birch-tree,\nAll the toughness of the cedar,\nAll the larch\u2019s supple sinews;\nAnd it floated on the river\nLike a yellow leaf in Autumn,\nLike a yellow water-lily.\n\nPaddles none had Hiawatha,\nPaddles none he had or needed,\nFor his thoughts as paddles served him,\nAnd his wishes served to guide him;\nSwift or slow at will he glided,\nVeered to right or left at pleasure.\n\nThen he called aloud to Kwasind,\nTo his friend, the strong man, Kwasind,\nSaying, \u201cHelp me clear this river\nOf its sunken logs and sand-bars.\u201d\n\nStraight into the river Kwasind\nPlunged as if he were an otter,\nDived as if he were a beaver,\nStood up to his waist in water,\nTo his arm-pits in the river,\nSwam and scouted in the river,\nTugged at sunken logs and branches,\nWith his hands he scooped the sand-bars,\nWith his feet the ooze and tangle.\n\nAnd thus sailed my Hiawatha\nDown the rushing Taquamenaw,\nSailed through all its bends and windings,\nSailed through all its deeps and shallows,\nWhile his friend, the strong man, Kwasind,\nSwam the deeps, the shallows waded.\n\nUp and down the river went they,\nIn and out among its islands,\nCleared its bed of root and sand-bar,\nDragged the dead trees from its channel,\nMade its passage safe and certain,\nMade a pathway for the people,\nFrom its springs among the mountains,\nTo the waters of Pauwating,\nTo the bay of Taquamenaw.\n\n\n\n\nVIII\nHiawatha\u2019s Fishing\n\n\nForth upon the Gitche Gumee,\nOn the shining Big-Sea-Water,\nWith his fishing-line of cedar,\nOf the twisted bark of cedar,\nForth to catch the sturgeon Nahma,\nMishe-Nahma, King of Fishes,\nIn his birch canoe exulting\nAll alone went Hiawatha.\n\nThrough the clear, transparent water\nHe could see the fishes swimming\nFar down in the depths below him;\nSee the yellow perch, the Sahwa,\nLike a sunbeam in the water,\nSee the Shawgashee, the craw-fish,\nLike a spider on the bottom,\nOn the white and sandy bottom.\n\nAt the stern sat Hiawatha,\nWith his fishing-line of cedar;\nIn his plumes the breeze of morning\nPlayed as in the hemlock branches;\nOn the bows, with tail erected,\nSat the squirrel, Adjidaumo;\nIn his fur the breeze of morning\nPlayed as in the prairie grasses.\n\nOn the white sand of the bottom\nLay the monster Mishe-Nahma,\nLay the sturgeon, King of Fishes;\nThrough his gills he breathed the water,\nWith his fins he fanned and winnowed,\nWith his tail he swept the sand-floor.\n\nThere he lay in all his armor;\nOn each side a shield to guard him,\nPlates of bone upon his forehead,\nDown his sides and back and shoulders\nPlates of bone with spines projecting\nPainted was he with his war-paints,\nStripes of yellow, red, and azure,\nSpots of brown and spots of sable;\nAnd he lay there on the bottom,\nFanning with his fins of purple,\nAs above him Hiawatha\nIn his birch canoe came sailing,\nWith his fishing-line of cedar.\n\n\u201cTake my bait,\u201d cried Hiawatha,\nDawn into the depths beneath him,\n\u201cTake my bait, O Sturgeon, Nahma!\nCome up from below the water,\nLet us see which is the stronger!\u201d\nAnd he dropped his line of cedar\nThrough the clear, transparent water,\nWaited vainly for an answer,\nLong sat waiting for an answer,\nAnd repeating loud and louder,\n\u201cTake my bait, O King of Fishes!\u201d\n\nQuiet lay the sturgeon, Nahma,\nFanning slowly in the water,\nLooking up at Hiawatha,\nListening to his call and clamor,\nHis unnecessary tumult,\nTill he wearied of the shouting;\nAnd he said to the Kenozha,\nTo the pike, the Maskenozha,\n\u201cTake the bait of this rude fellow,\nBreak the line of Hiawatha!\u201d\n\nIn his fingers Hiawatha\nFelt the loose line jerk and tighten,\nAs he drew it in, it tugged so\nThat the birch canoe stood endwise,\nLike a birch log in the water,\nWith the squirrel, Adjidaumo,\nPerched and frisking on the summit.\n\nFull of scorn was Hiawatha\nWhen he saw the fish rise upward,\nSaw the pike, the Maskenozha,\nComing nearer, nearer to him,\nAnd he shouted through the water,\n\u201cEsa! esa! shame upon you!\nYou are but the pike, Kenozha,\nYou are not the fish I wanted,\nYou are not the King of Fishes!\u201d\n\nReeling downward to the bottom\nSank the pike in great confusion,\nAnd the mighty sturgeon, Nahma,\nSaid to Ugudwash, the sun-fish,\nTo the bream, with scales of crimson,\n\u201cTake the bait of this great boaster,\nBreak the line of Hiawatha!\u201d\n\nSlowly upward, wavering, gleaming,\nRose the Ugudwash, the sun-fish,\nSeized the line of Hiawatha,\nSwung with all his weight upon it,\nMade a whirlpool in the water,\nWhirled the birch canoe in circles,\nRound and round in gurgling eddies,\nTill the circles in the water\nReached the far-off sandy beaches,\nTill the water-flags and rushes\nNodded on the distant margins.\n\nBut when Hiawatha saw him\nSlowly rising through the water,\nLifting up his disk refulgent,\nLoud he shouted in derision,\n\u201cEsa! esa! shame upon you!\nYou are Ugudwash, the sun-fish,\nYou are not the fish I wanted,\nYou are not the King of Fishes!\u201d\n\nSlowly downward, wavering, gleaming,\nSank the Ugudwash, the sun-fish,\nAnd again the sturgeon, Nahma,\nHeard the shout of Hiawatha,\nHeard his challenge of defiance,\nThe unnecessary tumult,\nRinging far across the water.\n\nFrom the white sand of the bottom\nUp he rose with angry gesture,\nQuivering in each nerve and fibre,\nClashing all his plates of armor,\nGleaming bright with all his war-paint;\nIn his wrath he darted upward,\nFlashing leaped into the sunshine,\nOpened his great jaws, and swallowed\nBoth canoe and Hiawatha.\n\nDown into that darksome cavern\nPlunged the headlong Hiawatha,\nAs a log on some black river\nShoots and plunges down the rapids,\nFound himself in utter darkness,\nGroped about in helpless wonder,\nTill he felt a great heart beating,\nThrobbing in that utter darkness.\n\nAnd he smote it in his anger,\nWith his fist, the heart of Nahma,\nFelt the mighty King of Fishes\nShudder through each nerve and fibre,\nHeard the water gurgle round him\nAs he leaped and staggered through it,\nSick at heart, and faint and weary.\n\nCrosswise then did Hiawatha\nDrag his birch-canoe for safety,\nLest from out the jaws of Nahma,\nIn the turmoil and confusion,\nForth he might be hurled and perish.\nAnd the squirrel, Adjidaumo,\nFrisked and chatted very gayly,\nToiled and tugged with Hiawatha\nTill the labor was completed.\n\nThen said Hiawatha to him,\n\u201cO my little friend, the squirrel,\nBravely have you toiled to help me;\nTake the thanks of Hiawatha,\nAnd the name which now he gives you;\nFor hereafter and forever\nBoys shall call you Adjidaumo,\nTail-in-air the boys shall call you!\u201d\n\nAnd again the sturgeon, Nahma,\nGasped and quivered in the water,\nThen was still, and drifted landward\nTill he grated on the pebbles,\nTill the listening Hiawatha\nHeard him grate upon the margin,\nFelt him strand upon the pebbles,\nKnew that Nahma, King of Fishes,\nLay there dead upon the margin.\n\nThen he heard a clang and flapping,\nAs of many wings assembling,\nHeard a screaming and confusion,\nAs of birds of prey contending,\nSaw a gleam of light above him,\nShining through the ribs of Nahma,\nSaw the glittering eyes of sea-gulls,\nOf Kayoshk, the sea-gulls, peering,\nGazing at him through the opening,\nHeard them saying to each other,\n\u201c\u2019T is our brother, Hiawatha!\u201d\n\nAnd he shouted from below them,\nCried exulting from the caverns:\n\u201cO ye sea-gulls! O my brothers!\nI have slain the sturgeon, Nahma;\nMake the rifts a little larger,\nWith your claws the openings widen,\nSet me free from this dark prison,\nAnd henceforward and forever\nMen shall speak of your achievements,\nCalling you Kayoshk, the sea-gulls,\nYes, Kayoshk, the Noble Scratchers!\u201d\n\nAnd the wild and clamorous sea-gulls\nToiled with beak and claws together,\nMade the rifts and openings wider\nIn the mighty ribs of Nahma,\nAnd from peril and from prison,\nFrom the body of the sturgeon,\nFrom the peril of the water,\nThey released my Hiawatha.\n\nHe was standing near his wigwam,\nOn the margin of the water,\nAnd he called to old Nokomis,\nCalled and beckoned to Nokomis,\nPointed to the sturgeon, Nahma,\nLying lifeless on the pebbles,\nWith the sea-gulls feeding on him.\n\n\u201cI have slain the Mishe-Nahma,\nSlain the King of Fishes!\u201d said he;\n\u201cLook! the sea-gulls feed upon him,\nYes, my friends Kayoshk, the sea-gulls;\nDrive them not away, Nokomis,\nThey have saved me from great peril\nIn the body of the sturgeon,\nWait until their meal is ended,\nTill their craws are full with feasting,\nTill they homeward fly, at sunset,\nTo their nests among the marshes;\nThen bring all your pots and kettles,\nAnd make oil for us in Winter.\u201d\n\nAnd she waited till the sun set,\nTill the pallid moon, the Night-sun,\nRose above the tranquil water,\nTill Kayoshk, the sated sea-gulls,\nFrom their banquet rose with clamor,\nAnd across the fiery sunset\nWinged their way to far-off islands,\nTo their nests among the rushes.\n\nTo his sleep went Hiawatha,\nAnd Nokomis to her labor,\nToiling patient in the moonlight,\nTill the sun and moon changed places,\nTill the sky was red with sunrise,\nAnd Kayoshk, the hungry sea-gulls,\nCame back from the reedy islands,\nClamorous for their morning banquet.\n\nThree whole days and nights alternate\nOld Nokomis and the sea-gulls\nStripped the oily flesh of Nahma,\nTill the waves washed through the rib-bones,\nTill the sea-gulls came no longer,\nAnd upon the sands lay nothing\nBut the skeleton of Nahma.\n\n\n\n\nIX\nHiawatha and the Pearl-Feather\n\n\nOn the shores of Gitche Gumee,\nOf the shining Big-Sea-Water,\nStood Nokomis, the old woman,\nPointing with her finger westward,\nO\u2019er the water pointing westward,\nTo the purple clouds of sunset.\n\nFiercely the red sun descending\nBurned his way along the heavens,\nSet the sky on fire behind him,\nAs war-parties, when retreating,\nBurn the prairies on their war-trail;\nAnd the moon, the Night-sun, eastward,\nSuddenly starting from his ambush,\nFollowed fast those bloody footprints,\nFollowed in that fiery war-trail,\nWith its glare upon his features.\n\nAnd Nokomis, the old woman,\nPointing with her finger westward,\nSpake these words to Hiawatha:\n\u201cYonder dwells the great Pearl-Feather,\nMegissogwon, the Magician,\nManito of Wealth and Wampum,\nGuarded by his fiery serpents,\nGuarded by the black pitch-water.\nYou can see his fiery serpents,\nThe Kenabeek, the great serpents,\nCoiling, playing in the water;\nYou can see the black pitch-water\nStretching far away beyond them,\nTo the purple clouds of sunset!\n\n\u201cHe it was who slew my father,\nBy his wicked wiles and cunning,\nWhen he from the moon descended,\nWhen he came on earth to seek me.\nHe, the mightiest of Magicians,\nSends the fever from the marshes,\nSends the pestilential vapors,\nSends the poisonous exhalations,\nSends the white fog from the fen-lands,\nSends disease and death among us!\n\n\u201cTake your bow, O Hiawatha,\nTake your arrows, jasper-headed,\nTake your war-club, Puggawaugun,\nAnd your mittens, Minjekahwun,\nAnd your birch-canoe for sailing,\nAnd the oil of Mishe-Nahma,\nSo to smear its sides, that swiftly\nYou may pass the black pitch-water;\nSlay this merciless magician,\nSave the people from the fever\nThat he breathes across the fen-lands,\nAnd avenge my father\u2019s murder!\u201d\n\nStraightway then my Hiawatha\nArmed himself with all his war-gear,\nLaunched his birch-canoe for sailing;\nWith his palm its sides he patted,\nSaid with glee, \u201cCheemaun, my darling,\nO my Birch-canoe! leap forward,\nWhere you see the fiery serpents,\nWhere you see the black pitch-water!\u201d\n\nForward leaped Cheemaun exulting,\nAnd the noble Hiawatha\nSang his war-song wild and woful,\nAnd above him the war-eagle,\nThe Keneu, the great war-eagle,\nMaster of all fowls with feathers,\nScreamed and hurtled through the heavens.\n\nSoon he reached the fiery serpents,\nThe Kenabeek, the great serpents,\nLying huge upon the water,\nSparkling, rippling in the water,\nLying coiled across the passage,\nWith their blazing crests uplifted,\nBreathing fiery fogs and vapors,\nSo that none could pass beyond them.\n\nBut the fearless Hiawatha\nCried aloud, and spake in this wise,\n\u201cLet me pass my way, Kenabeek,\nLet me go upon my journey!\u201d\nAnd they answered, hissing fiercely,\nWith their fiery breath made answer:\n\u201cBack, go back! O Shaugodaya!\nBack to old Nokomis, Faint-heart!\u201d\n\nThen the angry Hiawatha\nRaised his mighty bow of ash-tree,\nSeized his arrows, jasper-headed,\nShot them fast among the serpents;\nEvery twanging of the bow-string\nWas a war-cry and a death-cry,\nEvery whizzing of an arrow\nWas a death-song of Kenabeek.\n\nWeltering in the bloody water,\nDead lay all the fiery serpents,\nAnd among them Hiawatha\nHarmless sailed, and cried exulting:\n\u201cOnward, O Cheemaun, my darling!\nOnward to the black pitch-water!\u201d\n\nThen he took the oil of Nahma,\nAnd the bows and sides anointed,\nSmeared them well with oil, that swiftly\nHe might pass the black pitch-water.\n\nAll night long he sailed upon it,\nSailed upon that sluggish water,\nCovered with its mould of ages,\nBlack with rotting water-rushes,\nRank with flags and leaves of lilies,\nStagnant, lifeless, dreary, dismal,\nLighted by the shimmering moonlight,\nAnd by will-o\u2019-the-wisps illumined,\nFires by ghosts of dead men kindled,\nIn their weary night-encampments.\n\nAll the air was white with moonlight,\nAll the water black with shadow,\nAnd around him the Suggema,\nThe mosquito, sang his war-song,\nAnd the fire-flies, Wah-wah-taysee,\nWaved their torches to mislead him;\nAnd the bull-frog, the Dahinda,\nThrust his head into the moonlight,\nFixed his yellow eyes upon him,\nSobbed and sank beneath the surface;\nAnd anon a thousand whistles,\nAnswered over all the fen-lands,\nAnd the heron, the Shuh-shuh-gah,\nFar off on the reedy margin,\nHeralded the hero\u2019s coming.\n\nWestward thus fared Hiawatha,\nToward the realm of Megissogwon,\nToward the land of the Pearl-Feather,\nTill the level moon stared at him\nIn his face stared pale and haggard,\nTill the sun was hot behind him,\nTill it burned upon his shoulders,\nAnd before him on the upland\nHe could see the Shining Wigwam\nOf the Manito of Wampum,\nOf the mightiest of Magicians.\n\nThen once more Cheemaun he patted,\nTo his birch-canoe said, \u201cOnward!\u201d\nAnd it stirred in all its fibres,\nAnd with one great bound of triumph\nLeaped across the water-lilies,\nLeaped through tangled flags and rushes,\nAnd upon the beach beyond them\nDry-shod landed Hiawatha.\n\nStraight he took his bow of ash-tree,\nOn the sand one end he rested,\nWith his knee he pressed the middle,\nStretched the faithful bow-string tighter,\nTook an arrow, jasperheaded,\nShot it at the Shining Wigwam,\nSent it singing as a herald,\nAs a bearer of his message,\nOf his challenge loud and lofty:\n\u201cCome forth from your lodge, Pearl-Feather!\nHiawatha waits your coming!\u201d\n\nStraightway from the Shining Wigwam\nCame the mighty Megissogwon,\nTall of stature, broad of shoulder,\nDark and terrible in aspect,\nClad from head to foot in wampum,\nArmed with all his warlike weapons,\nPainted like the sky of morning,\nStreaked with crimson, blue, and yellow,\nCrested with great eagle-feathers,\nStreaming upward, streaming outward.\n\n\u201cWell I know you, Hiawatha!\u201d\nCried he in a voice of thunder,\nIn a tone of loud derision.\n\u201cHasten back, O Shaugodaya!\nHasten back among the women,\nBack to old Nokomis, Faint-heart!\nI will slay you as you stand there,\nAs of old I slew her father!\u201d\n\nBut my Hiawatha answered,\nNothing daunted, fearing nothing:\n\u201cBig words do not smite like war-clubs,\nBoastful breath is not a bow-string,\nTaunts are not so sharp as arrows,\nDeeds are better things than words are,\nActions mightier than boastings!\u201d\n\nThen began the greatest battle\nThat the sun had ever looked on,\nThat the war-birds ever witnessed.\nAll a Summer\u2019s day it lasted,\nFrom the sunrise to the sunset;\nFor the shafts of Hiawatha\nHarmless hit the shirt of wampum,\nHarmless fell the blows he dealt it\nWith his mittens, Minjekahwun,\nHarmless fell the heavy war-club;\nIt could dash the rocks asunder,\nBut it could not break the meshes\nOf that magic shirt of wampum.\n\nTill at sunset Hiawatha,\nLeaning on his bow of ash-tree,\nWounded, weary, and desponding,\nWith his mighty war-club broken,\nWith his mittens torn and tattered,\nAnd three useless arrows only,\nPaused to rest beneath a pine-tree,\nFrom whose branches trailed the mosses,\nAnd whose trunk was coated over\nWith the Dead-man\u2019s Moccasin-leather,\nWith the fungus white and yellow.\n\nSuddenly from the boughs above him\nSang the Mama, the woodpecker:\n\u201cAim your arrows, Hiawatha,\nAt the head of Megissogwon,\nStrike the tuft of hair upon it,\nAt their roots the long black tresses;\nThere alone can he be wounded!