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**This is the Project Gutenberg Etext of The Song of Hiawatha** ****This file should be named hisong11.txt or hisong11.zip*****
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Introductory Note
The Song of Hiawatha is based on the legends and stories of many North American
Indian tribes, but especially those of the Ojibway Indians of northern Michigan,
Wisconsin, and Minnesota. They were collected by Henry Rowe Schoolcraft, the
reknowned historian, pioneer explorer, and geologist. He was superintendent of
Indian affairs for Michigan from 1836 to 1841.Schoolcraft married Jane, O-bah-bahm-wawa-ge-zhe-go-qua (The Woman of the
Sound Which the Stars Make Rushing Through the Sky), Johnston. Jane was a
daughter of John Johnston, an early Irish fur trader, and
O-shau-gus-coday-way-qua (The Woman of the Green Prairie), who was a daughter of
Waub-o-jeeg (The White Fisher), who was Chief of the Ojibway tribe at La Pointe,
Wisconsin.
Longfellow began Hiawatha on June 25, 1854, he completed it on March 29,
1855, and it was published November 10, 1855. As soon as the poem was published
its popularity was assured. However, it also was severely criticized as a
plagiary of the Finnish epic poem Kalevala. Longfellow made no secret of the
fact that he had used the meter of the Kalevala; but as for the legends, he
openly gave credit to Schoolcraft in his notes to the poem.
"Wah-wah-taysee, little fire-fly, Little, flitting, white-fire insect
Little, dancing, white-fire creature, Light me with your little candle, Ere upon
my bed I lay me, Ere in sleep I close my eyelids!"
Introduction
Should you ask me, whence these stories? Whence these legends and traditions,
With the odors of the forest With the dew and damp of meadows, With the curling
smoke of wigwams, With the rushing of great rivers, With their frequent
repetitions, And their wild reverberations As of thunder in the mountains?I should answer, I should tell you, "From the forests and the prairies,
From the great lakes of the Northland, From the land of the Ojibways, From the
land of the Dacotahs, From the mountains, moors, and fen-lands Where the heron,
the Shuh-shuh-gah, Feeds among the reeds and rushes. I repeat them as I heard
them From the lips of Nawadaha, The musician, the sweet singer."
"All the wild-fowl sang them to him, In the moorlands and the fen-lands,
In the melancholy marshes; Chetowaik, the plover, sang them, Mahng, the loon,
the wild-goose, Wawa, The blue heron, the Shuh-shuh-gah, And the grouse, the
Mushkodasa!"
"In the vale of Tawasentha, In the green and silent valley, By the
pleasant water-courses, Dwelt the singer Nawadaha. Round about the Indian
village Spread the meadows and the corn-fields, And beyond them stood the forest,
Stood the groves of singing pine-trees, Green in Summer, white in Winter, Ever
sighing, ever singing.
"There he sang of Hiawatha, Sang the Song of Hiawatha, Sang his wondrous
birth and being, How he prayed and how be fasted, How he lived, and toiled, and
suffered, That the tribes of men might prosper, That he might advance his
people!"
Ye who love a nation's legends, Love the ballads of a people, That like
voices from afar off Call to us to pause and listen, Speak in tones so plain and
childlike, Scarcely can the ear distinguish Whether they are sung or spoken;Listen
to this Indian Legend, To this Song of Hiawatha! Ye whose hearts are fresh and
simple, Who have faith in God and Nature, Who believe that in all ages Every
human heart is human, That in even savage bosoms There are longings, yearnings,
strivings For the good they comprehend not, That the feeble hands and helpless,
Groping blindly in the darkness, Touch God's right hand in that darkness And are
lifted up and strengthened;Listen to this simple story, To this Song of Hiawatha!
Chapter I
The Peace-PipeOn the Mountains of the Prairie, On the great Red Pipe-stone Quarry, Gitche
Manito, the mighty, He the Master of Life, descending, On the red crags of the
quarry Stood erect, and called the nations, Called the tribes of men together.