\u201d\n\nWinged with feathers, tipped with jasper,\nSwift flew Hiawatha\u2019s arrow,\nJust as Megissogwon, stooping,\nRaised a heavy stone to throw it.\nFull upon the crown it struck him,\nAt the roots of his long tresses,\nAnd he reeled and staggered forward,\nPlunging like a wounded bison,\nYes, like Pezhekee, the bison,\nWhen the snow is on the prairie.\n\nSwifter flew the second arrow,\nIn the pathway of the other,\nPiercing deeper than the other,\nWounding sorer than the other;\nAnd the knees of Megissogwon\nShook like windy reeds beneath him,\nBent and trembled like the rushes.\n\nBut the third and latest arrow\nSwiftest flew, and wounded sorest,\nAnd the mighty Megissogwon\nSaw the fiery eyes of Pauguk,\nSaw the eyes of Death glare at him,\nHeard his voice call in the darkness;\nAt the feet of Hiawatha\nLifeless lay the great Pearl-Feather,\nLay the mightiest of Magicians.\n\nThen the grateful Hiawatha\nCalled the Mama, the woodpecker,\nFrom his perch among the branches\nOf the melancholy pine-tree,\nAnd, in honor of his service,\nStained with blood the tuft of feathers\nOn the little head of Mama;\nEven to this day he wears it,\nWears the tuft of crimson feathers,\nAs a symbol of his service.\n\nThen he stripped the shirt of wampum\nFrom the back of Megissogwon,\nAs a trophy of the battle,\nAs a signal of his conquest.\nOn the shore he left the body,\nHalf on land and half in water,\nIn the sand his feet were buried,\nAnd his face was in the water.\nAnd above him, wheeled and clamored\nThe Keneu, the great war-eagle,\nSailing round in narrower circles,\nHovering nearer, nearer, nearer.\n\nFrom the wigwam Hiawatha\nBore the wealth of Megissogwon,\nAll his wealth of skins and wampum,\nFurs of bison and of beaver,\nFurs of sable and of ermine,\nWampum belts and strings and pouches,\nQuivers wrought with beads of wampum,\nFilled with arrows, silver-headed.\n\nHomeward then he sailed exulting,\nHomeward through the black pitch-water,\nHomeward through the weltering serpents,\nWith the trophies of the battle,\nWith a shout and song of triumph.\n\nOn the shore stood old Nokomis,\nOn the shore stood Chibiabos,\nAnd the very strong man, Kwasind,\nWaiting for the hero\u2019s coming,\nListening to his songs of triumph.\nAnd the people of the village\nWelcomed him with songs and dances,\nMade a joyous feast, and shouted:\n\u201cHonor be to Hiawatha!\nHe has slain the great Pearl-Feather,\nSlain the mightiest of Magicians,\nHim, who sent the fiery fever,\nSent the white fog from the fen-lands,\nSent disease and death among us!\u201d\n\nEver dear to Hiawatha\nWas the memory of Mama!\nAnd in token of his friendship,\nAs a mark of his remembrance,\nHe adorned and decked his pipe-stem\nWith the crimson tuft of feathers,\nWith the blood-red crest of Mama.\nBut the wealth of Megissogwon,\nAll the trophies of the battle,\nHe divided with his people,\nShared it equally among them.\n\n\n\n\nX\nHiawatha\u2019s Wooing\n\n\n\u201cAs unto the bow the cord is,\nSo unto the man is woman;\nThough she bends him, she obeys him,\nThough she draws him, yet she follows;\nUseless each without the other!\u201d\n\nThus the youthful Hiawatha\nSaid within himself and pondered,\nMuch perplexed by various feelings,\nListless, longing, hoping, fearing,\nDreaming still of Minnehaha,\nOf the lovely Laughing Water,\nIn the land of the Dacotahs.\n\n\u201cWed a maiden of your people,\u201d\nWarning said the old Nokomis;\n\u201cGo not eastward, go not westward,\nFor a stranger, whom we know not!\nLike a fire upon the hearth-stone\nIs a neighbor\u2019s homely daughter,\nLike the starlight or the moonlight\nIs the handsomest of strangers!\u201d\n\nThus dissuading spake Nokomis,\nAnd my Hiawatha answered\nOnly this: \u201cDear old Nokomis,\nVery pleasant is the firelight,\nBut I like the starlight better,\nBetter do I like the moonlight!\u201d\n\nGravely then said old Nokomis:\n\u201cBring not here an idle maiden,\nBring not here a useless woman,\nHands unskilful, feet unwilling;\nBring a wife with nimble fingers,\nHeart and hand that move together,\nFeet that run on willing errands!\u201d\n\nSmiling answered Hiawatha:\n\u201cIn the land of the Dacotahs\nLives the Arrow-maker\u2019s daughter,\nMinnehaha, Laughing Water,\nHandsomest of all the women.\nI will bring her to your wigwam,\nShe shall run upon your errands,\nBe your starlight, moonlight, firelight,\nBe the sunlight of my people!\u201d\n\nStill dissuading said Nokomis:\n\u201cBring not to my lodge a stranger\nFrom the land of the Dacotahs!\nVery fierce are the Dacotahs,\nOften is there war between us,\nThere are feuds yet unforgotten,\nWounds that ache and still may open!\u201d\n\nLaughing answered Hiawatha:\n\u201cFor that reason, if no other,\nWould I wed the fair Dacotah,\nThat our tribes might be united,\nThat old feuds might be forgotten,\nAnd old wounds be healed forever!\u201d\n\nThus departed Hiawatha\nTo the land of the Dacotahs,\nTo the land of handsome women;\nStriding over moor and meadow,\nThrough interminable forests,\nThrough uninterrupted silence.\n\nWith his moccasins of magic,\nAt each stride a mile he measured;\nYet the way seemed long before him,\nAnd his heart outran his footsteps;\nAnd he journeyed without resting,\nTill he heard the cataract\u2019s laughter,\nHeard the Falls of Minnehaha\nCalling to him through the silence.\n\u201cPleasant is the sound!\u201d he murmured,\n\u201cPleasant is the voice that calls me!\u201d\n\nOn the outskirts of the forests,\n\u2019Twixt the shadow and the sunshine,\nHerds of fallow deer were feeding,\nBut they saw not Hiawatha;\nTo his bow he whispered, \u201cFail not!\u201d\nTo his arrow whispered, \u201cSwerve not!\u201d\nSent it singing on its errand,\nTo the red heart of the roebuck;\nThrew the deer across his shoulder,\nAnd sped forward without pausing.\n\nAt the doorway of his wigwam\nSat the ancient Arrow-maker,\nIn the land of the Dacotahs,\nMaking arrow-heads of jasper,\nArrow-heads of chalcedony.\nAt his side, in all her beauty,\nSat the lovely Minnehaha,\nSat his daughter, Laughing Water,\nPlaiting mats of flags and rushes\nOf the past the old man\u2019s thoughts were,\nAnd the maiden\u2019s of the future.\n\nHe was thinking, as he sat there,\nOf the days when with such arrows\nHe had struck the deer and bison,\nOn the Muskoday, the meadow;\nShot the wild goose, flying southward\nOn the wing, the clamorous Wawa;\nThinking of the great war-parties,\nHow they came to buy his arrows,\nCould not fight without his arrows.\nAh, no more such noble warriors\nCould be found on earth as they were!\nNow the men were all like women,\nOnly used their tongues for weapons!\n\nShe was thinking of a hunter,\nFrom another tribe and country,\nYoung and tall and very handsome,\nWho one morning, in the Spring-time,\nCame to buy her father\u2019s arrows,\nSat and rested in the wigwam,\nLingered long about the doorway,\nLooking back as he departed.\nShe had heard her father praise him,\nPraise his courage and his wisdom;\nWould he come again for arrows\nTo the Falls of Minnehaha?\nOn the mat her hands lay idle,\nAnd her eyes were very dreamy.\n\nThrough their thoughts they heard a footstep,\nHeard a rustling in the branches,\nAnd with glowing cheek and forehead,\nWith the deer upon his shoulders,\nSuddenly from out the woodlands\nHiawatha stood before them.\n\nStraight the ancient Arrow-maker\nLooked up gravely from his labor,\nLaid aside the unfinished arrow,\nBade him enter at the doorway,\nSaying, as he rose to meet him,\n\u201cHiawatha, you are welcome!\u201d\n\nAt the feet of Laughing Water\nHiawatha laid his burden,\nThrew the red deer from his shoulders;\nAnd the maiden looked up at him,\nLooked up from her mat of rushes,\nSaid with gentle look and accent,\n\u201cYou are welcome, Hiawatha!\u201d\n\nVery spacious was the wigwam,\nMade of deer-skins dressed and whitened,\nWith the Gods of the Dacotahs\nDrawn and painted on its curtains,\nAnd so tall the doorway, hardly\nHiawatha stooped to enter,\nHardly touched his eagle-feathers\nAs he entered at the doorway.\n\nThen uprose the Laughing Water,\nFrom the ground fair Minnehaha,\nLaid aside her mat unfinished,\nBrought forth food and set before them,\nWater brought them from the brooklet,\nGave them food in earthen vessels,\nGave them drink in bowls of bass-wood,\nListened while the guest was speaking,\nListened while her father answered,\nBut not once her lips she opened,\nNot a single word she uttered.\n\nYes, as in a dream she listened\nTo the words of Hiawatha,\nAs he talked of old Nokomis,\nWho had nursed him in his childhood,\nAs he told of his companions,\nChibiabos, the musician,\nAnd the very strong man, Kwasind,\nAnd of happiness and plenty\nIn the land of the Ojibways,\nIn the pleasant land and peaceful.\n\n\u201cAfter many years of warfare,\nMany years of strife and bloodshed,\nThere is peace between the Ojibways\nAnd the tribe of the Dacotahs.\u201d\nThus continued Hiawatha,\nAnd then added, speaking slowly,\n\u201cThat this peace may last forever,\nAnd our hands be clasped more closely,\nAnd our hearts be more united,\nGive me as my wife this maiden,\nMinnehaha, Laughing Water,\nLoveliest of Dacotah women!\u201d\n\nAnd the ancient Arrow-maker\nPaused a moment ere he answered,\nSmoked a little while in silence,\nLooked at Hiawatha proudly,\nFondly looked at Laughing Water,\nAnd made answer very gravely:\n\u201cYes, if Minnehaha wishes;\nLet your heart speak, Minnehaha!\u201d\n\nAnd the lovely Laughing Water\nSeemed more lovely as she stood there,\nNeither willing nor reluctant,\nAs she went to Hiawatha,\nSoftly took the seat beside him,\nWhile she said, and blushed to say it,\n\u201cI will follow you, my husband!\u201d\n\nThis was Hiawatha\u2019s wooing!\nThus it was he won the daughter\nOf the ancient Arrow-maker,\nIn the land of the Dacotahs!\n\nFrom the wigwam he departed,\nLeading with him Laughing Water;\nHand in hand they went together,\nThrough the woodland and the meadow,\nLeft the old man standing lonely\nAt the doorway of his wigwam,\nHeard the Falls of Minnehaha\nCalling to them from the distance,\nCrying to them from afar off,\n\u201cFare thee well, O Minnehaha!\u201d\n\nAnd the ancient Arrow-maker\nTurned again unto his labor,\nSat down by his sunny doorway,\nMurmuring to himself, and saying:\n\u201cThus it is our daughters leave us,\nThose we love, and those who love us!\nJust when they have learned to help us,\nWhen we are old and lean upon them,\nComes a youth with flaunting feathers,\nWith his flute of reeds, a stranger\nWanders piping through the village,\nBeckons to the fairest maiden,\nAnd she follows where he leads her,\nLeaving all things for the stranger!\u201d\n\nPleasant was the journey homeward,\nThrough interminable forests,\nOver meadow, over mountain,\nOver river, hill, and hollow.\nShort it seemed to Hiawatha,\nThough they journeyed very slowly,\nThough his pace he checked and slackened\nTo the steps of Laughing Water.\n\nOver wide and rushing rivers\nIn his arms he bore the maiden;\nLight he thought her as a feather,\nAs the plume upon his head-gear;\nCleared the tangled pathway for her,\nBent aside the swaying branches,\nMade at night a lodge of branches,\nAnd a bed with boughs of hemlock,\nAnd a fire before the doorway\nWith the dry cones of the pine-tree.\n\nAll the travelling winds went with them,\nO\u2019er the meadows, through the forest;\nAll the stars of night looked at them,\nWatched with sleepless eyes their slumber;\nFrom his ambush in the oak-tree\nPeeped the squirrel, Adjidaumo,\nWatched with eager eyes the lovers;\nAnd the rabbit, the Wabasso,\nScampered from the path before them,\nPeering, peeping from his burrow,\nSat erect upon his haunches,\nWatched with curious eyes the lovers.\n\nPleasant was the journey homeward!\nAll the birds sang loud and sweetly\nSongs of happiness and heart\u2019s-ease;\nSang the bluebird, the Owaissa,\n\u201cHappy are you, Hiawatha,\nHaving such a wife to love you!\u201d\nSang the robin, the Opechee,\n\u201cHappy are you, Laughing Water,\nHaving such a noble husband!\u201d\n\nFrom the sky the sun benignant\nLooked upon them through the branches,\nSaying to them, \u201cO my children,\nLove is sunshine, hate is shadow,\nLife is checkered shade and sunshine,\nRule by love, O Hiawatha!\u201d\n\nFrom the sky the moon looked at them,\nFilled the lodge with mystic splendors,\nWhispered to them, \u201cO my children,\nDay is restless, night is quiet,\nMan imperious, woman feeble;\nHalf is mine, although I follow;\nRule by patience, Laughing Water!\u201d\n\nThus it was they journeyed homeward;\nThus it was that Hiawatha\nTo the lodge of old Nokomis\nBrought the moonlight, starlight, firelight,\nBrought the sunshine of his people,\nMinnehaha, Laughing Water,\nHandsomest of all the women\nIn the land of the Dacotahs,\nIn the land of handsome women.\n\n\n\n\nXI\nHiawatha\u2019s Wedding-Feast\n\n\nYou shall hear how Pau-Puk-Keewis,\nHow the handsome Yenadizze\nDanced at Hiawatha\u2019s wedding;\nHow the gentle Chibiabos,\nHe the sweetest of musicians,\nSang his songs of love and longing;\nHow Iagoo, the great boaster,\nHe the marvellous story-teller,\nTold his tales of strange adventure,\nThat the feast might be more joyous,\nThat the time might pass more gayly,\nAnd the guests be more contented.\n\nSumptuous was the feast Nokomis\nMade at Hiawatha\u2019s wedding;\nAll the bowls were made of bass-wood,\nWhite and polished very smoothly,\nAll the spoons of horn of bison,\nBlack and polished very smoothly.\n\nShe had sent through all the village\nMessengers with wands of willow,\nAs a sign of invitation,\nAs a token of the feasting;\nAnd the wedding guests assembled,\nClad in all their richest raiment,\nRobes of fur and belts of wampum,\nSplendid with their paint and plumage,\nBeautiful with beads and tassels.\n\nFirst they ate the sturgeon, Nahma,\nAnd the pike, the Maskenozha,\nCaught and cooked by old Nokomis;\nThen on pemican they feasted,\nPemican and buffalo marrow,\nHaunch of deer and hump of bison,\nYellow cakes of the Mondamin,\nAnd the wild rice of the river.\n\nBut the gracious Hiawatha,\nAnd the lovely Laughing Water,\nAnd the careful old Nokomis,\nTasted not the food before them,\nOnly waited on the others\nOnly served their guests in silence.\n\nAnd when all the guests had finished,\nOld Nokomis, brisk and busy,\nFrom an ample pouch of otter,\nFilled the red-stone pipes for smoking\nWith tobacco from the South-land,\nMixed with bark of the red willow,\nAnd with herbs and leaves of fragrance.\n\nThen she said, \u201cO Pau-Puk-Keewis,\nDance for us your merry dances,\nDance the Beggar\u2019s Dance to please us,\nThat the feast may be more joyous,\nThat the time may pass more gayly,\nAnd our guests be more contented!\u201d\n\nThen the handsome Pau-Puk-Keewis,\nHe the idle Yenadizze,\nHe the merry mischief-maker,\nWhom the people called the Storm-Fool,\nRose among the guests assembled.\n\nSkilled was he in sports and pastimes,\nIn the merry dance of snow-shoes,\nIn the play of quoits and ball-play;\nSkilled was he in games of hazard,\nIn all games of skill and hazard,\nPugasaing, the Bowl and Counters,\nKuntassoo, the Game of Plum-stones.\nThough the warriors called him Faint-Heart,\nCalled him coward, Shaugodaya,\nIdler, gambler, Yenadizze,\nLittle heeded he their jesting,\nLittle cared he for their insults,\nFor the women and the maidens\nLoved the handsome Pau-Puk-Keewis.\n\nHe was dressed in shirt of doeskin,\nWhite and soft, and fringed with ermine,\nAll inwrought with beads of wampum;\nHe was dressed in deer-skin leggings,\nFringed with hedgehog quills and ermine,\nAnd in moccasins of buck-skin,\nThick with quills and beads embroidered.\nOn his head were plumes of swan\u2019s down,\nOn his heels were tails of foxes,\nIn one hand a fan of feathers,\nAnd a pipe was in the other.\n\nBarred with streaks of red and yellow,\nStreaks of blue and bright vermilion,\nShone the face of Pau-Puk-Keewis.\nFrom his forehead fell his tresses,\nSmooth, and parted like a woman\u2019s,\nShining bright with oil, and plaited,\nHung with braids of scented grasses,\nAs among the guests assembled,\nTo the sound of flutes and singing,\nTo the sound of drums and voices,\nRose the handsome Pau-Puk-Keewis,\nAnd began his mystic dances.\n\nFirst he danced a solemn measure,\nVery slow in step and gesture,\nIn and out among the pine-trees,\nThrough the shadows and the sunshine,\nTreading softly like a panther.\nThen more swiftly and still swifter,\nWhirling, spinning round in circles,\nLeaping o\u2019er the guests assembled,\nEddying round and round the wigwam,\nTill the leaves went whirling with him,\nTill the dust and wind together\nSwept in eddies round about him.\n\nThen along the sandy margin\nOf the lake, the Big-Sea-Water,\nOn he sped with frenzied gestures,\nStamped upon the sand, and tossed it\nWildly in the air around him;\nTill the wind became a whirlwind,\nTill the sand was blown and sifted\nLike great snowdrifts o\u2019er the landscape,\nHeaping all the shores with Sand Dunes,\nSand Hills of the Nagow Wudjoo!\n\nThus the merry Pau-Puk-Keewis\nDanced his Beggar\u2019s Dance to please them,\nAnd, returning, sat down laughing\nThere among the guests assembled,\nSat and fanned himself serenely\nWith his fan of turkey-feathers.\n\nThen they said to Chibiabos,\nTo the friend of Hiawatha,\nTo the sweetest of all singers,\nTo the best of all musicians,\n\u201cSing to us, O Chibiabos!\nSongs of love and songs of longing,\nThat the feast may be more joyous,\nThat the time may pass more gayly,\nAnd our guests be more contented!\u201d\n\nAnd the gentle Chibiabos\nSang in accents sweet and tender,\nSang in tones of deep emotion,\nSongs of love and songs of longing;\nLooking still at Hiawatha,\nLooking at fair Laughing Water,\nSang he softly, sang in this wise:\n\n\u201cOnaway! Awake, beloved!\nThou the wild-flower of the forest!\nThou the wild-bird of the prairie!\nThou with eyes so soft and fawn-like!\n\n\u201cIf thou only lookest at me,\nI am happy, I am happy,\nAs the lilies of the prairie,\nWhen they feel the dew upon them!\n\n\u201cSweet thy breath is as the fragrance\nOf the wild-flowers in the morning,\nAs their fragrance is at evening,\nIn the Moon when leaves are falling.\n\n\u201cDoes not all the blood within me\nLeap to meet thee, leap to meet thee,\nAs the springs to meet the sunshine,\nIn the Moon when nights are brightest?\n\n\u201cOnaway! my heart sings to thee,\nSings with joy when thou art near me,\nAs the sighing, singing branches\nIn the pleasant Moon of Strawberries!\n\n\u201cWhen thou art not pleased, beloved,\nThen my heart is sad and darkened,\nAs the shining river darkens\nWhen the clouds drop shadows on it!\n\n\u201cWhen thou smilest, my beloved,\nThen my troubled heart is brightened,\nAs in sunshine gleam the ripples\nThat the cold wind makes in rivers.\n\n\u201cSmiles the earth, and smile the waters,\nSmile the cloudless skies above us,\nBut I lose the way of smiling\nWhen thou art no longer near me!\n\n\u201cI myself, myself! behold me!\nBlood of my beating heart, behold me!\nOh awake, awake, beloved!\nOnaway! awake, beloved!\u201d\n\nThus the gentle Chibiabos\nSang his song of love and longing;\nAnd Iagoo, the great boaster,\nHe the marvellous story-teller,\nHe the friend of old Nokomis,\nJealous of the sweet musician,\nJealous of the applause they gave him,\nSaw in all the eyes around him,\nSaw in all their looks and gestures,\nThat the wedding guests assembled\nLonged to hear his pleasant stories,\nHis immeasurable falsehoods.\n\nVery boastful was Iagoo;\nNever heard he an adventure\nBut himself had met a greater;\nNever any deed of daring\nBut himself had done a bolder;\nNever any marvellous story\nBut himself could tell a stranger.\n\nWould you listen to his boasting,\nWould you only give him credence,\nNo one ever shot an arrow\nHalf so far and high as he had;\nEver caught so many fishes,\nEver killed so many reindeer,\nEver trapped so many beaver!\n\nNone could run so fast as he could,\nNone could dive so deep as he could,\nNone could swim so far as he could;\nNone had made so many journeys,\nNone had seen so many wonders,\nAs this wonderful Iagoo,\nAs this marvellous story-teller!\nThus his name became a by-word\nAnd a jest among the people;\nAnd whene\u2019er a boastful hunter\nPraised his own address too highly,\nOr a warrior, home returning,\nTalked too much of his achievements,\nAll his hearers cried, \u201cIagoo!\nHere\u2019s Iagoo come among us!\u201d\n\nHe it was who carved the cradle\nOf the little Hiawatha,\nCarved its framework out of linden,\nBound it strong with reindeer sinews;\nHe it was who taught him later\nHow to make his bows and arrows,\nHow to make the bows of ash-tree,\nAnd the arrows of the oak-tree.\nSo among the guests assembled\nAt my Hiawatha\u2019s wedding\nSat Iagoo, old and ugly,\nSat the marvellous story-teller.\n\nAnd they said, \u201cO good Iagoo,\nTell us now a tale of wonder,\nTell us of some strange adventure,\nThat the feast may be more joyous,\nThat the time may pass more gayly,\nAnd our guests be more contented!\u201d\n\nAnd Iagoo answered straightway,\n\u201cYou shall hear a tale of wonder,\nYou shall hear the strange adventures\nOf Osseo, the Magician,\nFrom the Evening Star descending.\u201d\n\n\n\n\nXII\nThe Son of the Evening Star\n\n\nCan it be the sun descending\nO\u2019er the level plain of water?\nOr the Red Swan floating, flying,\nWounded by the magic arrow,\nStaining all the waves with crimson,\nWith the crimson of its life-blood,\nFilling all the air with splendor,\nWith the splendor of its plumage?\n\nYes; it is the sun descending,\nSinking down into the water;\nAll the sky is stained with purple,\nAll the water flushed with crimson!\nNo; it is the Red Swan floating,\nDiving down beneath the water;\nTo the sky its wings are lifted,\nWith its blood the waves are reddened!\n\nOver it the Star of Evening\nMelts and trembles through the purple,\nHangs suspended in the twilight.\nNo; it is a bead of wampum\nOn the robes of the Great Spirit\nAs he passes through the twilight,\nWalks in silence through the heavens.\n\nThis with joy beheld Iagoo\nAnd he said in haste: \u201cBehold it!\nSee the sacred Star of Evening!\nYou shall hear a tale of wonder,\nHear the story of Osseo,\nSon of the Evening Star, Osseo!\n\n\u201cOnce, in days no more remembered,\nAges nearer the beginning,\nWhen the heavens were closer to us,\nAnd the Gods were more familiar,\nIn the North-land lived a hunter,\nWith ten young and comely daughters,\nTall and lithe as wands of willow;\nOnly Oweenee, the youngest,\nShe the wilful and the wayward,\nShe the silent, dreamy maiden,\nWas the fairest of the sisters.\n\n\u201cAll these women married warriors,\nMarried brave and haughty husbands;\nOnly Oweenee, the youngest,\nLaughed and flouted all her lovers,\nAll her young and handsome suitors,\nAnd then married old Osseo,\nOld Osseo, poor and ugly,\nBroken with age and weak with coughing,\nAlways coughing like a squirrel.\n\n\u201cAh, but beautiful within him\nWas the spirit of Osseo,\nFrom the Evening Star descended,\nStar of Evening, Star of Woman,\nStar of tenderness and passion!\nAll its fire was in his bosom,\nAll its beauty in his spirit,\nAll its mystery in his being,\nAll its splendor in his language!\n\n\u201cAnd her lovers, the rejected,\nHandsome men with belts of wampum,\nHandsome men with paint and feathers.\nPointed at her in derision,\nFollowed her with jest and laughter.\nBut she said: \u2018I care not for you,\nCare not for your belts of wampum,\nCare not for your paint and feathers,\nCare not for your jests and laughter;\nI am happy with Osseo!\u2019\n\n\u201cOnce to some great feast invited,\nThrough the damp and dusk of evening,\nWalked together the ten sisters,\nWalked together with their husbands;\nSlowly followed old Osseo,\nWith fair Oweenee beside him;\nAll the others chatted gayly,\nThese two only walked in silence.\n\n\u201cAt the western sky Osseo\nGazed intent, as if imploring,\nOften stopped and gazed imploring\nAt the trembling Star of Evening,\nAt the tender Star of Woman;\nAnd they heard him murmur softly,\n\u2018Ah, showain nemeshin, Nosa!\nPity, pity me, my father!\u2019\n\n\u201c\u2018Listen!\u2019 said the eldest sister,\n\u2018He is praying to his father!\nWhat a pity that the old man\nDoes not stumble in the pathway,\nDoes not break his neck by falling!\u2019\nAnd they laughed till all the forest\nRang with their unseemly laughter.\n\n\u201cOn their pathway through the woodlands\nLay an oak, by storms uprooted,\nLay the great trunk of an oak-tree,\nBuried half in leaves and mosses,\nMouldering, crumbling, huge and hollow.\nAnd Osseo, when he saw it,\nGave a shout, a cry of anguish,\nLeaped into its yawning cavern,\nAt one end went in an old man,\nWasted, wrinkled, old, and ugly;\nFrom the other came a young man,\nTall and straight and strong and handsome.\n\n\u201cThus Osseo was transfigured,\nThus restored to youth and beauty;\nBut, alas for good Osseo,\nAnd for Oweenee, the faithful!\nStrangely, too, was she transfigured.\nChanged into a weak old woman,\nWith a staff she tottered onward,\nWasted, wrinkled, old, and ugly!\nAnd the sisters and their husbands\nLaughed until the echoing forest\nRang with their unseemly laughter.\n\n\u201cBut Osseo turned not from her,\nWalked with slower step beside her,\nTook her hand, as brown and withered\nAs an oak-leaf is in Winter,\nCalled her sweetheart, Nenemoosha,\nSoothed her with soft words of kindness,\nTill they reached the lodge of feasting,\nTill they sat down in the wigwam,\nSacred to the Star of Evening,\nTo the tender Star of Woman.\n\n\u201cWrapt in visions, lost in dreaming,\nAt the banquet sat Osseo;\nAll were merry, all were happy,\nAll were joyous but Osseo.\nNeither food nor drink he tasted,\nNeither did he speak nor listen;\nBut as one bewildered sat he,\nLooking dreamily and sadly,\nFirst at Oweenee, then upward\nAt the gleaming sky above them.\n\n\u201cThen a voice was heard, a whisper,\nComing from the starry distance,\nComing from the empty vastness,\nLow, and musical, and tender;\nAnd the voice said: \u2018O Osseo!\nO my son, my best beloved!\nBroken are the spells that bound you,\nAll the charms of the magicians,\nAll the magic powers of evil;\nCome to me; ascend, Osseo!\n\n\u201c\u2018Taste the food that stands before you:\nIt is blessed and enchanted,\nIt has magic virtues in it,\nIt will change you to a spirit.\nAll your bowls and all your kettles\nShall be wood and clay no longer;\nBut the bowls be changed to wampum,\nAnd the kettles shall be silver;\nThey shall shine like shells of scarlet,\nLike the fire shall gleam and glimmer.\n\n\u201c\u2018And the women shall no longer\nBear the dreary doom of labor,\nBut be changed to birds, and glisten\nWith the beauty of the starlight,\nPainted with the dusky splendors\nOf the skies and clouds of evening!\u2019\n\n\u201cWhat Osseo heard as whispers,\nWhat as words he comprehended,\nWas but music to the others,\nMusic as of birds afar off,\nOf the whippoorwill afar off,\nOf the lonely Wawonaissa\nSinging in the darksome forest.\n\n\u201cThen the lodge began to tremble,\nStraight began to shake and tremble,\nAnd they felt it rising, rising,\nSlowly through the air ascending,\nFrom the darkness of the tree-tops\nForth into the dewy starlight,\nTill it passed the topmost branches;\nAnd behold! the wooden dishes\nAll were changed to shells of scarlet!\nAnd behold! the earthen kettles\nAll were changed to bowls of silver!\nAnd the roof-poles of the wigwam\nWere as glittering rods of silver,\nAnd the roof of bark upon them\nAs the shining shards of beetles.\n\n\u201cThen Osseo gazed around him,\nAnd he saw the nine fair sisters,\nAll the sisters and their husbands,\nChanged to birds of various plumage.\nSome were jays and some were magpies,\nOthers thrushes, others blackbirds;\nAnd they hopped, and sang, and twittered,\nPerked and fluttered all their feathers,\nStrutted in their shining plumage,\nAnd their tails like fans unfolded.\n\n\u201cOnly Oweenee, the youngest,\nWas not changed, but sat in silence,\nWasted, wrinkled, old, and ugly,\nLooking sadly at the others;\nTill Osseo, gazing upward,\nGave another cry of anguish,\nSuch a cry as he had uttered\nBy the oak-tree in the forest.\n\u201cThen returned her youth and beauty,\nAnd her soiled and tattered garments\nWere transformed to robes of ermine,\nAnd her staff became a feather,\nYes, a shining silver feather!\n\n\u201cAnd again the wigwam trembled,\nSwayed and rushed through airy currents,\nThrough transparent cloud and vapor,\nAnd amid celestial splendors\nOn the Evening Star alighted,\nAs a snow-flake falls on snow-flake,\nAs a leaf drops on a river,\nAs the thistledown on water.\n\n\u201cForth with cheerful words of welcome\nCame the father of Osseo,\nHe with radiant locks of silver,\nHe with eyes serene and tender.\nAnd he said: \u2018My son, Osseo,\nHang the cage of birds you bring there,\nHang the cage with rods of silver,\nAnd the birds with glistening feathers,\nAt the doorway of my wigwam.\u2019\n\n\u201cAt the door he hung the bird-cage,\nAnd they entered in and gladly\nListened to Osseo\u2019s father,\nRuler of the Star of Evening,\nAs he said: \u2018O my Osseo!\nI have had compassion on you,\nGiven you back your youth and beauty,\nInto birds of various plumage\nChanged your sisters and their husbands;\nChanged them thus because they mocked you\nIn the figure of the old man,\nIn that aspect sad and wrinkled,\nCould not see your heart of passion,\nCould not see your youth immortal;\nOnly Oweenee, the faithful,\nSaw your naked heart and loved you.\n\n\u201c\u2018In the lodge that glimmers yonder,\nIn the little star that twinkles\nThrough the vapors, on the left hand,\nLives the envious Evil Spirit,\nThe Wabeno, the magician,\nWho transformed you to an old man.\nTake heed lest his beams fall on you,\nFor the rays he darts around him\nAre the power of his enchantment,\nAre the arrows that he uses.\u2019\n\n\u201cMany years, in peace and quiet,\nOn the peaceful Star of Evening\nDwelt Osseo with his father;\nMany years, in song and flutter,\nAt the doorway of the wigwam,\nHung the cage with rods of silver,\nAnd fair Oweenee, the faithful,\nBore a son unto Osseo,\nWith the beauty of his mother,\nWith the courage of his father.\n\n\u201cAnd the boy grew up and prospered,\nAnd Osseo, to delight him,\nMade him little bows and arrows,\nOpened the great cage of silver,\nAnd let loose his aunts and uncles,\nAll those birds with glossy feathers,\nFor his little son to shoot at.\n\n\u201cRound and round they wheeled and darted,\nFilled the Evening Star with music,\nWith their songs of joy and freedom\nFilled the Evening Star with splendor,\nWith the fluttering of their plumage;\nTill the boy, the little hunter,\nBent his bow and shot an arrow,\nShot a swift and fatal arrow,\nAnd a bird, with shining feathers,\nAt his feet fell wounded sorely.\n\n\u201cBut, O wondrous transformation!\n\u2019T was no bird he saw before him,\n\u2019T was a beautiful young woman,\nWith the arrow in her bosom!\n\n\u201cWhen her blood fell on the planet,\nOn the sacred Star of Evening,\nBroken was the spell of magic,\nPowerless was the strange enchantment,\nAnd the youth, the fearless bowman,\nSuddenly felt himself descending,\nHeld by unseen hands, but sinking\nDownward through the empty spaces,\nDownward through the clouds and vapors,\nTill he rested on an island,\nOn an island, green and grassy,\nYonder in the Big-Sea-Water.\n\n\u201cAfter him he saw descending\nAll the birds with shining feathers,\nFluttering, falling, wafted downward,\nLike the painted leaves of Autumn;\nAnd the lodge with poles of silver,\nWith its roof like wings of beetles,\nLike the shining shards of beetles,\nBy the winds of heaven uplifted,\nSlowly sank upon the island,\nBringing back the good Osseo,\nBringing Oweenee, the faithful.\n\n\u201cThen the birds, again transfigured,\nReassumed the shape of mortals,\nTook their shape, but not their stature;\nThey remained as Little People,\nLike the pygmies, the Puk-Wudjies,\nAnd on pleasant nights of Summer,\nWhen the Evening Star was shining,\nHand in hand they danced together\nOn the island\u2019s craggy headlands,\nOn the sand-beach low and level.\n\n\u201cStill their glittering lodge is seen there,\nOn the tranquil Summer evenings,\nAnd upon the shore the fisher\nSometimes hears their happy voices,\nSees them dancing in the starlight !\u201d\n\nWhen the story was completed,\nWhen the wondrous tale was ended,\nLooking round upon his listeners,\nSolemnly Iagoo added:\n\u201cThere are great men, I have known such,\nWhom their people understand not,\nWhom they even make a jest of,\nScoff and jeer at in derision.\nFrom the story of Osseo\nLet us learn the fate of jesters!\u201d\n\nAll the wedding guests delighted\nListened to the marvellous story,\nListened laughing and applauding,\nAnd they whispered to each other:\n\u201cDoes he mean himself, I wonder?\nAnd are we the aunts and uncles?\u201d\n\nThen again sang Chibiabos,\nSang a song of love and longing,\nIn those accents sweet and tender,\nIn those tones of pensive sadness,\nSang a maiden\u2019s lamentation\nFor her lover, her Algonquin.\n\n\u201cWhen I think of my beloved,\nAh me! think of my beloved,\nWhen my heart is thinking of him,\nO my sweetheart, my Algonquin!\n\n\u201cAh me! when I parted from him,\nRound my neck he hung the wampum,\nAs a pledge, the snow-white wampum,\nO my sweetheart, my Algonquin!\n\n\u201c\u2018I will go with you,\u2019 he whispered,\n\u2018Ah me! to your native country;\nLet me go with you,\u2019 he whispered,\n\u2018O my sweetheart, my Algonquin!\u2019\n\u2018Far away, away,\u2019 I answered,\n\u2018Very far away,\u2019 I answered,\n\u2018Ah me! is my native country,\nO my sweetheart, my Algonquin!\u2019\n\n\u201cWhen I looked back to behold him,\nWhere we parted, to behold him,\nAfter me he still was gazing,\nO my sweetheart, my Algonquin!\n\n\u201cBy the tree he still was standing,\nBy the fallen tree was standing,\nThat had dropped into the water,\nO my sweetheart, my Algonquin!