From the red stone of the quarry With his hand he broke a fragment, Moulded
it into a pipe-head, Shaped and fashioned it with figures; From the margin of
the river Took a long reed for a pipe-stem, With its dark green leaves upon it;
Filled the pipe with bark of willow, With the bark of the red willow; Breathed
upon the neighboring forest, Made its great boughs chafe together, Till in flame
they burst and kindled; And erect upon the mountains, Gitche Manito, the mighty,
Smoked the calumet, the Peace-Pipe, As a signal to the nations.
From the Vale of Tawasentha, From the Valley of Wyoming, From the groves of
Tuscaloosa, From the far-off Rocky Mountains, From the Northern lakes and rivers
All the tribes beheld the signal, Saw the distant smoke ascending, The Pukwana
of the Peace-Pipe.
Down the rivers, o'er the prairies, Came the warriors of the nations, Came
the Delawares and Mohawks, Came the Choctaws and Camanches, Came the Shoshonies
and Blackfeet, Came the Pawnees and Omahas,
And they stood there on the meadow, With their weapons and their war-gear,
Painted like the leaves of Autumn, Painted like the sky of morning, Wildly
glaring at each other; In their faces stem defiance, In their hearts the feuds
of ages, The hereditary hatred, The ancestral thirst of vengeance.
Over them he stretched his right hand, To subdue their stubborn natures, To
allay their thirst and fever, By the shadow of his right hand; Spake to them
with voice majestic As the sound of far-off waters, Falling into deep abysses,
Warning, chiding, spake in this wise :
"I have given you lands to hunt in, I have given you streams to fish in,
I have given you bear and bison, I have given you roe and reindeer, I have given
you brant and beaver, Filled the marshes full of wild-fowl, Filled the rivers
full of fishes: Why then are you not contented? Why then will you hunt each
other?
"I will send a Prophet to you, A Deliverer of the nations, Who shall
guide you and shall teach you, Who shall toil and suffer with you. If you listen
to his counsels, You will multiply and prosper; If his warnings pass unheeded,
You will fade away and perish!
Then upon the ground the warriors Threw their cloaks and shirts of deer-skin,
Threw their weapons and their war-gear, Leaped into the rushing river, Washed
the war-paint from their faces. Clear above them flowed the water, Clear and
limpid from the footprints Of the Master of Life descending; Dark below them
flowed the water, Soiled and stained with streaks of crimson, As if blood were
mingled with it!
And in silence all the warriors Broke the red stone of the quarry, Smoothed
and formed it into Peace-Pipes, Broke the long reeds by the river, Decked them
with their brightest feathers, And departed each one homeward, While the Master
of Life, ascending, Through the opening of cloud-curtains, Through the doorways
of the heaven, Vanished from before their faces, In the smoke that rolled around
him, The Pukwana of the Peace-Pipe!
Chapter II
The Four Winds"Honor be to Mudjekeewis!" Cried the warriors, cried the old men, When he came in triumph homeward With the sacred Belt of Wampum, From the regions of the North-Wind, From the kingdom of Wabasso, From the land of the White Rabbit.
He had stolen the Belt of Wampum From the neck of Mishe-Mokwa, From the Great
Bear of the mountains, From the terror of the nations, As he lay asleep and
cumbrous On the summit of the mountains, Like a rock with mosses on it, Spotted
brown and gray with mosses.
Then he swung aloft his war-club, Shouted loud and long his war-cry, Smote
the mighty Mishe-Mokwa In the middle of the forehead, Right between the eyes he
smote him.
"Hark you, Bear! you are a coward; And no Brave, as you pretended; Else
you would not cry and whimper Like a miserable woman! Bear! you know our tribes
are hostile, Long have been at war together; Now you find that we are strongest,
You go sneaking in the forest, You go hiding in the mountains! Had you conquered
me in battle Not a groan would I have uttered; But you, Bear! sit here and
whimper, And disgrace your tribe by crying, Like a wretched Shaugodaya, Like a
cowardly old woman!"
"Honor be to Mudjekeewis!" With a shout exclaimed the people,
"Honor be to Mudjekeewis! Henceforth he shall be the West-Wind, And
hereafter and forever Shall he hold supreme dominion Over all the winds of
heaven. Call him no more Mudjekeewis, Call him Kabeyun, the West-Wind!"