\n\u201cWhen I think of my beloved,\nAh me! think of my beloved,\nWhen my heart is thinking of him,\nO my sweetheart, my Algonquin!\u201d\nSuch was Hiawatha\u2019s Wedding,\nSuch the dance of Pau-Puk-Keewis,\nSuch the story of Iagoo,\nSuch the songs of Chibiabos;\nThus the wedding banquet ended,\nAnd the wedding guests departed,\nLeaving Hiawatha happy\nWith the night and Minnehaha.\n\n\n\n\nXIII\nBlessing the Cornfields\n\n\nSing, O Song of Hiawatha,\nOf the happy days that followed,\nIn the land of the Ojibways,\nIn the pleasant land and peaceful!\nSing the mysteries of Mondamin,\nSing the Blessing of the Cornfields!\n\nBuried was the bloody hatchet,\nBuried was the dreadful war-club,\nBuried were all warlike weapons,\nAnd the war-cry was forgotten.\nThere was peace among the nations;\nUnmolested roved the hunters,\nBuilt the birch canoe for sailing,\nCaught the fish in lake and river,\nShot the deer and trapped the beaver;\nUnmolested worked the women,\nMade their sugar from the maple,\nGathered wild rice in the meadows,\nDressed the skins of deer and beaver.\n\nAll around the happy village\nStood the maize-fields, green and shining,\nWaved the green plumes of Mondamin,\nWaved his soft and sunny tresses,\nFilling all the land with plenty.\n\u2019T was the women who in Spring-time\nPlanted the broad fields and fruitful,\nBuried in the earth Mondamin;\n\u2019T was the women who in Autumn\nStripped the yellow husks of harvest,\nStripped the garments from Mondamin,\nEven as Hiawatha taught them.\n\nOnce, when all the maize was planted,\nHiawatha, wise and thoughtful,\nSpake and said to Minnehaha,\nTo his wife, the Laughing Water:\n\u201cYou shall bless to-night the cornfields,\nDraw a magic circle round them,\nTo protect them from destruction,\nBlast of mildew, blight of insect,\nWagemin, the thief of cornfields,\nPaimosaid, who steals the maize-ear.\n\n\u201cIn the night, when all is silence,\u2019\nIn the night, when all is darkness,\nWhen the Spirit of Sleep, Nepahwin,\nShuts the doors of all the wigwams,\nSo that not an ear can hear you,\nSo that not an eye can see you,\nRise up from your bed in silence,\nLay aside your garments wholly,\nWalk around the fields you planted,\nRound the borders of the cornfields,\nCovered by your tresses only,\nRobed with darkness as a garment.\n\n\u201cThus the fields shall be more fruitful,\nAnd the passing of your footsteps\nDraw a magic circle round them,\nSo that neither blight nor mildew,\nNeither burrowing worm nor insect,\nShall pass o\u2019er the magic circle;\nNot the dragon-fly, Kwo-ne-she,\nNor the spider, Subbekashe,\nNor the grasshopper, Pah-puk-keena;\nNor the mighty caterpillar,\nWay-muk-kwana, with the bear-skin,\nKing of all the caterpillars!\u201d\n\nOn the tree-tops near the cornfields\nSat the hungry crows and ravens,\nKahgahgee, the King of Ravens,\nWith his band of black marauders.\nAnd they laughed at Hiawatha,\nTill the tree-tops shook with laughter,\nWith their melancholy laughter,\nAt the words of Hiawatha.\n\u201cHear him!\u201d said they; \u201chear the Wise Man,\nHear the plots of Hiawatha!\u201d\n\nWhen the noiseless night descended\nBroad and dark o\u2019er field and forest,\nWhen the mournful Wawonaissa\nSorrowing sang among the hemlocks,\nAnd the Spirit of Sleep, Nepahwin,\nShut the doors of all the wigwams,\nFrom her bed rose Laughing Water,\nLaid aside her garments wholly,\nAnd with darkness clothed and guarded,\nUnashamed and unaffrighted,\nWalked securely round the cornfields,\nDrew the sacred, magic circle\nOf her footprints round the cornfields.\n\nNo one but the Midnight only\nSaw her beauty in the darkness,\nNo one but the Wawonaissa\nHeard the panting of her bosom\nGuskewau, the darkness, wrapped her\nClosely in his sacred mantle,\nSo that none might see her beauty,\nSo that none might boast, \u201cI saw her!\u201d\n\nOn the morrow, as the day dawned,\nKahgahgee, the King of Ravens,\nGathered all his black marauders,\nCrows and blackbirds, jays and ravens,\nClamorous on the dusky tree-tops,\nAnd descended, fast and fearless,\nOn the fields of Hiawatha,\nOn the grave of the Mondamin.\n\n\u201cWe will drag Mondamin,\u201d said they,\n\u201cFrom the grave where he is buried,\nSpite of all the magic circles\nLaughing Water draws around it,\nSpite of all the sacred footprints\nMinnehaha stamps upon it!\u201d\n\nBut the wary Hiawatha,\nEver thoughtful, careful, watchful,\nHad o\u2019erheard the scornful laughter\nWhen they mocked him from the tree-tops.\n\u201cKaw!\u201d he said, \u201cmy friends the ravens!\nKahgahgee, my King of Ravens!\nI will teach you all a lesson\nThat shall not be soon forgotten!\u201d\n\nHe had risen before the daybreak,\nHe had spread o\u2019er all the cornfields\nSnares to catch the black marauders,\nAnd was lying now in ambush\nIn the neighboring grove of pine-trees,\nWaiting for the crows and blackbirds,\nWaiting for the jays and ravens.\n\nSoon they came with caw and clamor,\nRush of wings and cry of voices,\nTo their work of devastation,\nSettling down upon the cornfields,\nDelving deep with beak and talon,\nFor the body of Mondamin.\nAnd with all their craft and cunning,\nAll their skill in wiles of warfare,\nThey perceived no danger near them,\nTill their claws became entangled,\nTill they found themselves imprisoned\nIn the snares of Hiawatha.\n\nFrom his place of ambush came he,\nStriding terrible among them,\nAnd so awful was his aspect\nThat the bravest quailed with terror.\nWithout mercy he destroyed them\nRight and left, by tens and twenties,\nAnd their wretched, lifeless bodies\nHung aloft on poles for scarecrows\nRound the consecrated cornfields,\nAs a signal of his vengeance,\nAs a warning to marauders.\n\nOnly Kahgahgee, the leader,\nKahgahgee, the King of Ravens,\nHe alone was spared among them\nAs a hostage for his people.\nWith his prisoner-string he bound him,\nLed him captive to his wigwam,\nTied him fast with cords of elm-bark\nTo the ridge-pole of his wigwam.\n\n\u201cKahgahgee, my raven!\u201d said he,\n\u201cYou the leader of the robbers,\nYou the plotter of this mischief,\nThe contriver of this outrage,\nI will keep you, I will hold you,\nAs a hostage for your people,\nAs a pledge of good behavior!\u201d\n\nAnd he left him, grim and sulky,\nSitting in the morning sunshine\nOn the summit of the wigwam,\nCroaking fiercely his displeasure,\nFlapping his great sable pinions,\nVainly struggling for his freedom,\nVainly calling on his people!\n\nSummer passed, and Shawondasee\nBreathed his sighs o\u2019er all the landscape,\nFrom the South-land sent his ardor,\nWafted kisses warm and tender;\nAnd the maize-field grew and ripened,\nTill it stood in all the splendor\nOf its garments green and yellow,\nOf its tassels and its plumage,\nAnd the maize-ears full and shining\nGleamed from bursting sheaths of verdure.\n\nThen Nokomis, the old woman,\nSpake, and said to Minnehaha:\n\n\u201c\u2019T is the Moon when, leaves are falling;\nAll the wild rice has been gathered,\nAnd the maize is ripe and ready;\nLet us gather in the harvest,\nLet us wrestle with Mondamin,\nStrip him of his plumes and tassels,\nOf his garments green and yellow!\u201d\n\nAnd the merry Laughing Water\nWent rejoicing from the wigwam,\nWith Nokomis, old and wrinkled,\nAnd they called the women round them,\nCalled the young men and the maidens,\nTo the harvest of the cornfields,\nTo the husking of the maize-ear.\n\nOn the border of the forest,\nUnderneath the fragrant pine-trees,\nSat the old men and the warriors\nSmoking in the pleasant shadow.\nIn uninterrupted silence\nLooked they at the gamesome labor\nOf the young men and the women;\nListened to their noisy talking,\nTo their laughter and their singing,\nHeard them chattering like the magpies,\nHeard them laughing like the blue-jays,\nHeard them singing like the robins.\n\nAnd whene\u2019er some lucky maiden\nFound a red ear in the husking,\nFound a maize-ear red as blood is,\n\u201cNushka!\u201d cried they all together,\n\u201cNushka! you shall have a sweetheart,\nYou shall have a handsome husband!\u201d\n\u201cUgh!\u201d the old men all responded\nFrom their seats beneath the pine-trees.\n\nAnd whene\u2019er a youth or maiden\nFound a crooked ear in husking,\nFound a maize-ear in the husking\nBlighted, mildewed, or misshapen,\nThen they laughed and sang together,\nCrept and limped about the cornfields,\nMimicked in their gait and gestures\nSome old man, bent almost double,\nSinging singly or together:\n\u201cWagemin, the thief of cornfields!\nPaimosaid, who steals the maize-ear!\u201d\n\nTill the cornfields rang with laughter,\nTill from Hiawatha\u2019s wigwam\nKahgahgee, the King of Ravens,\nScreamed and quivered in his anger,\nAnd from all the neighboring tree-tops\nCawed and croaked the black marauders.\n\u201cUgh!\u201d the old men all responded,\nFrom their seats beneath the pine-trees!\n\n\n\n\nXIV\nPicture-Writing\n\n\nIn those days said Hiawatha,\n\u201cLo! how all things fade and perish!\nFrom the memory of the old men\nPass away the great traditions,\nThe achievements of the warriors,\nThe adventures of the hunters,\nAll the wisdom of the Medas,\nAll the craft of the Wabenos,\nAll the marvellous dreams and visions\nOf the Jossakeeds, the Prophets!\n\n\u201cGreat men die and are forgotten,\nWise men speak; their words of wisdom\nPerish in the ears that hear them,\nDo not reach the generations\nThat, as yet unborn, are waiting\nIn the great, mysterious darkness\nOf the speechless days that shall be!\n\n\u201cOn the grave-posts of our fathers\nAre no signs, no figures painted;\nWho are in those graves we know not,\nOnly know they are our fathers.\nOf what kith they are and kindred,\nFrom what old, ancestral Totem,\nBe it Eagle, Bear, or Beaver,\nThey descended, this we know not,\nOnly know they are our fathers.\n\n\u201cFace to face we speak together,\nBut we cannot speak when absent,\nCannot send our voices from us\nTo the friends that dwell afar off;\nCannot send a secret message,\nBut the bearer learns our secret,\nMay pervert it, may betray it,\nMay reveal it unto others.\u201d\nThus said Hiawatha, walking\nIn the solitary forest,\nPondering, musing in the forest,\nOn the welfare of his people.\n\nFrom his pouch he took his colors,\nTook his paints of different colors,\nOn the smooth bark of a birch-tree\nPainted many shapes and figures,\nWonderful and mystic figures,\nAnd each figure had a meaning,\nEach some word or thought suggested.\n\nGitche Manito the Mighty,\nHe, the Master of Life, was painted\nAs an egg, with points projecting\nTo the four winds of the heavens.\nEverywhere is the Great Spirit,\nWas the meaning of this symbol.\n\nMitche Manito the Mighty,\nHe the dreadful Spirit of Evil,\nAs a serpent was depicted,\nAs Kenabeek, the great serpent.\nVery crafty, very cunning,\nIs the creeping Spirit of Evil,\nWas the meaning of this symbol.\n\nLife and Death he drew as circles,\nLife was white, but Death was darkened;\nSun and moon and stars he painted,\nMan and beast, and fish and reptile,\nForests, mountains, lakes, and rivers.\n\nFor the earth he drew a straight line,\nFor the sky a bow above it;\nWhite the space between for daytime,\nFilled with little stars for night-time;\nOn the left a point for sunrise,\nOn the right a point for sunset,\nOn the top a point for noontide,\nAnd for rain and cloudy weather\nWaving lines descending from it.\n\nFootprints pointing towards a wigwam\nWere a sign of invitation,\nWere a sign of guests assembling;\nBloody hands with palms uplifted\nWere a symbol of destruction,\nWere a hostile sign and symbol.\n\nAll these things did Hiawatha\nShow unto his wondering people,\nAnd interpreted their meaning,\nAnd he said: \u201cBehold, your grave-posts\nHave no mark, no sign, nor symbol,\nGo and paint them all with figures;\nEach one with its household symbol,\nWith its own ancestral Totem;\nSo that those who follow after\nMay distinguish them and know them.\u201d\n\nAnd they painted on the grave-posts\nOn the graves yet unforgotten,\nEach his own ancestral Totem,\nEach the symbol of his household;\nFigures of the Bear and Reindeer,\nOf the Turtle, Crane, and Beaver,\nEach inverted as a token\nThat the owner was departed,\nThat the chief who bore the symbol\nLay beneath in dust and ashes.\n\nAnd the Jossakeeds, the Prophets,\nThe Wabenos, the Magicians,\nAnd the Medicine-men, the Medas,\nPainted upon bark and deer-skin\nFigures for the songs they chanted,\nFor each song a separate symbol,\nFigures mystical and awful,\nFigures strange and brightly colored;\nAnd each figure had its meaning,\nEach some magic song suggested.\n\nThe Great Spirit, the Creator,\nFlashing light through all the heaven;\nThe Great Serpent, the Kenabeek,\nWith his bloody crest erected,\nCreeping, looking into heaven;\nIn the sky the sun, that listens,\nAnd the moon eclipsed and dying;\nOwl and eagle, crane and hen-hawk,\nAnd the cormorant, bird of magic;\nHeadless men, that walk the heavens,\nBodies lying pierced with arrows,\nBloody hands of death uplifted,\nFlags on graves, and great war-captains\nGrasping both the earth and heaven!\n\nSuch as these the shapes they painted\nOn the birch-bark and the deer-skin;\nSongs of war and songs of hunting,\nSongs of medicine and of magic,\nAll were written in these figures,\nFor each figure had its meaning,\nEach its separate song recorded.\n\nNor forgotten was the Love-Song,\nThe most subtle of all medicines,\nThe most potent spell of magic,\nDangerous more than war or hunting!\nThus the Love-Song was recorded,\nSymbol and interpretation.\n\nFirst a human figure standing,\nPainted in the brightest scarlet;\n\u2019T is the lover, the musician,\nAnd the meaning is, \u201cMy painting\nMakes me powerful over others.\u201d\n\nThen the figure seated, singing,\nPlaying on a drum of magic,\nAnd the interpretation, \u201cListen!\n\u2019T is my voice you hear, my singing!\u201d\n\nThen the same red figure seated\nIn the shelter of a wigwam,\nAnd the meaning of the symbol,\n\u201cI will come and sit beside you\nIn the mystery of my passion!\u201d\n\nThen two figures, man and woman,\nStanding hand in hand together\nWith their hands so clasped together\nThat they seemed in one united,\nAnd the words thus represented\nAre, \u201cI see your heart within you,\nAnd your cheeks are red with blushes!\u201d\n\nNext the maiden on an island,\nIn the centre of an Island;\nAnd the song this shape suggested\nWas, \u201cThough you were at a distance,\nWere upon some far-off island,\nSuch the spell I cast upon you,\nSuch the magic power of passion,\nI could straightway draw you to me!\u201d\n\nThen the figure of the maiden\nSleeping, and the lover near her,\nWhispering to her in her slumbers,\nSaying, \u201cThough you were far from me\nIn the land of Sleep and Silence,\nStill the voice of love would reach you!\u201d\n\nAnd the last of all the figures\nWas a heart within a circle,\nDrawn within a magic circle;\nAnd the image had this meaning:\n\u201cNaked lies your heart before me,\nTo your naked heart I whisper!\u201d\n\nThus it was that Hiawatha,\nIn his wisdom, taught the people\nAll the mysteries of painting,\nAll the art of Picture-Writing,\nOn the smooth bark of the birch-tree,\nOn the white skin of the reindeer,\nOn the grave-posts of the village.\n\n\n\n\nXV\nHiawatha\u2019s Lamentation\n\n\nIn those days the Evil Spirits,\nAll the Manitos of mischief,\nFearing Hiawatha\u2019s wisdom,\nAnd his love for Chibiabos,\nJealous of their faithful friendship,\nAnd their noble words and actions,\nMade at length a league against them,\nTo molest them and destroy them.\n\nHiawatha, wise and wary,\nOften said to Chibiabos,\n\u201cO my brother! do not leave me,\nLest the Evil Spirits harm you!\u201d\nChibiabos, young and heedless,\nLaughing shook his coal-black tresses,\nAnswered ever sweet and childlike,\n\u201cDo not fear for me, O brother!\nHarm and evil come not near me!\u201d\n\nOnce when Peboan, the Winter,\nRoofed with ice the Big-Sea-Water,\nWhen the snow-flakes, whirling downward,\nHissed among the withered oak-leaves,\nChanged the pine-trees into wigwams,\nCovered all the earth with silence,\nArmed with arrows, shod with snow-shoes,\nHeeding not his brother\u2019s warning,\nFearing not the Evil Spirits,\nForth to hunt the deer with antlers\nAll alone went Chibiabos.\n\nRight across the Big-Sea-Water\nSprang with speed the deer before him.\nWith the wind and snow he followed,\nO\u2019er the treacherous ice he followed,\nWild with all the fierce commotion\nAnd the rapture of the hunting.\n\nBut beneath, the Evil Spirits\nLay in ambush, waiting for him,\nBroke the treacherous ice beneath him,\nDragged him downward to the bottom,\nBuried in the sand his body.\nUnktahee, the god of water,\nHe the god of the Dacotahs,\nDrowned him in the deep abysses\nOf the lake of Gitche Gumee.\n\nFrom the headlands Hiawatha\nSent forth such a wail of anguish,\nSuch a fearful lamentation,\nThat the bison paused to listen,\nAnd the wolves howled from the prairies,\nAnd the thunder in the distance\nStarting answered \u201cBaim-wawa!\u201d\n\nThen his face with black he painted,\nWith his robe his head he covered,\nIn his wigwam sat lamenting,\nSeven long weeks he sat lamenting,\nUttering still this moan of sorrow:\n\n\u201cHe is dead, the sweet musician!\nHe the sweetest of all singers!\nHe has gone from us forever,\nHe has moved a little nearer\nTo the Master of all music,\nTo the Master of all singing!\nO my brother, Chibiabos!\u201d\n\nAnd the melancholy fir-trees\nWaved their dark green fans above him,\nWaved their purple cones above him,\nSighing with him to console him,\nMingling with his lamentation\nTheir complaining, their lamenting.\n\nCame the Spring, and all the forest\nLooked in vain for Chibiabos;\nSighed the rivulet, Sebowisha,\nSighed the rushes in the meadow.\n\nFrom the tree-tops sang the bluebird,\nSang the bluebird, the Owaissa,\n\u201cChibiabos! Chibiabos!\nHe is dead, the sweet musician!\u201d\n\nFrom the wigwam sang the robin,\nSang the robin, the Opechee,\n\u201cChibiabos! Chibiabos!\nHe is dead, the sweetest singer!\u201d\n\nAnd at night through all the forest\nWent the whippoorwill complaining,\nWailing went the Wawonaissa,\n\u201cChibiabos! Chibiabos!\nHe is dead, the sweet musician!\nHe the sweetest of all singers!\u201d\n\nThen the Medicine-men, the Medas,\nThe magicians, the Wabenos,\nAnd the Jossakeeds, the Prophets,\nCame to visit Hiawatha;\nBuilt a Sacred Lodge beside him,\nTo appease him, to console him,\nWalked in silent, grave procession,\nBearing each a pouch of healing,\nSkin of beaver, lynx, or otter,\nFilled with magic roots and simples,\nFilled with very potent medicines.\n\nWhen he heard their steps approaching,\nHiawatha ceased lamenting,\nCalled no more on Chibiabos;\nNaught he questioned, naught he answered,\nBut his mournful head uncovered,\nFrom his face the mourning colors\nWashed he slowly and in silence,\nSlowly and in silence followed\nOnward to the Sacred Wigwam.\n\nThere a magic drink they gave him,\nMade of Nahma-wusk, the spearmint,\nAnd Wabeno-wusk, the yarrow,\nRoots of power, and herbs of healing;\nBeat their drums, and shook their rattles;\nChanted singly and in chorus,\nMystic songs like these, they chanted.\n\n\u201cI myself, myself! behold me!\n\u2019T is the great Gray Eagle talking;\nCome, ye white crows, come and hear him!\nThe loud-speaking thunder helps me;\nAll the unseen spirits help me;\nI can hear their voices calling,\nAll around the sky I hear them!\nI can blow you strong, my brother,\nI can heal you, Hiawatha!\u201d\n\n\u201cHi-au-ha!\u201d replied the chorus,\n\u201cWayha-way!\u201d the mystic chorus.\n\nFriends of mine are all the serpents!\nHear me shake my skin of hen-hawk!\nMahng, the white loon, I can kill him;\nI can shoot your heart and kill it!\nI can blow you strong, my brother,\nI can heal you, Hiawatha !\u201d\n\n\u201cHi-au-ha!\u201d replied the chorus,\n\u201cWayhaway!\u201d the mystic chorus.\n\n\u201cI myself, myself! the prophet!\nWhen I speak the wigwam trembles,\nShakes the Sacred Lodge with terror,\nHands unseen begin to shake it!\nWhen I walk, the sky I tread on\nBends and makes a noise beneath me!\nI can blow you strong, my brother!\nRise and speak, O Hiawatha!\u201d\n\n\u201cHi-au-ha!\u201d replied the chorus,\n\u201cWay-ha-way!\u201d the mystic chorus.\n\nThen they shook their medicine-pouches\nO\u2019er the head of Hiawatha,\nDanced their medicine-dance around him;\nAnd upstarting wild and haggard,\nLike a man from dreams awakened,\nHe was healed of all his madness.\nAs the clouds are swept from heaven,\nStraightway from his brain departed\nAll his moody melancholy;\nAs the ice is swept from rivers,\nStraightway from his heart departed\nAll his sorrow and affliction.\n\nThen they summoned Chibiabos\nFrom his grave beneath the waters,\nFrom the sands of Gitche Gumee\nSummoned Hiawatha\u2019s brother.\nAnd so mighty was the magic\nOf that cry and invocation,\nThat he heard it as he lay there\nUnderneath the Big-Sea-Water;\nFrom the sand he rose and listened,\nHeard the music and the singing,\nCame, obedient to the summons,\nTo the doorway of the wigwam,\nBut to enter they forbade him.\n\nThrough a chink a coal they gave him,\nThrough the door a burning fire-brand;\nRuler in the Land of Spirits,\nRuler o\u2019er the dead, they made him,\nTelling him a fire to kindle\nFor all those that died thereafter,\nCamp-fires for their night encampments\nOn their solitary journey\nTo the kingdom of Ponemah,\nTo the land of the Hereafter.\n\nFrom the village of his childhood,\nFrom the homes of those who knew him,\nPassing silent through the forest,\nLike a smoke-wreath wafted sideways,\nSlowly vanished Chibiabos!\nWhere he passed, the branches moved not,\nWhere he trod, the grasses bent not,\nAnd the fallen leaves of last year\nMade no sound beneath his footstep.\n\nFour whole days he journeyed onward\nDown the pathway of the dead men;\nOn the dead-man\u2019s strawberry feasted,\nCrossed the melancholy river,\nOn the swinging log he crossed it,\nCame unto the Lake of Silver,\nIn the Stone Canoe was carried\nTo the Islands of the Blessed,\nTo the land of ghosts and shadows.\n\nOn that journey, moving slowly,\nMany weary spirits saw he,\nPanting under heavy burdens,\nLaden with war-clubs, bows and arrows,\nRobes of fur, and pots and kettles,\nAnd with food that friends had given\nFor that solitary journey.\n\n\u201cAy! why do the living,\u201d said they,\n\u201cLay such heavy burdens on us!\nBetter were it to go naked,\nBetter were it to go fasting,\nThan to bear such heavy burdens\nOn our long and weary journey!\u201d\nForth then issued Hiawatha,\nWandered eastward, wandered westward,\nTeaching men the use of simples\nAnd the antidotes for poisons,\nAnd the cure of all diseases.\nThus was first made known to mortals\nAll the mystery of Medamin,\nAll the sacred art of healing.\n\n\n\n\nXVI\nPau-Puk-Keewis\n\n\nYou shall hear how Pau-Puk-Keewis,\nHe, the handsome Yenadizze,\nWhom the people called the Storm-Fool,\nVexed the village with disturbance;\nYou shall hear of all his mischief,\nAnd his flight from Hiawatha,\nAnd his wondrous transmigrations,\nAnd the end of his adventures.\n\nOn the shores of Gitche Gumee,\nOn the dunes of Nagow Wudjoo,\nBy the shining Big-Sea-Water\nStood the lodge of Pau-Puk-Keewis.\nIt was he who in his frenzy\nWhirled these drifting sands together,\nOn the dunes of Nagow Wudjoo,\nWhen, among the guests assembled,\nHe so merrily and madly\nDanced at Hiawatha\u2019s wedding,\nDanced the Beggar\u2019s Dance to please them.\n\nNow, in search of new adventures,\nFrom his lodge went Pau-Puk-Keewis,\nCame with speed into the village,\nFound the young men all assembled\nIn the lodge of old Iagoo,\nListening to his monstrous stories,\nTo his wonderful adventures.\n\nHe was telling them the story\nOf Ojeeg, the Summer-Maker,\nHow he made a hole in heaven,\nHow he climbed up into heaven,\nAnd let out the summer-weather,\nThe perpetual, pleasant Summer;\nHow the Otter first essayed it;\nHow the Beaver, Lynx, and Badger\nTried in turn the great achievement,\nFrom the summit of the mountain\nSmote their fists against the heavens,\nSmote against the sky their foreheads,\nCracked the sky, but could not break it;\nHow the Wolverine, uprising,\nMade him ready for the encounter,\nBent his knees down, like a squirrel,\nDrew his arms back, like a cricket.\n\n\u201cOnce he leaped,\u201d said old Iagoo,\n\u201cOnce he leaped, and lo! above him\nBent the sky, as ice in rivers\nWhen the waters rise beneath it;\nTwice he leaped, and lo! above him\nCracked the sky, as ice in rivers\nWhen the freshet is at highest!\nThrice he leaped, and lo! above him\nBroke the shattered sky asunder,\nAnd he disappeared within it,\nAnd Ojeeg, the Fisher Weasel,\nWith a bound went in behind him!\u201d\n\n\u201cHark you!\u201d shouted Pau-Puk-Keewis\nAs he entered at the doorway;\n\u201cI am tired of all this talking,\nTired of old Iagoo\u2019s stories,\nTired of Hiawatha\u2019s wisdom.\nHere is something to amuse you,\nBetter than this endless talking.\u201d\n\nThen from out his pouch of wolf-skin\nForth he drew, with solemn manner,\nAll the game of Bowl and Counters,\nPugasaing, with thirteen pieces.\nWhite on one side were they painted,\nAnd vermilion on the other;\nTwo Kenabeeks or great serpents,\nTwo Ininewug or wedge-men,\nOne great war-club, Pugamaugun,\nAnd one slender fish, the Keego,\nFour round pieces, Ozawabeeks,\nAnd three Sheshebwug or ducklings.\nAll were made of bone and painted,\nAll except the Ozawabeeks;\nThese were brass, on one side burnished,\nAnd were black upon the other.\n\nIn a wooden bowl he placed them,\nShook and jostled them together,\nThrew them on the ground before him,\nThus exclaiming and explaining:\n\u201cRed side up are all the pieces,\nAnd one great Kenabeek standing\nOn the bright side of a brass piece,\nOn a burnished Ozawabeek;\nThirteen tens and eight are counted.\u201d\n\nThen again he shook the pieces,\nShook and jostled them together,\nThrew them on the ground before him,\nStill exclaiming and explaining:\n\u201cWhite are both the great Kenabeeks,\nWhite the Ininewug, the wedge-men,\nRed are all the other pieces;\nFive tens and an eight are counted.\u201d\n\nThus he taught the game of hazard,\nThus displayed it and explained it,\nRunning through its various chances,\nVarious changes, various meanings:\nTwenty curious eyes stared at him,\nFull of eagerness stared at him.\n\n\u201cMany games,\u201d said old Iagoo,\n\u201cMany games of skill and hazard\nHave I seen in different nations,\nHave I played in different countries.\nHe who plays with old Iagoo\nMust have very nimble fingers;\nThough you think yourself so skilful,\nI can beat you, Pau-Puk-Keewis,\nI can even give you lessons\nIn your game of Bowl and Counters!\u201d\n\nSo they sat and played together,\nAll the old men and the young men,\nPlayed for dresses, weapons, wampum,\nPlayed till midnight, played till morning,\nPlayed until the Yenadizze,\nTill the cunning Pau-Puk-Keewis,\nOf their treasures had despoiled them,\nOf the best of all their dresses,\nShirts of deer-skin, robes of ermine,\nBelts of wampum, crests of feathers,\nWarlike weapons, pipes and pouches.\nTwenty eyes glared wildly at him,\nLike the eyes of wolves glared at him.\n\nSaid the lucky Pau-Puk-Keewis:\n\u201cIn my wigwam I am lonely,\nIn my wanderings and adventures\nI have need of a companion,\nFain would have a Meshinauwa,\nAn attendant and pipe-bearer.\nI will venture all these winnings,\nAll these garments heaped about me,\nAll this wampum, all these feathers,\nOn a single throw will venture\nAll against the young man yonder!\u201d\n\u2019T was a youth of sixteen summers,\n\u2019T was a nephew of Iagoo;\nFace-in-a-Mist, the people called him.\n\nAs the fire burns in a pipe-head\nDusky red beneath the ashes,\nSo beneath his shaggy eyebrows\nGlowed the eyes of old Iagoo.\n\u201cUgh!\u201d he answered very fiercely;\n\u201cUgh!\u201d they answered all and each one.\n\nSeized the wooden bowl the old man,\nClosely in his bony fingers\nClutched the fatal bowl, Onagon,\nShook it fiercely and with fury,\nMade the pieces ring together\nAs he threw them down before him.\n\nRed were both the great Kenabeeks,\nRed the Ininewug, the wedge-men,\nRed the Sheshebwug, the ducklings,\nBlack the four brass Ozawabeeks,\nWhite alone the fish, the Keego;\nOnly five the pieces counted!\n\nThen the smiling Pau-Puk-Keewis\nShook the bowl and threw the pieces;\nLightly in the air he tossed them,\nAnd they fell about him scattered;\nDark and bright the Ozawabeeks,\nRed and white the other pieces,\nAnd upright among the others\nOne Ininewug was standing,\nEven as crafty Pau-Puk-Keewis\nStood alone among the players,\nSaying, \u201cFive tens! mine the game is,\u201d\n\nTwenty eyes glared at him fiercely,\nLike the eyes of wolves glared at him,\nAs he turned and left the wigwam,\nFollowed by his Meshinauwa,\nBy the nephew of Iagoo,\nBy the tall and graceful stripling,\nBearing in his arms the winnings,\nShirts of deer-skin, robes of ermine,\nBelts of wampum, pipes and weapons.\n\n\u201cCarry them,\u201d said Pau-Puk-Keewis,\nPointing with his fan of feathers,\n\u201cTo my wigwam far to eastward,\nOn the dunes of Nagow Wudjoo!\u201d\n\nHot and red with smoke and gambling\nWere the eyes of Pau-Puk-Keewis\nAs he came forth to the freshness\nOf the pleasant Summer morning.\nAll the birds were singing gayly,\nAll the streamlets flowing swiftly,\nAnd the heart of Pau-Puk-Keewis\nSang with pleasure as the birds sing,\nBeat with triumph like the streamlets,\nAs he wandered through the village,\nIn the early gray of morning,\nWith his fan of turkey-feathers,\nWith his plumes and tufts of swan\u2019s down,\nTill he reached the farthest wigwam,\nReached the lodge of Hiawatha.\n\nSilent was it and deserted;\nNo one met him at the doorway,\nNo one came to bid him welcome;\nBut the birds were singing round it,\nIn and out and round the doorway,\nHopping, singing, fluttering, feeding,\nAnd aloft upon the ridge-pole\nKahgahgee, the King of Ravens,\nSat with fiery eyes, and, screaming,\nFlapped his wings at Pau-Puk-Keewis.\n\n\u201cAll are gone! the lodge is empty!\u201d\nThus it was spake Pau-Puk-Keewis,\nIn his heart resolving mischief\n\u201cGone is wary Hiawatha,\nGone the silly Laughing Water,\nGone Nokomis, the old woman,\nAnd the lodge is left unguarded!\u201d\n\nBy the neck he seized the raven,\nWhirled it round him like a rattle,\nLike a medicine-pouch he shook it,\nStrangled Kahgahgee, the raven,\nFrom the ridge-pole of the wigwam\nLeft its lifeless body hanging,\nAs an insult to its master,\nAs a taunt to Hiawatha.\n\nWith a stealthy step he entered,\nRound the lodge in wild disorder\nThrew the household things about him,\nPiled together in confusion\nBowls of wood and earthen kettles,\nRobes of buffalo and beaver,\nSkins of otter, lynx, and ermine,\nAs an insult to Nokomis,\nAs a taunt to Minnehaha.\n\nThen departed Pau-Puk-Keewis,\nWhistling, singing through the forest,\nWhistling gayly to the squirrels,\nWho from hollow boughs above him\nDropped their acorn-shells upon him,\nSinging gayly to the wood birds,\nWho from out the leafy darkness\nAnswered with a song as merry.\n\nThen he climbed the rocky headlands,\nLooking o\u2019er the Gitche Gumee,\nPerched himself upon their summit,\nWaiting full of mirth and mischief\nThe return of Hiawatha.\n\nStretched upon his back he lay there;\nFar below him splashed the waters,\nPlashed and washed the dreamy waters;\nFar above him swam the heavens,\nSwam the dizzy, dreamy heavens;\nRound him hovered, fluttered, rustled\nHiawatha\u2019s mountain chickens,\nFlock-wise swept and wheeled about him,\nAlmost brushed him with their pinions.\n\nAnd he killed them as he lay there,\nSlaughtered them by tens and twenties,\nThrew their bodies down the headland,\nThrew them on the beach below him,\nTill at length Kayoshk, the sea-gull,\nPerched upon a crag above them,\nShouted: \u201cIt is Pau-Puk-Keewis!\nHe is slaying us by hundreds!\nSend a message to our brother,\nTidings send to Hiawatha!\u201d\n\n\n\n\nXVII\nThe Hunting of Pau-Puk-Keewis\n\n\nFull of wrath was Hiawatha\nWhen he came into the village,\nFound the people in confusion,\nHeard of all the misdemeanors,\nAll the malice and the mischief,\nOf the cunning Pau-Puk-Keewis.\n\nHard his breath came through his nostrils,\nThrough his teeth he buzzed and muttered\nWords of anger and resentment,\nHot and humming, like a hornet.\n\u201cI will slay this Pau-Puk-Keewis,\nSlay this mischief-maker!\u201d said he.\n\u201cNot so long and wide the world is,\nNot so rude and rough the way is,\nThat my wrath shall not attain him,\nThat my vengeance shall not reach him!\u201d\n\nThen in swift pursuit departed\nHiawatha and the hunters\nOn the trail of Pau-Puk-Keewis,\nThrough the forest, where he passed it,\nTo the headlands where he rested;\nBut they found not Pau-Puk-Keewis,\nOnly in the trampled grasses,\nIn the whortleberry-bushes,\nFound the couch where he had rested,\nFound the impress of his body.\n\nFrom the lowlands far beneath them,\nFrom the Muskoday, the meadow,\nPau-Puk-Keewis, turning backward,\nMade a gesture of defiance,\nMade a gesture of derision;\nAnd aloud cried Hiawatha,\nFrom the summit of the mountains:\n\u201cNot so long and wide the world is,\nNot so rude and rough the way is,\nBut my wrath shall overtake you,\nAnd my vengeance shall attain you!\u201d\n\nOver rock and over river,\nThrough bush, and brake, and forest,\nRan the cunning Pau-Puk-Keewis;\nLike an antelope he bounded,\nTill he came unto a streamlet\nIn the middle of the forest,\nTo a streamlet still and tranquil,\nThat had overflowed its margin,\nTo a dam made by the beavers,\nTo a pond of quiet water,\nWhere knee-deep the trees were standing,\nWhere the water lilies floated,\nWhere the rushes waved and whispered.\n\nOn the dam stood Pau-Puk-Keewis,\nOn the dam of trunks and branches,\nThrough whose chinks the water spouted,\nO\u2019er whose summit flowed the streamlet.\nFrom the bottom rose the beaver,\nLooked with two great eyes of wonder,\nEyes that seemed to ask a question,\nAt the stranger, Pau-Puk-Keewis.