Young and beautiful was Wabun; He it was who brought the morning, He it was
whose silver arrows Chased the dark o'er hill and valley; He it was whose cheeks
were painted With the brightest streaks of crimson, And whose voice awoke the
village, Called the deer, and called the hunter.
But one morning, gazing earthward, While the village still was sleeping, And
the fog lay on the river, Like a ghost, that goes at sunrise, He beheld a maiden
walking All alone upon a meadow, Gathering water-flags and rushes By a river in
the meadow.
And he wooed her with caresses, Wooed her with his smile of sunshine, With
his flattering words he wooed her, With his sighing and his singing, Gentlest
whispers in the branches, Softest music, sweetest odors, Till he drew her to his
bosom, Folded in his robes of crimson, Till into a star he changed her,
Trembling still upon his bosom; And forever in the heavens They are seen
together walking, Wabun and the Wabun-Annung, Wabun and the Star of Morning.
Once the fierce Kabibonokka Issued from his lodge of snow-drifts From his
home among the icebergs, And his hair, with snow besprinkled, Streamed behind
him like a river, Like a black and wintry river, As he howled and hurried
southward, Over frozen lakes and moorlands.
Cried the fierce Kabibonokka, "Who is this that dares to brave me? Dares
to stay in my dominions, When the Wawa has departed, When the wild-goose has
gone southward, And the heron, the Shuh-shuh-gah, Long ago departed southward? I
will go into his wigwam, I will put his smouldering fire out!"
Then Kabibonokka entered, And though Shingebis, the diver, Felt his presence
by the coldness, Felt his icy breath upon him, Still he did not cease his
singing, Still he did not leave his laughing, Only turned the log a little, Only
made the fire burn brighter, Made the sparks fly up the smoke-flue.
Till at last he rose defeated, Could not bear the heat and laughter, Could
not bear the merry singing, But rushed headlong through the door-way, Stamped
upon the crusted snow-drifts, Stamped upon the lakes and rivers, Made the snow
upon them harder, Made the ice upon them thicker, Challenged Shingebis, the
diver, To come forth and wrestle with him, To come forth and wrestle naked On
the frozen fens and moorlands.
Shawondasee, fat and lazy, Had his dwelling far to southward, In the drowsy,
dreamy sunshine, In the never-ending Summer. He it was who sent the wood-birds,
Sent the robin, the Opechee, Sent the bluebird, the Owaissa, Sent the Shawshaw,
sent the swallow, Sent the wild-goose, Wawa, northward, Sent the melons and
tobacco, And the grapes in purple clusters.
Listless, careless Shawondasee! In his life he had one shadow, In his heart
one sorrow had he. Once, as he was gazing northward, Far away upon a prairie He
beheld a maiden standing, Saw a tall and slender maiden All alone upon a prairie;
Brightest green were all her garments, And her hair was like the sunshine.
Till one morning, looking northward, He beheld her yellow tresses Changed and
covered o'er with whiteness, Covered as with whitest snow-flakes. "Ah! my
brother from the North-land, From the kingdom of Wabasso, From the land of the
White Rabbit! You have stolen the maiden from me, You have laid your hand upon
her, You have wooed and won my maiden, With your stories of the North-land!"
Poor, deluded Shawondasee! 'T was no woman that you gazed at, 'T was no
maiden that you sighed for, 'T was the prairie dandelion That through all the
dreamy Summer You had gazed at with such longing, You had sighed for with such
passion, And had puffed away forever, Blown into the air with sighing. Ah!
deluded Shawondasee!
Chapter III
Hiawatha's ChildhoodDownward through the evening twilight, In the days that are forgotten, In the
unremembered ages, From the full moon fell Nokomis, Fell the beautiful Nokomis,
She a wife, but not a mother.
There among the ferns and mosses, There among the prairie lilies, On the
Muskoday, the meadow, In the moonlight and the starlight, Fair Nokomis bore a
daughter. And she called her name Wenonah, As the first-born of her daughters.
And the daughter of Nokomis Grew up like the prairie lilies, Grew a tall and
slender maiden, With the beauty of the moonlight, With the beauty of the
starlight.