\n\nOn the dam stood Pau-Puk-Keewis,\nO\u2019er his ankles flowed the streamlet,\nFlowed the bright and silvery water,\nAnd he spake unto the beaver,\nWith a smile he spake in this wise:\n\n\u201cO my friend Ahmeek, the beaver,\nCool and pleasant is the water;\nLet me dive into the water,\nLet me rest there in your lodges;\nChange me, too, into a beaver!\u201d\n\nCautiously replied the beaver,\nWith reserve he thus made answer:\n\u201cLet me first consult the others,\nLet me ask the other beavers.\u201d\nDown he sank into the water,\nHeavily sank he, as a stone sinks,\nDown among the leaves and branches,\nBrown and matted at the bottom.\n\nOn the dam stood Pau-Puk-Keewis,\nO\u2019er his ankles flowed the streamlet,\nSpouted through the chinks below him,\nDashed upon the stones beneath him,\nSpread serene and calm before him,\nAnd the sunshine and the shadows\nFell in flecks and gleams upon him,\nFell in little shining patches,\nThrough the waving, rustling branches.\n\nFrom the bottom rose the beavers,\nSilently above the surface\nRose one head and then another,\nTill the pond seemed full of beavers,\nFull of black and shining faces.\n\nTo the beavers Pau-Puk-Keewis\nSpake entreating, said in this wise:\n\u201cVery pleasant is your dwelling,\nO my friends! and safe from danger;\nCan you not, with all your cunning,\nAll your wisdom and contrivance,\nChange me, too, into a beaver?\u201d\n\n\u201cYes!\u201d replied Ahmeek, the beaver,\nHe the King of all the beavers,\n\u201cLet yourself slide down among us,\nDown into the tranquil water.\u201d\n\nDown into the pond among them\nSilently sank Pau-Puk-Keewis;\nBlack became his shirt of deer-skin,\nBlack his moccasins and leggings,\nIn a broad black tail behind him\nSpread his fox-tails and his fringes;\nHe was changed into a beaver.\n\n\u201cMake me large,\u201d said Pau-Puk-Keewis,\n\u201cMake me large and make me larger,\nLarger than the other beavers.\u201d\n\u201cYes,\u201d the beaver chief responded,\n\u201cWhen our lodge below you enter,\nIn our wigwam we will make you\nTen times larger than the others.\u201d\n\nThus into the clear, brown water\nSilently sank Pau-Puk-Keewis:\nFound the bottom covered over\nWith the trunks of trees and branches,\nHoards of food against the winter,\nPiles and heaps against the famine;\nFound the lodge with arching doorway,\nLeading into spacious chambers.\n\nHere they made him large and larger,\nMade him largest of the beavers,\nTen times larger than the others.\n\u201cYou shall be our ruler,\u201d said they;\n\u201cChief and King of all the beavers.\u201d\n\nBut not long had Pau-Puk-Keewis\nSat in state among the beavers,\nWhen there came a voice, of warning\nFrom the watchman at his station\nIn the water-flags and lilies,\nSaying, \u201cHere is Hiawatha!\nHiawatha with his hunters!\u201d\n\nThen they heard a cry above them,\nHeard a shouting and a tramping,\nHeard a crashing and a rushing,\nAnd the water round and o\u2019er them\nSank and sucked away in eddies,\nAnd they knew their dam was broken.\n\nOn the lodge\u2019s roof the hunters\nLeaped, and broke it all asunder;\nStreamed the sunshine through the crevice,\nSprang the beavers through the doorway,\nHid themselves in deeper water,\nIn the channel of the streamlet;\nBut the mighty Pau-Puk-Keewis\nCould not pass beneath the doorway;\nHe was puffed with pride and feeding,\nHe was swollen like a bladder.\n\nThrough the roof looked Hiawatha,\nCried aloud, \u201cO Pau-Puk-Keewis\nVain are all your craft and cunning,\nVain your manifold disguises!\nWell I know you, Pau-Puk-Keewis!\u201d\nWith their clubs they beat and bruised him,\nBeat to death poor Pau-Puk-Keewis,\nPounded him as maize is pounded,\nTill his skull was crushed to pieces.\n\nSix tall hunters, lithe and limber,\nBore him home on poles and branches,\nBore the body of the beaver;\nBut the ghost, the Jeebi in him,\nThought and felt as Pau-Puk-Keewis,\nStill lived on as Pau-Puk-Keewis.\n\nAnd it fluttered, strove, and struggled,\nWaving hither, waving thither,\nAs the curtains of a wigwam\nStruggle with their thongs of deer-skin,\nWhen the wintry wind is blowing;\nTill it drew itself together,\nTill it rose up from the body,\nTill it took the form and features\nOf the cunning Pau-Puk-Keewis\nVanishing into the forest.\n\nBut the wary Hiawatha\nSaw the figure ere it vanished,\nSaw the form of Pau-Puk-Keewis\nGlide into the soft blue shadow\nOf the pine-trees of the forest;\nToward the squares of white beyond it,\nToward an opening in the forest.\nLike a wind it rushed and panted,\nBending all the boughs before it,\nAnd behind it, as the rain comes,\nCame the steps of Hiawatha.\n\nTo a lake with many islands\nCame the breathless Pau-Puk-Keewis,\nWhere among the water-lilies\nPishnekuh, the brant, were sailing;\nThrough the tufts of rushes floating,\nSteering through the reedy Islands.\nNow their broad black beaks they lifted,\nNow they plunged beneath the water,\nNow they darkened in the shadow,\nNow they brightened in the sunshine.\n\n\u201cPishnekuh!\u201d cried Pau-Puk-Keewis,\n\u201cPishnekuh! my brothers!\u201d said he,\n\u201cChange me to a brant with plumage,\nWith a shining neck and feathers,\nMake me large, and make me larger,\nTen times larger than the others.\u201d\n\nStraightway to a brant they changed him,\nWith two huge and dusky pinions,\nWith a bosom smooth and rounded,\nWith a bill like two great paddles,\nMade him larger than the others,\nTen times larger than the largest,\nJust as, shouting from the forest,\nOn the shore stood Hiawatha.\n\nUp they rose with cry and clamor,\nWith a whir and beat of pinions,\nRose up from the reedy Islands,\nFrom the water-flags and lilies.\nAnd they said to Pau-Puk-Keewis:\n\u201cIn your flying, look not downward,\nTake good heed and look not downward,\nLest some strange mischance should happen,\nLest some great mishap befall you!\u201d\n\nFast and far they fled to northward,\nFast and far through mist and sunshine,\nFed among the moors and fen-lands,\nSlept among the reeds and rushes.\n\nOn the morrow as they journeyed,\nBuoyed and lifted by the South-wind,\nWafted onward by the South-wind,\nBlowing fresh and strong behind them,\nRose a sound of human voices,\nRose a clamor from beneath them,\nFrom the lodges of a village,\nFrom the people miles beneath them.\n\nFor the people of the village\nSaw the flock of brant with wonder,\nSaw the wings of Pau-Puk-Keewis\nFlapping far up in the ether,\nBroader than two doorway curtains.\n\nPau-Puk-Keewis heard the shouting,\nKnew the voice of Hiawatha,\nKnew the outcry of Iagoo,\nAnd, forgetful of the warning,\nDrew his neck in, and looked downward,\nAnd the wind that blew behind him\nCaught his mighty fan of feathers,\nSent him wheeling, whirling downward!\n\nAll in vain did Pau-Puk-Keewis\nStruggle to regain his balance!\nWhirling round and round and downward,\nHe beheld in turn the village\nAnd in turn the flock above him,\nSaw the village coming nearer,\nAnd the flock receding farther,\nHeard the voices growing louder,\nHeard the shouting and the laughter;\nSaw no more the flocks above him,\nOnly saw the earth beneath him;\nDead out of the empty heaven,\nDead among the shouting people,\nWith a heavy sound and sullen,\nFell the brant with broken pinions.\n\nBut his soul, his ghost, his shadow,\nStill survived as Pau-Puk-Keewis,\nTook again the form and features\nOf the handsome Yenadizze,\nAnd again went rushing onward,\nFollowed fast by Hiawatha,\nCrying: \u201cNot so wide the world is,\nNot so long and rough the way is,\nBut my wrath shall overtake you,\nBut my vengeance shall attain you!\u201d\n\nAnd so near he came, so near him,\nThat his hand was stretched to seize him,\nHis right hand to seize and hold him,\nWhen the cunning Pau-Puk-Keewis\nWhirled and spun about in circles,\nFanned the air into a whirlwind,\nDanced the dust and leaves about him,\nAnd amid the whirling eddies\nSprang into a hollow oak-tree,\nChanged himself into a serpent,\nGliding out through root and rubbish.\n\nWith his right hand Hiawatha\nSmote amain the hollow oak-tree,\nRent it into shreds and splinters,\nLeft it lying there in fragments.\nBut in vain; for Pau-Puk-Keewis,\nOnce again in human figure,\nFull in sight ran on before him,\nSped away in gust and whirlwind,\nOn the shores of Gitche Gumee,\nWestward by the Big-Sea-Water,\nCame unto the rocky headlands,\nTo the Pictured Rocks of sandstone,\nLooking over lake and landscape.\n\nAnd the Old Man of the Mountain,\nHe the Manito of Mountains,\nOpened wide his rocky doorways,\nOpened wide his deep abysses,\nGiving Pau-Puk-Keewis shelter\nIn his caverns dark and dreary,\nBidding Pau-Puk-Keewis welcome\nTo his gloomy lodge of sandstone.\n\nThere without stood Hiawatha,\nFound the doorways closed against him,\nWith his mittens, Minjekahwun,\nSmote great caverns in the sandstone,\nCried aloud in tones of thunder,\n\u201cOpen! I am Hiawatha!\u201d\nBut the Old Man of the Mountain\nOpened not, and made no answer\nFrom the silent crags of sandstone,\nFrom the gloomy rock abysses.\n\nThen he raised his hands to heaven,\nCalled imploring on the tempest,\nCalled Waywassimo, the lightning,\nAnd the thunder, Annemeekee;\nAnd they came with night and darkness,\nSweeping down the Big-Sea-Water\nFrom the distant Thunder Mountains;\nAnd the trembling Pau-Puk-Keewis\nHeard the footsteps of the thunder,\nSaw the red eyes of the lightning,\nWas afraid, and crouched and trembled.\n\nThen Waywassimo, the lightning,\nSmote the doorways of the caverns,\nWith his war-club smote the doorways,\nSmote the jutting crags of sandstone,\nAnd the thunder, Annemeekee,\nShouted down into the caverns,\nSaying, \u201cWhere is Pau-Puk-Keewis!\u201d\nAnd the crags fell, and beneath them\nDead among the rocky ruins\nLay the cunning Pau-Puk-Keewis,\nLay the handsome Yenadizze,\nSlain in his own human figure.\n\nEnded were his wild adventures,\nEnded were his tricks and gambols,\nEnded all his craft and cunning,\nEnded all his mischief-making,\nAll his gambling and his dancing,\nAll his wooing of the maidens.\n\nThen the noble Hiawatha\nTook his soul, his ghost, his shadow,\nSpake and said: \u201cO Pau-Puk-Keewis,\nNever more in human figure\nShall you search for new adventures;\nNever more with jest and laughter\nDance the dust and leaves in whirlwinds;\nBut above there in the heavens\nYou shall soar and sail in circles;\nI will change you to an eagle,\nTo Keneu, the great war-eagle,\nChief of all the fowls with feathers,\nChief of Hiawatha\u2019s chickens.\u201d\n\nAnd the name of Pau-Puk-Keewis\nLingers still among the people,\nLingers still among the singers,\nAnd among the story-tellers;\nAnd in Winter, when the snow-flakes\nWhirl in eddies round the lodges,\nWhen the wind in gusty tumult\nO\u2019er the smoke-flue pipes and whistles,\n\u201cThere,\u201d they cry, \u201ccomes Pau-Puk-Keewis,\nHe is dancing through the village,\nHe is gathering in his harvest!\u201d\n\n\n\n\nXVIII\nThe Death of Kwasind\n\n\nFar and wide among the nations\nSpread the name and fame of Kwasind;\nNo man dared to strive with Kwasind,\nNo man could compete with Kwasind.\nBut the mischievous Puk-Wudjies,\nThey the envious Little People,\nThey the fairies and the pygmies,\nPlotted and conspired against him.\n\n\u201cIf this hateful Kwasind,\u201d said they,\n\u201cIf this great, outrageous fellow\nGoes on thus a little longer,\nTearing everything he touches,\nRending everything to pieces,\nFilling all the world with wonder,\nWhat becomes of the Puk-Wudjies?\nWho will care for the Puk-Wudjies?\nHe will tread us down like mushrooms,\nDrive us all into the water,\nGive our bodies to be eaten\nBy the wicked Nee-ba-naw-baigs,\nBy the Spirits of the water!\u201d\n\nSo the angry Little People\nAll conspired against the Strong Man,\nAll conspired to murder Kwasind,\nYes, to rid the world of Kwasind,\nThe audacious, overbearing,\nHeartless, haughty, dangerous Kwasind!\n\nNow this wondrous strength of Kwasind\nIn his crown alone was seated;\nIn his crown too was his weakness;\nThere alone could he be wounded,\nNowhere else could weapon pierce him,\nNowhere else could weapon harm him.\n\nEven there the only weapon\nThat could wound him, that could slay him,\nWas the seed-cone of the pine-tree,\nWas the blue cone of the fir-tree.\nThis was Kwasind\u2019s fatal secret,\nKnown to no man among mortals;\nBut the cunning Little People,\nThe Puk-Wudjies, knew the secret,\nKnew the only way to kill him.\n\nSo they gathered cones together,\nGathered seed-cones of the pine-tree,\nGathered blue cones of the fir-tree,\nIn the woods by Taquamenaw,\nBrought them to the river\u2019s margin,\nHeaped them in great piles together,\nWhere the red rocks from the margin\nJutting overhang the river.\nThere they lay in wait for Kwasind,\nThe malicious Little People.\n\n\u2019T was an afternoon in Summer;\nVery hot and still the air was,\nVery smooth the gliding river,\nMotionless the sleeping shadows:\nInsects glistened in the sunshine,\nInsects skated on the water,\nFilled the drowsy air with buzzing,\nWith a far resounding war-cry.\n\nDown the river came the Strong Man,\nIn his birch canoe came Kwasind,\nFloating slowly down the current\nOf the sluggish Taquamenaw,\nVery languid with the weather,\nVery sleepy with the silence.\n\nFrom the overhanging branches,\nFrom the tassels of the birch-trees,\nSoft the Spirit of Sleep descended;\nBy his airy hosts surrounded,\nHis invisible attendants,\nCame the Spirit of Sleep, Nepahwin;\nLike a burnished Dush-kwo-ne-she,\nLike a dragon-fly, he hovered\nO\u2019er the drowsy head of Kwasind.\n\nTo his ear there came a murmur\nAs of waves upon a sea-shore,\nAs of far-off tumbling waters,\nAs of winds among the pine-trees;\nAnd he felt upon his forehead\nBlows of little airy war-clubs,\nWielded by the slumbrous legions\nOf the Spirit of Sleep, Nepahwin,\nAs of some one breathing on him.\n\nAt the first blow of their war-clubs,\nFell a drowsiness on Kwasind;\nAt the second blow they smote him,\nMotionless his paddle rested;\nAt the third, before his vision\nReeled the landscape Into darkness,\nVery sound asleep was Kwasind.\n\nSo he floated down the river,\nLike a blind man seated upright,\nFloated down the Taquamenaw,\nUnderneath the trembling birch-trees,\nUnderneath the wooded headlands,\nUnderneath the war encampment\nOf the pygmies, the Puk-Wudjies.\n\nThere they stood, all armed and waiting,\nHurled the pine-cones down upon him,\nStruck him on his brawny shoulders,\nOn his crown defenceless struck him.\n\u201cDeath to Kwasind!\u201d was the sudden\nWar-cry of the Little People.\n\nAnd he sideways swayed and tumbled,\nSideways fell into the river,\nPlunged beneath the sluggish water\nHeadlong, as an otter plunges;\nAnd the birch canoe, abandoned,\nDrifted empty down the river,\nBottom upward swerved and drifted:\nNothing more was seen of Kwasind.\n\nBut the memory of the Strong Man\nLingered long among the people,\nAnd whenever through the forest\nRaged and roared the wintry tempest,\nAnd the branches, tossed and troubled,\nCreaked and groaned and split asunder,\n\u201cKwasind!\u201d cried they; \u201cthat is Kwasind!\nHe is gathering in his fire-wood!\u201d\n\n\n\n\nXIX\nThe Ghosts\n\n\nNever stoops the soaring vulture\nOn his quarry in the desert,\nOn the sick or wounded bison,\nBut another vulture, watching\nFrom his high aerial look-out,\nSees the downward plunge, and follows;\nAnd a third pursues the second,\nComing from the invisible ether,\nFirst a speck, and then a vulture,\nTill the air is dark with pinions.\n\nSo disasters come not singly;\nBut as if they watched and waited,\nScanning one another\u2019s motions,\nWhen the first descends, the others\nFollow, follow, gathering flock-wise\nRound their victim, sick and wounded,\nFirst a shadow, then a sorrow,\nTill the air is dark with anguish.\n\nNow, o\u2019er all the dreary North-land,\nMighty Peboan, the Winter,\nBreathing on the lakes and rivers,\nInto stone had changed their waters.\nFrom his hair he shook the snow-flakes,\nTill the plains were strewn with whiteness,\nOne uninterrupted level,\nAs if, stooping, the Creator\nWith his hand had smoothed them over.\n\nThrough the forest, wide and wailing,\nRoamed the hunter on his snow-shoes;\nIn the village worked the women,\nPounded maize, or dressed the deer-skin;\nAnd the young men played together\nOn the ice the noisy ball-play,\nOn the plain the dance of snow-shoes.\n\nOne dark evening, after sundown,\nIn her wigwam Laughing Water\nSat with old Nokomis, waiting\nFor the steps of Hiawatha\nHomeward from the hunt returning.\n\nOn their faces gleamed the firelight,\nPainting them with streaks of crimson,\nIn the eyes of old Nokomis\nGlimmered like the watery moonlight,\nIn the eyes of Laughing Water\nGlistened like the sun in water;\nAnd behind them crouched their shadows\nIn the corners of the wigwam,\nAnd the smoke in wreaths above them\nClimbed and crowded through the smoke-flue.