But she heeded not the warning, Heeded not those words of wisdom, And the
West-Wind came at evening, Walking lightly o'er the prairie, Whispering to the
leaves and blossoms, Bending low the flowers and grasses, Found the beautiful
Wenonah, Lying there among the lilies, Wooed her with his words of sweetness,
Wooed her with his soft caresses, Till she bore a son in sorrow, Bore a son of
love and sorrow.
For her daughter long and loudly Wailed and wept the sad Nokomis; "Oh
that I were dead!" she murmured, "Oh that I were dead, as thou art! No
more work, and no more weeping, Wahonowin! Wahonowin!"
There the wrinkled old Nokomis Nursed the little Hiawatha, Rocked him in his
linden cradle, Bedded soft in moss and rushes, Safely bound with reindeer sinews;
Stilled his fretful wail by saying, "Hush! the Naked Bear will hear thee!"
Lulled him into slumber, singing, "Ewa-yea! my little owlet! Who is this,
that lights the wigwam? With his great eyes lights the wigwam? Ewa-yea! my
little owlet!"
At the door on summer evenings Sat the little Hiawatha; Heard the whispering
of the pine-trees, Heard the lapping of the waters, Sounds of music, words of
wonder; 'Minne-wawa!" said the Pine-trees, Mudway-aushka!" said the
water.
Saw the moon rise from the water Rippling, rounding from the water, Saw the
flecks and shadows on it, Whispered, "What is that, Nokomis?" And the
good Nokomis answered: "Once a warrior, very angry, Seized his grandmother,
and threw her Up into the sky at midnight; Right against the moon he threw her;
'T is her body that you see there."
When he heard the owls at midnight, Hooting, laughing in the forest, 'What is
that?" he cried in terror, "What is that," he said, "Nokomis?"
And the good Nokomis answered: "That is but the owl and owlet, Talking in
their native language, Talking, scolding at each other."
Of all beasts he learned the language, Learned their names and all their
secrets, How the beavers built their lodges, Where the squirrels hid their
acorns, How the reindeer ran so swiftly, Why the rabbit was so timid, Talked
with them whene'er he met them, Called them "Hiawatha's Brothers."
Then he said to Hiawatha: "Go, my son, into the forest, Where the red
deer herd together, Kill for us a famous roebuck, Kill for us a deer with
antlers!"
Up the oak-tree, close beside him, Sprang the squirrel, Adjidaumo, In and out
among the branches, Coughed and chattered from the oak-tree, Laughed, and said
between his laughing, "Do not shoot me, Hiawatha!"
But he heeded not, nor heard them, For his thoughts were with the red deer;
On their tracks his eyes were fastened, Leading downward to the river, To the
ford across the river, And as one in slumber walked he.
Then, upon one knee uprising, Hiawatha aimed an arrow; Scarce a twig moved
with his motion, Scarce a leaf was stirred or rustled, But the wary roebuck
started, Stamped with all his hoofs together, Listened with one foot uplifted,
Leaped as if to meet the arrow; Ah! the singing, fatal arrow, Like a wasp it
buzzed and stung him!
From the red deer's hide Nokomis Made a cloak for Hiawatha, From the red
deer's flesh Nokomis Made a banquet to his honor. All the village came and
feasted, All the guests praised Hiawatha, Called him Strong-Heart, Soan-ge-taha!
Called him Loon-Heart, Mahn-go-taysee!
Chapter IV
Hiawatha and MudjekeewisOut of childhood into manhood Now had grown my Hiawatha, Skilled in all the craft of hunters, Learned in all the lore of old men, In all youthful sports and pastimes, In all manly arts and labors.
Swift of foot was Hiawatha; He could shoot an arrow from him, And run forward
with such fleetness, That the arrow fell behind him! Strong of arm was Hiawatha;
He could shoot ten arrows upward, Shoot them with such strength and swiftness,
That the tenth had left the bow-string Ere the first to earth had fallen!
Much he questioned old Nokomis Of his father Mudjekeewis; Learned from her
the fatal secret Of the beauty of his mother, Of the falsehood of his father;
And his heart was hot within him, Like a living coal his heart was.