\n\nThen the curtain of the doorway\nFrom without was slowly lifted;\nBrighter glowed the fire a moment,\nAnd a moment swerved the smoke-wreath,\nAs two women entered softly,\nPassed the doorway uninvited,\nWithout word of salutation,\nWithout sign of recognition,\nSat down in the farthest corner,\nCrouching low among the shadows.\n\nFrom their aspect and their garments,\nStrangers seemed they in the village;\nVery pale and haggard were they,\nAs they sat there sad and silent,\nTrembling, cowering with the shadows.\n\nWas it the wind above the smoke-flue,\nMuttering down into the wigwam?\nWas it the owl, the Koko-koho,\nHooting from the dismal forest?\nSure a voice said in the silence:\n\u201cThese are corpses clad in garments,\nThese are ghosts that come to haunt you,\nFrom the kingdom of Ponemah,\nFrom the land of the Hereafter!\u201d\n\nHomeward now came Hiawatha\nFrom his hunting in the forest,\nWith the snow upon his tresses,\nAnd the red deer on his shoulders.\nAt the feet of Laughing Water\nDown he threw his lifeless burden;\nNobler, handsomer she thought him,\nThan when first he came to woo her,\nFirst threw down the deer before her,\nAs a token of his wishes,\nAs a promise of the future.\n\nThen he turned and saw the strangers,\nCowering, crouching with the shadows;\nSaid within himself, \u201cWho are they?\nWhat strange guests has Minnehaha?\u201d\nBut he questioned not the strangers,\nOnly spake to bid them welcome\nTo his lodge, his food, his fireside.\n\nWhen the evening meal was ready,\nAnd the deer had been divided,\nBoth the pallid guests, the strangers,\nSpringing from among the shadows,\nSeized upon the choicest portions,\nSeized the white fat of the roebuck,\nSet apart for Laughing Water,\nFor the wife of Hiawatha;\nWithout asking, without thanking,\nEagerly devoured the morsels,\nFlitted back among the shadows\nIn the corner of the wigwam.\n\nNot a word spake Hiawatha,\nNot a motion made Nokomis,\nNot a gesture Laughing Water;\nNot a change came o\u2019er their features;\nOnly Minnehaha softly\nWhispered, saying, \u201cThey are famished;\nLet them do what best delights them;\nLet them eat, for they are famished.\u201d\n\nMany a daylight dawned and darkened,\nMany a night shook off the daylight\nAs the pine shakes off the snow-flakes\nFrom the midnight of its branches;\nDay by day the guests unmoving\nSat there silent in the wigwam;\nBut by night, in storm or starlight,\nForth they went into the forest,\nBringing fire-wood to the wigwam,\nBringing pine-cones for the burning,\nAlways sad and always silent.\n\nAnd whenever Hiawatha\nCame from fishing or from hunting,\nWhen the evening meal was ready,\nAnd the food had been divided,\nGliding from their darksome corner,\nCame the pallid guests, the strangers,\nSeized upon the choicest portions\nSet aside for Laughing Water,\nAnd without rebuke or question\nFlitted back among the shadows.\n\nNever once had Hiawatha\nBy a word or look reproved them;\nNever once had old Nokomis\nMade a gesture of impatience;\nNever once had Laughing Water\nShown resentment at the outrage.\nAll had they endured in silence,\nThat the rights of guest and stranger,\nThat the virtue of free-giving,\nBy a look might not be lessened,\nBy a word might not be broken.\n\nOnce at midnight Hiawatha,\nEver wakeful, ever watchful,\nIn the wigwam, dimly lighted\nBy the brands that still were burning,\nBy the glimmering, flickering firelight\nHeard a sighing, oft repeated,\n\nFrom his couch rose Hiawatha,\nFrom his shaggy hides of bison,\nPushed aside the deer-skin curtain,\nSaw the pallid guests, the shadows,\nSitting upright on their couches,\nWeeping in the silent midnight.\n\nAnd he said: \u201cO guests! why is it\nThat your hearts are so afflicted,\nThat you sob so in the midnight?\nHas perchance the old Nokomis,\nHas my wife, my Minnehaha,\nWronged or grieved you by unkindness,\nFailed in hospitable duties?\u201d\n\nThen the shadows ceased from weeping,\nCeased from sobbing and lamenting,\nAnd they said, with gentle voices:\n\u201cWe are ghosts of the departed,\nSouls of those who once were with you.\nFrom the realms of Chibiabos\nHither have we come to try you,\nHither have we come to warn you.\n\n\u201cCries of grief and lamentation\nReach us in the Blessed Islands;\nCries of anguish from the living,\nCalling back their friends departed,\nSadden us with useless sorrow.\nTherefore have we come to try you;\nNo one knows us, no one heeds us.\nWe are but a burden to you,\nAnd we see that the departed\nHave no place among the living.\n\n\u201cThink of this, O Hiawatha!\nSpeak of it to all the people,\nThat henceforward and forever\nThey no more with lamentations\nSadden the souls of the departed\nIn the Islands of the Blessed.\n\n\u201cDo not lay such heavy burdens\nIn the graves of those you bury,\nNot such weight of furs and wampum,\nNot such weight of pots and kettles,\nFor the spirits faint beneath them.\nOnly give them food to carry,\nOnly give them fire to light them.\n\n\u201cFour days is the spirit\u2019s journey\nTo the land of ghosts and shadows,\nFour its lonely night encampments;\nFour times must their fires be lighted.\nTherefore, when the dead are buried,\nLet a fire, as night approaches,\nFour times on the grave be kindled,\nThat the soul upon its journey\nMay not lack the cheerful firelight,\nMay not grope about in darkness.\n\n\u201cFarewell, noble Hiawatha!\nWe have put you to the trial,\nTo the proof have put your patience,\nBy the insult of our presence,\nBy the outrage of our actions.\nWe have found you great and noble.\nFail not in the greater trial,\nFaint not in the harder struggle.\u201d\n\nWhen they ceased, a sudden darkness\nFell and filled the silent wigwam.\nHiawatha heard a rustle\nAs of garments trailing by him,\nHeard the curtain of the doorway\nLifted by a hand he saw not,\nFelt the cold breath of the night air,\nFor a moment saw the starlight;\nBut he saw the ghosts no longer,\nSaw no more the wandering spirits\nFrom the kingdom of Ponemah,\nFrom the land of the Hereafter.\n\n\n\n\nXX\nThe Famine\n\n\nOh the long and dreary Winter!\nOh the cold and cruel Winter!\nEver thicker, thicker, thicker\nFroze the ice on lake and river,\nEver deeper, deeper, deeper\nFell the snow o\u2019er all the landscape,\nFell the covering snow, and drifted\nThrough the forest, round the village.\nHardly from his buried wigwam\nCould the hunter force a passage;\nWith his mittens and his snow-shoes\nVainly walked he through the forest,\nSought for bird or beast and found none,\nSaw no track of deer or rabbit,\nIn the snow beheld no footprints,\nIn the ghastly, gleaming forest\nFell, and could not rise from weakness,\nPerished there from cold and hunger.\n\nOh the famine and the fever!\nOh the wasting of the famine!\nOh the blasting of the fever!\nOh the wailing of the children!\nOh the anguish of the women!\n\nAll the earth was sick and famished;\nHungry was the air around them,\nHungry was the sky above them,\nAnd the hungry stars in heaven\nLike the eyes of wolves glared at them!\n\nInto Hiawatha\u2019s wigwam\nCame two other guests, as silent\nAs the ghosts were, and as gloomy,\nWaited not to be invited\nDid not parley at the doorway\nSat there without word of welcome\nIn the seat of Laughing Water;\nLooked with haggard eyes and hollow\nAt the face of Laughing Water.\n\nAnd the foremost said: \u201cBehold me!\nI am Famine, Bukadawin!\u201d\nAnd the other said: \u201cBehold me!\nI am Fever, Ahkosewin!\u201d\n\nAnd the lovely Minnehaha\nShuddered as they looked upon her,\nShuddered at the words they uttered,\nLay down on her bed in silence,\nHid her face, but made no answer;\nLay there trembling, freezing, burning\nAt the looks they cast upon her,\nAt the fearful words they uttered.\n\nForth into the empty forest\nRushed the maddened Hiawatha;\nIn his heart was deadly sorrow,\nIn his face a stony firmness;\nOn his brow the sweat of anguish\nStarted, but it froze and fell not.\n\nWrapped in furs and armed for hunting,\nWith his mighty bow of ash-tree,\nWith his quiver full of arrows,\nWith his mittens, Minjekahwun,\nInto the vast and vacant forest\nOn his snow-shoes strode he forward.\n\n\u201cGitche Manito, the Mighty!\u201d\nCried he with his face uplifted\nIn that bitter hour of anguish,\n\u201cGive your children food, O father!\nGive us food, or we must perish!\nGive me food for Minnehaha,\nFor my dying Minnehaha!\u201d\n\nThrough the far-resounding forest,\nThrough the forest vast and vacant\nRang that cry of desolation,\nBut there came no other answer\nThan the echo of his crying,\nThan the echo of the woodlands,\n\u201cMinnehaha! Minnehaha!\u201d\n\nAll day long roved Hiawatha\nIn that melancholy forest,\nThrough the shadow of whose thickets,\nIn the pleasant days of Summer,\nOf that ne\u2019er forgotten Summer,\nHe had brought his young wife homeward\nFrom the land of the Dacotahs;\nWhen the birds sang in the thickets,\nAnd the streamlets laughed and glistened,\nAnd the air was full of fragrance,\nAnd the lovely Laughing Water\nSaid with voice that did not tremble,\n\u201cI will follow you, my husband!\u201d\n\nIn the wigwam with Nokomis,\nWith those gloomy guests that watched her,\nWith the Famine and the Fever,\nShe was lying, the Beloved,\nShe, the dying Minnehaha.\n\n\u201cHark!\u201d she said; \u201cI hear a rushing,\nHear a roaring and a rushing,\nHear the Falls of Minnehaha\nCalling to me from a distance!\u201d\n\u201cNo, my child!\u201d said old Nokomis,\n\u201c\u2019T is the night-wind in the pine-trees!\u201d\n\u201cLook!\u201d she said; \u201cI see my father\nStanding lonely at his doorway,\nBeckoning to me from his wigwam\nIn the land of the Dacotahs!\u201d\n\u201cNo, my child!\u201d said old Nokomis.\n\u201c\u2019T is the smoke, that waves and beckons!\u201d\n\u201cAh!\u201d said she, \u201cthe eyes of Pauguk\nGlare upon me in the darkness,\nI can feel his icy fingers\nClasping mine amid the darkness!\nHiawatha! Hiawatha!\u201d\n\nAnd the desolate Hiawatha,\nFar away amid the forest,\nMiles away among the mountains,\nHeard that sudden cry of anguish,\nHeard the voice of Minnehaha\nCalling to him in the darkness,\n\u201cHiawatha! Hiawatha!\u201d\n\nOver snow-fields waste and pathless,\nUnder snow-encumbered branches,\nHomeward hurried Hiawatha,\nEmpty-handed, heavy-hearted,\nHeard Nokomis moaning, wailing:\n\u201cWahonowin! Wahonowin!\nWould that I had perished for you,\nWould that I were dead as you are!\nWahonowin! Wahonowin!\u201d\n\nAnd he rushed into the wigwam,\nSaw the old Nokomis slowly\nRocking to and fro and moaning,\nSaw his lovely Minnehaha\nLying dead and cold before him,\nAnd his bursting heart within him\nUttered such a cry of anguish,\nThat the forest moaned and shuddered,\nThat the very stars in heaven\nShook and trembled with his anguish.\n\nThen he sat down, still and speechless,\nOn the bed of Minnehaha,\nAt the feet of Laughing Water,\nAt those willing feet, that never\nMore would lightly run to meet him,\nNever more would lightly follow.\n\nWith both hands his face he covered,\nSeven long days and nights he sat there,\nAs if in a swoon he sat there,\nSpeechless, motionless, unconscious\nOf the daylight or the darkness.\n\nThen they buried Minnehaha;\nIn the snow a grave they made her\nIn the forest deep and darksome\nUnderneath the moaning hemlocks;\nClothed her in her richest garments\nWrapped her in her robes of ermine,\nCovered her with snow, like ermine;\nThus they buried Minnehaha.\n\nAnd at night a fire was lighted,\nOn her grave four times was kindled,\nFor her soul upon its journey\nTo the Islands of the Blessed.\nFrom his doorway Hiawatha\nSaw it burning in the forest,\nLighting up the gloomy hemlocks;\nFrom his sleepless bed uprising,\nFrom the bed of Minnehaha,\nStood and watched it at the doorway,\nThat it might not be extinguished,\n\nMight not leave her in the darkness.\n\u201cFarewell!\u201d said he, \u201cMinnehaha!\nFarewell, O my Laughing Water!\nAll my heart is buried with you,\nAll my thoughts go onward with you!\nCome not back again to labor,\nCome not back again to suffer,\nWhere the Famine and the Fever\nWear the heart and waste the body.\nSoon my task will be completed,\nSoon your footsteps I shall follow\nTo the Islands of the Blessed,\nTo the Kingdom of Ponemah,\nTo the Land of the Hereafter!\u201d\n\n\n\n\nXXI\nThe White Man\u2019s Foot\n\n\nIn his lodge beside a river,\nClose beside a frozen river,\nSat an old man, sad and lonely.\nWhite his hair was as a snow-drift;\nDull and low his fire was burning,\nAnd the old man shook and trembled,\nFolded in his Waubewyon,\nIn his tattered white-skin-wrapper,\nHearing nothing but the tempest\nAs it roared along the forest,\nSeeing nothing but the snow-storm,\nAs it whirled and hissed and drifted.\n\nAll the coals were white with ashes,\nAnd the fire was slowly dying,\nAs a young man, walking lightly,\nAt the open doorway entered.\nRed with blood of youth his cheeks were,\nSoft his eyes, as stars in Spring-time,\nBound his forehead was with grasses;\nBound and plumed with scented grasses,\nOn his lips a smile of beauty,\nFilling all the lodge with sunshine,\nIn his hand a bunch of blossoms\nFilling all the lodge with sweetness.\n\n\u201cAh, my son!\u201d exclaimed the old man,\n\u201cHappy are my eyes to see you.\nSit here on the mat beside me,\nSit here by the dying embers,\nLet us pass the night together,\nTell me of your strange adventures,\nOf the lands where you have travelled;\nI will tell you of my prowess,\nOf my many deeds of wonder.\u201d\n\nFrom his pouch he drew his peace-pipe,\nVery old and strangely fashioned;\nMade of red stone was the pipe-head,\nAnd the stem a reed with feathers;\nFilled the pipe with bark of willow,\nPlaced a burning coal upon it,\nGave it to his guest, the stranger,\nAnd began to speak in this wise:\n\u201cWhen I blow my breath about me,\nWhen I breathe upon the landscape,\nMotionless are all the rivers,\nHard as stone becomes the water!\u201d\n\nAnd the young man answered, smiling:\n\u201cWhen I blow my breath about me,\nWhen I breathe upon the landscape,\nFlowers spring up o\u2019er all the meadows,\nSinging, onward rush the rivers!\u201d\n\n\u201cWhen I shake my hoary tresses,\u201d\nSaid the old man darkly frowning,\n\u201cAll the land with snow is covered;\nAll the leaves from all the branches\nFall and fade and die and wither,\nFor I breathe, and lo! they are not.\nFrom the waters and the marshes,\nRise the wild goose and the heron,\nFly away to distant regions,\nFor I speak, and lo! they are not.\nAnd where\u2019er my footsteps wander,\nAll the wild beasts of the forest\nHide themselves in holes and caverns,\nAnd the earth becomes as flintstone!\u201d\n\n\u201cWhen I shake my flowing ringlets,\u201d\nSaid the young man, softly laughing,\n\u201cShowers of rain fall warm and welcome,\nPlants lift up their heads rejoicing,\nBack unto their lakes and marshes\nCome the wild goose and the heron,\nHomeward shoots the arrowy swallow,\nSing the bluebird and the robin,\nAnd where\u2019er my footsteps wander,\nAll the meadows wave with blossoms,\nAll the woodlands ring with music,\nAll the trees are dark with foliage!\u201d\n\nWhile they spake, the night departed:\nFrom the distant realms of Wabun,\nFrom his shining lodge of silver,\nLike a warrior robed and painted,\nCame the sun, and said, \u201cBehold me\nGheezis, the great sun, behold me!\u201d\n\nThen the old man\u2019s tongue was speechless\nAnd the air grew warm and pleasant,\nAnd upon the wigwam sweetly\nSang the bluebird and the robin,\nAnd the stream began to murmur,\nAnd a scent of growing grasses\nThrough the lodge was gently wafted.\n\nAnd Segwun, the youthful stranger,\nMore distinctly in the daylight\nSaw the icy face before him;\nIt was Peboan, the Winter!\n\nFrom his eyes the tears were flowing,\nAs from melting lakes the streamlets,\nAnd his body shrunk and dwindled\nAs the shouting sun ascended,\nTill into the air it faded,\nTill into the ground it vanished,\nAnd the young man saw before him,\nOn the hearth-stone of the wigwam,\nWhere the fire had smoked and smouldered,\nSaw the earliest flower of Spring-time,\nSaw the Beauty of the Spring-time,\nSaw the Miskodeed in blossom.\n\nThus it was that in the North-land\nAfter that unheard-of coldness,\nThat intolerable Winter,\nCame the Spring with all its splendor,\nAll its birds and all its blossoms,\nAll its flowers and leaves and grasses.\n\nSailing on the wind to northward,\nFlying in great flocks, like arrows,\nLike huge arrows shot through heaven,\nPassed the swan, the Mahnahbezee,\nSpeaking almost as a man speaks;\nAnd in long lines waving, bending\nLike a bow-string snapped asunder,\nCame the white goose, Waw-be-wawa;\nAnd in pairs, or singly flying,\nMahng the loon, with clangorous pinions,\nThe blue heron, the Shuh-shuh-gah,\nAnd the grouse, the Mushkodasa.\n\nIn the thickets and the meadows\nPiped the bluebird, the Owaissa,\nOn the summit of the lodges\nSang the robin, the Opechee,\nIn the covert of the pine-trees\nCooed the pigeon, the Omemee;\nAnd the sorrowing Hiawatha,\nSpeechless in his infinite sorrow,\nHeard their voices calling to him,\nWent forth from his gloomy doorway,\nStood and gazed into the heaven,\nGazed upon the earth and waters.\n\nFrom his wanderings far to eastward,\nFrom the regions of the morning,\nFrom the shining land of Wabun,\nHomeward now returned Iagoo,\nThe great traveller, the great boaster,\nFull of new and strange adventures,\nMarvels many and many wonders.\n\nAnd the people of the village\nListened to him as he told them\nOf his marvellous adventures,\nLaughing answered him in this wise:\n\u201cUgh! it is indeed Iagoo!\nNo one else beholds such wonders!\u201d\n\nHe had seen, he said, a water\nBigger than the Big-Sea-Water,\nBroader than the Gitche Gumee,\nBitter so that none could drink it!\nAt each other looked the warriors,\nLooked the women at each other,\nSmiled, and said, \u201cIt cannot be so!\u201d\nKaw!\u201d they said, \u201cit cannot be so!\u201d\n\nO\u2019er it, said he, o\u2019er this water\nCame a great canoe with pinions,\nA canoe with wings came flying,\nBigger than a grove of pine-trees,\nTaller than the tallest tree-tops!\nAnd the old men and the women\nLooked and tittered at each other;\n\u201cKaw!\u201d they said, \u201cwe don\u2019t believe it!\u201d\n\nFrom its mouth, he said, to greet him,\nCame Waywassimo, the lightning,\nCame the thunder, Annemeekee!\nAnd the warriors and the women\nLaughed aloud at poor Iagoo;\n\u201cKaw!\u201d they said, \u201cwhat tales you tell us!\u201d\n\nIn it, said he, came a people,\nIn the great canoe with pinions\nCame, he said, a hundred warriors;\nPainted white were all their faces\nAnd with hair their chins were covered!\nAnd the warriors and the women\nLaughed and shouted in derision,\nLike the ravens on the tree-tops,\nLike the crows upon the hemlocks.\n\u201cKaw!\u201d they said, \u201cwhat lies you tell us!\nDo not think that we believe them!\u201d\n\nOnly Hiawatha laughed not,\nBut he gravely spake and answered\nTo their jeering and their jesting:\n\u201cTrue is all Iagoo tells us;\nI have seen it in a vision,\nSeen the great canoe with pinions,\nSeen the people with white faces,\nSeen the coming of this bearded\nPeople of the wooden vessel\nFrom the regions of the morning,\nFrom the shining land of Wabun.\n\n\u201cGitche Manito, the Mighty,\nThe Great Spirit, the Creator,\nSends them hither on his errand.\nSends them to us with his message.\nWheresoe\u2019er they move, before them\nSwarms the stinging fly, the Ahmo,\nSwarms the bee, the honey-maker;\nWheresoe\u2019er they tread, beneath them\nSprings a flower unknown among us,\nSprings the White-man\u2019s Foot in blossom.\n\n\u201cLet us welcome, then, the strangers,\nHail them as our friends and brothers,\nAnd the heart\u2019s right hand of friendship\nGive them when they come to see us.\nGitche Manito, the Mighty,\nSaid this to me in my vision.\n\n\u201cI beheld, too, in that vision\nAll the secrets of the future,\nOf the distant days that shall be.\nI beheld the westward marches\nOf the unknown, crowded nations.\nAll the land was full of people,\nRestless, struggling, toiling, striving,\nSpeaking many tongues, yet feeling\nBut one heart-beat in their bosoms.\nIn the woodlands rang their axes,\nSmoked their towns in all the valleys,\nOver all the lakes and rivers\nRushed their great canoes of thunder.\n\n\u201cThen a darker, drearier vision\nPassed before me, vague and cloud-like;\nI beheld our nation scattered,\nAll forgetful of my counsels,\nWeakened, warring with each other:\nSaw the remnants of our people\nSweeping westward, wild and woful,\nLike the cloud-rack of a tempest,\nLike the withered leaves of Autumn!\u201d\n\n\n\n\nXXII\nHiawatha\u2019s Departure\n\n\nBy the shore of Gitche Gumee,\nBy the shining Big-Sea-Water,\nAt the doorway of his wigwam,\nIn the pleasant Summer morning,\nHiawatha stood and waited.\nAll the air was full of freshness,\nAll the earth was bright and joyous,\nAnd before him, through the sunshine,\nWestward toward the neighboring forest\nPassed in golden swarms the Ahmo,\nPassed the bees, the honey-makers,\nBurning, singing in the sunshine.\n\nBright above him shone the heavens,\nLevel spread the lake before him;\nFrom its bosom leaped the sturgeon,\nSparkling, flashing in the sunshine;\nOn its margin the great forest\nStood reflected in the water,\nEvery tree-top had its shadow,\nMotionless beneath the water.\n\nFrom the brow of Hiawatha\nGone was every trace of sorrow,\nAs the fog from off the water,\nAs the mist from off the meadow.\nWith a smile of joy and triumph,\nWith a look of exultation,\nAs of one who in a vision\nSees what is to be, but is not,\nStood and waited Hiawatha.\n\nToward the sun his hands were lifted,\nBoth the palms spread out against it,\nAnd between the parted fingers\nFell the sunshine on his features,\nFlecked with light his naked shoulders,\nAs it falls and flecks an oak-tree\nThrough the rifted leaves and branches.\n\nO\u2019er the water floating, flying,\nSomething in the hazy distance,\nSomething in the mists of morning,\nLoomed and lifted from the water,\nNow seemed floating, now seemed flying,\nComing nearer, nearer, nearer.\n\nWas it Shingebis the diver?\nOr the pelican, the Shada?\nOr the heron, the Shuh-shuh-gah?\nOr the white goose, Waw-be-wawa,\nWith the water dripping, flashing,\nFrom its glossy neck and feathers?\n\nIt was neither goose nor diver,\nNeither pelican nor heron,\nO\u2019er the water floating, flying,\nThrough the shining mist of morning,\nBut a birch canoe with paddles,\nRising, sinking on the water,\nDripping, flashing in the sunshine;\nAnd within it came a people\nFrom the distant land of Wabun,\nFrom the farthest realms of morning\nCame the Black-Robe chief, the Prophet,\nHe the Priest of Prayer, the Pale-face,\nWith his guides and his companions.\n\nAnd the noble Hiawatha,\nWith his hands aloft extended,\nHeld aloft in sign of welcome,\nWaited, full of exultation,\nTill the birch canoe with paddles\nGrated on the shining pebbles,\nStranded on the sandy margin,\nTill the Black-Robe chief, the Pale-face,\nWith the cross upon his bosom,\nLanded on the sandy margin.\n\nThen the joyous Hiawatha\nCried aloud and spake in this wise:\n\u201cBeautiful is the sun, O strangers,\nWhen you come so far to see us!\nAll our town in peace awaits you,\nAll our doors stand open for you;\nYou shall enter all our wigwams,\nFor the heart\u2019s right hand we give you.\n\n\u201cNever bloomed the earth so gayly,\nNever shone the sun so brightly,\nAs to-day they shine and blossom\nWhen you come so far to see us!\nNever was our lake so tranquil,\nNor so free from rocks, and sand-bars;\nFor your birch canoe in passing\nHas removed both rock and sand-bar.\n\u201cNever before had our tobacco\nSuch a sweet and pleasant flavor,\nNever the broad leaves of our cornfields\nWere so beautiful to look on,\nAs they seem to us this morning,\nWhen you come so far to see us!\u2019\n\nAnd the Black-Robe chief made answer,\nStammered in his speech a little,\nSpeaking words yet unfamiliar:\n\u201cPeace be with you, Hiawatha,\nPeace be with you and your people,\nPeace of prayer, and peace of pardon,\nPeace of Christ, and joy of Mary!\u201d\n\nThen the generous Hiawatha\nLed the strangers to his wigwam,\nSeated them on skins of bison,\nSeated them on skins of ermine,\nAnd the careful old Nokomis\nBrought them food in bowls of basswood,\nWater brought in birchen dippers,\nAnd the calumet, the peace-pipe,\nFilled and lighted for their smoking.\n\nAll the old men of the village,\nAll the warriors of the nation,\nAll the Jossakeeds, the Prophets,\nThe magicians, the Wabenos,\nAnd the Medicine-men, the Medas,\nCame to bid the strangers welcome;\n\u201cIt is well\u201d, they said, \u201cO brothers,\nThat you come so far to see us!\u201d\n\nIn a circle round the doorway,\nWith their pipes they sat in silence,\nWaiting to behold the strangers,\nWaiting to receive their message;\nTill the Black-Robe chief, the Pale-face,\nFrom the wigwam came to greet them,\nStammering in his speech a little,\nSpeaking words yet unfamiliar;\n\u201cIt is well,\u201d they said, \u201cO brother,\nThat you come so far to see us!\u201d\n\nThen the Black-Robe chief, the Prophet,\nTold his message to the people,\nTold the purport of his mission,\nTold them of the Virgin Mary,\nAnd her blessed Son, the Saviour,\nHow in distant lands and ages\nHe had lived on earth as we do;\nHow he fasted, prayed, and labored;\nHow the Jews, the tribe accursed,\nMocked him, scourged him, crucified him;\nHow he rose from where they laid him,\nWalked again with his disciples,\nAnd ascended into heaven.\n\nAnd the chiefs made answer, saying:\n\u201cWe have listened to your message,\nWe have heard your words of wisdom,\nWe will think on what you tell us.\nIt is well for us, O brothers,\nThat you come so far to see us!\u201d\n\nThen they rose up and departed\nEach one homeward to his wigwam,\nTo the young men and the women\nTold the story of the strangers\nWhom the Master of Life had sent them\nFrom the shining land of Wabun.\n\nHeavy with the heat and silence\nGrew the afternoon of Summer;\nWith a drowsy sound the forest\nWhispered round the sultry wigwam,\nWith a sound of sleep the water\nRippled on the beach below it;\nFrom the cornfields shrill and ceaseless\nSang the grasshopper, Pah-puk-keena;\nAnd the guests of Hiawatha,\nWeary with the heat of Summer,\nSlumbered in the sultry wigwam.\n\nSlowly o\u2019er the simmering landscape\nFell the evening\u2019s dusk and coolness,\nAnd the long and level sunbeams\nShot their spears into the forest,\nBreaking through its shields of shadow,\nRushed into each secret ambush,\nSearched each thicket, dingle, hollow;\nStill the guests of Hiawatha\nSlumbered in the silent wigwam.\n\nFrom his place rose Hiawatha,\nBade farewell to old Nokomis,\nSpake in whispers, spake in this wise,\nDid not wake the guests, that slumbered.\n\n\u201cI am going, O Nokomis,\nOn a long and distant journey,\nTo the portals of the Sunset.\nTo the regions of the home-wind,\nOf the Northwest-Wind, Keewaydin.\nBut these guests I leave behind me,\nIn your watch and ward I leave them;\nSee that never harm comes near them,\nSee that never fear molests them,\nNever danger nor suspicion,\nNever want of food or shelter,\nIn the lodge of Hiawatha!\u201d\n\nForth into the village went he,\nBade farewell to all the warriors,\nBade farewell to all the young men,\nSpake persuading, spake in this wise:\n\n\u201cI am going, O my people,\nOn a long and distant journey;\nMany moons and many winters\nWill have come, and will have vanished,\nEre I come again to see you.\nBut my guests I leave behind me;\nListen to their words of wisdom,\nListen to the truth they tell you,\nFor the Master of Life has sent them\nFrom the land of light and morning!\u201d\n\nOn the shore stood Hiawatha,\nTurned and waved his hand at parting;\nOn the clear and luminous water\nLaunched his birch canoe for sailing,\nFrom the pebbles of the margin\nShoved it forth into the water;\nWhispered to it, \u201cWestward! westward!\u201d\nAnd with speed it darted forward.\n\nAnd the evening sun descending\nSet the clouds on fire with redness,\nBurned the broad sky, like a prairie,\nLeft upon the level water\nOne long track and trail of splendor,\nDown whose stream, as down a river,\nWestward, westward Hiawatha\nSailed into the fiery sunset,\nSailed into the purple vapors,\nSailed into the dusk of evening:\n\nAnd the people from the margin\nWatched him floating, rising, sinking,\nTill the birch canoe seemed lifted\nHigh into that sea of splendor,\nTill it sank into the vapors\nLike the new moon slowly, slowly\nSinking in the purple distance.\n\nAnd they said, \u201cFarewell forever!\u201d\nSaid, \u201cFarewell, O Hiawatha!\u201d\nAnd the forests, dark and lonely,\nMoved through all their depths of darkness,\nSighed, \u201cFarewell, O Hiawatha!\u201d\nAnd the waves upon the margin\nRising, rippling on the pebbles,\nSobbed, \u201cFarewell, O Hiawatha!\u201d\nAnd the heron, the Shuh-shuh-gah,\nFrom her haunts among the fen-lands,\nScreamed, \u201cFarewell, O Hiawatha!\u201d\n\nThus departed Hiawatha,\nHiawatha the Beloved,\nIn the glory of the sunset,\nIn the purple mists of evening,\nTo the regions of the home-wind,\nOf the Northwest-Wind, Keewaydin,\nTo the Islands of the Blessed,\nTo the Kingdom of Ponemah,\nTo the Land of the Hereafter!\n\n\n\n\nVOCABULARY\n\n\nAdjidau\u2019mo, the red squirrel\nAhdeek\u2019, the reindeer\nAhmeek\u2019, the beaver\nAnnemee\u2019kee, the thunder\nApuk\u2019wa, a bulrush\nBaim-wa\u2019wa, the sound of the thunder\nBemah\u2019gut, the grape-vine\nChemaun\u2019, a birch canoe\nChetowaik\u2019, the plover\nChibia\u2019bos, a musician; friend of Hiawatha;\nruler of the Land of Spirits\nDahin\u2019da, the bull frog\nDush-kwo-ne\u2019-she or Kwo-ne\u2019-she,\nthe dragon fly\nEsa, shame upon you\nEwa-yea\u2019, lullaby\nGitche Gu\u2019mee, The Big-Sea-Water,\nLake Superior\nGitche Man\u2019ito, the Great Spirit,\nthe Master of Life\nGushkewau\u2019, the darkness\nHiawa\u2019tha, the Prophet, the Teacher,\nson of Mudjekeewis, the West-Wind and Wenonah,\ndaughter of Nokomis\nIa\u2019goo, a great boaster and story-teller\nInin\u2019ewug, men, or pawns in the Game of the Bowl\nIshkoodah\u2019, fire, a comet\nJee\u2019bi, a ghost, a spirit\nJoss\u2019akeed, a prophet\nKabibonok\u2019ka, the North-Wind\nKa\u2019go, do not\nKahgahgee\u2019, the raven\nKaw, no\nKaween\u2019, no indeed\nKayoshk\u2019, the sea-gull\nKee\u2019go, a fish\nKeeway\u2019din, the Northwest wind, the Home-wind\nKena\u2019beek, a serpent\nKeneu\u2019, the great war-eagle\nKeno\u2019zha, the pickerel\nKo\u2019ko-ko\u2019ho, the owl\nKuntasoo\u2019, the Game of Plumstones\nKwa\u2019sind, the Strong Man\nKwo-ne\u2019-she, or Dush-kwo-ne\u2019-she, the dragon-fly\nMahnahbe\u2019zee, the swan\nMahng, the loon\nMahnomo\u2019nee, wild rice\nMa\u2019ma, the woodpecker\nMe\u2019da, a medicine-man\nMeenah\u2019ga, the blueberry\nMegissog\u2019won, the great Pearl-Feather,\na magician, and the Manito of Wealth\nMeshinau\u2019wa, a pipe-bearer\nMinjekah\u2019wun, Hiawatha\u2019s mittens\nMinneha\u2019ha, Laughing Water; wife of Hiawatha;\na water-fall in a stream running into the\nMississippi between Fort Snelling and the\nFalls of St. Anthony\nMinne-wa\u2019wa, a pleasant sound, as of the wind\nin the trees\nMishe-Mo\u2019kwa, the Great Bear\nMishe-Nah\u2019ma, the Great Sturgeon\nMiskodeed\u2019, the Spring-Beauty, the Claytonia Virginica\nMonda\u2019min, Indian corn\nMoon of Bright Nights, April\nMoon of Leaves, May\nMoon of Strawberries, June\nMoon of the Falling Leaves, September\nMoon of Snow-shoes, November\nMudjekee\u2019wis, the West-Wind; father of Hiawatha\nMudway-aush\u2019ka, sound of waves on a shore\nMushkoda\u2019sa, the grouse\nNah\u2019ma, the sturgeon\nNah\u2019ma-wusk, spearmint\nNa\u2019gow Wudj\u2019oo, the Sand Dunes of Lake Superior\nNee-ba-naw\u2019-baigs, water-spirits\nNenemoo\u2019sha, sweetheart\nNepah\u2019win, sleep\nNoko\u2019mis, a grandmother, mother of Wenonah\nNo\u2019sa, my father\nNush\u2019ka, look! look!\nOdah\u2019min, the strawberry\nOkahha\u2019wis, the fresh-water herring\nOme\u2019mee, the pigeon\nOna\u2019gon, a bowl\nOpechee\u2019, the robin\nOsse\u2019o, Son of the Evening Star\nOwais\u2019sa, the blue-bird\nOweenee\u2019, wife of Osseo\nOzawa\u2019beek, a round piece of brass or copper in the Game of the Bowl\nPah-puk-kee\u2019na, the grasshopper\nPau\u2019guk, death\nPau-Puk-Kee\u2019wis, the handsome Yenadizze,\nthe son of Storm Fool\nPe\u2019boan, Winter\nPem\u2019ican, meat of the deer or buffalo dried and pounded\nPezhekee\u2019, the bison\nPishnekuh\u2019, the brant\nPone\u2019mah, hereafter\nPuggawau\u2019gun, a war-club\nPuk-Wudj\u2019ies, little wild men of the woods; pygmies\nSah-sah-je\u2019wun, rapids\nSegwun\u2019, Spring\nSha\u2019da, the pelican\nShahbo\u2019min, the gooseberry\nShah-shah, long ago\nShaugoda\u2019ya, a coward\nShawgashee\u2019, the craw-fish\nShawonda\u2019see, the South-Wind\nShaw-shaw, the swallow\nShesh\u2019ebwug, ducks; pieces in the Game\nof the Bowl\nShin\u2019gebis, the diver, or grebe\nShowain\u2019neme\u2019shin, pity me\nShuh-shuh-gah\u2019, the blue heron\nSoan-ge-ta\u2019ha, strong-hearted\nSubbeka\u2019she, the spider\nSugge\u2019me, the mosquito\nTo\u2019tem, family coat-of-arms\nUgh, yes\nUgudwash\u2019, the sun-fish\nUnktahee\u2019, the God of Water\nWabas\u2019so, the rabbit, the North\nWabe\u2019no, a magician, a juggler\nWabe\u2019no-wusk, yarrow\nWa\u2019bun, the East-Wind\nWa\u2019bun An\u2019nung, the Star of the East, the Morning Star\nWahono\u2019win, a cry of lamentation\nWah-wah-tay\u2019see, the fire-fly\nWaubewy\u2019on, a white skin wrapper\nWa\u2019wa, the wild goose\nWaw-be-wa\u2019wa, the white goose\nWawonais\u2019sa, the whippoorwill\nWay-muk-kwa\u2019na, the caterpillar\nWeno\u2019nah, the eldest daughter; Hiawatha\u2019s mother, daughter of Nokomis\nYenadiz\u2019ze, an idler and gambler; an Indian dandy\n\nThe End","title":"The Song of Hiawatha","tradition":"myth-cosmogony","translated_text":null,"word_count":32135}