From his lodge went Hiawatha, Dressed for travel, armed for hunting; Dressed
in deer-skin shirt and leggings, Richly wrought with quills and wampum; On his
head his eagle-feathers, Round his waist his belt of wampum, In his hand his bow
of ash-wood, Strung with sinews of the reindeer; In his quiver oaken arrows,
Tipped with jasper, winged with feathers; With his mittens, Minjekahwun, With
his moccasins enchanted.
But the fearless Hiawatha Heeded not her woman's warning; Forth he strode
into the forest, At each stride a mile he measured; Lurid seemed the sky above
him, Lurid seemed the earth beneath him, Hot and close the air around him,
Filled with smoke and fiery vapors, As of burning woods and prairies, For his
heart was hot within him, Like a living coal his heart was.
Filled with awe was Hiawatha At the aspect of his father. On the air about
him wildly Tossed and streamed his cloudy tresses, Gleamed like drifting snow
his tresses, Glared like Ishkoodah, the comet, Like the star with fiery tresses.
"Welcome!" said he, "Hiawatha, To the kingdom of the West-Wind
Long have I been waiting for you Youth is lovely, age is lonely, Youth is fiery,
age is frosty; You bring back the days departed, You bring back my youth of
passion, And the beautiful Wenonah!"
Patiently sat Hiawatha, Listening to his father's boasting; With a smile he
sat and listened, Uttered neither threat nor menace, Neither word nor look
betrayed him, But his heart was hot within him, Like a living coal his heart was.
And he looked at Hiawatha With a wise look and benignant, With a countenance
paternal, Looked with pride upon the beauty Of his tall and graceful figure,
Saying, "O my Hiawatha! Is there anything can harm you? Anything you are
afraid of?"
And as Mudjekeewis, rising, Stretched his hand to pluck the bulrush, Hiawatha
cried in terror, Cried in well-dissembled terror, "Kago! kago! do not touch
it!" "Ah, kaween!" said Mudjekeewis, "No indeed, I will not
touch it!"
And he cried, "O Mudjekeewis, It was you who killed Wenonah, Took her
young life and her beauty, Broke the Lily of the Prairie, Trampled it beneath
your footsteps; You confess it! you confess it!" And the mighty Mudjekeewis
Tossed upon the wind his tresses, Bowed his hoary head in anguish, With a silent
nod assented.
But the ruler of the West-Wind Blew the fragments backward from him, With the
breathing of his nostrils, With the tempest of his anger, Blew them back at his
assailant; Seized the bulrush, the Apukwa, Dragged it with its roots and fibres
From the margin of the meadow, From its ooze the giant bulrush; Long and loud
laughed Hiawatha!
Like a tall tree in the tempest Bent and lashed the giant bulrush; And in
masses huge and heavy Crashing fell the fatal Wawbeek; Till the earth shook with
the tumult And confusion of the battle, And the air was full of shoutings, And
the thunder of the mountains, Starting, answered, "Baim-wawa!"
"Hold!" at length cried Mudjekeewis, "Hold, my son, my
Hiawatha! 'T is impossible to kill me, For you cannot kill the immortal I have
put you to this trial, But to know and prove your courage; Now receive the prize
of valor!
"And at last when Death draws near you, When the awful eyes of Pauguk
Glare upon you in the darkness, I will share my kingdom with you, Ruler shall
you be thenceforward Of the Northwest-Wind, Keewaydin, Of the home-wind, the
Keewaydin."
Homeward now went Hiawatha; Pleasant was the landscape round him, Pleasant
was the air above him, For the bitterness of anger Had departed wholly from him,
From his brain the thought of vengeance, From his heart the burning fever.
There the ancient Arrow-maker Made his arrow-heads of sandstone, Arrow-heads
of chalcedony, Arrow-heads of flint and jasper, Smoothed and sharpened at the
edges, Hard and polished, keen and costly.
Was it then for heads of arrows, Arrow-heads of chalcedony, Arrow-heads of
flint and jasper, That my Hiawatha halted In the land of the Dacotahs?
Who shall say what thoughts and visions Fill the fiery brains of young men?
Who shall say what dreams of beauty Filled the heart of Hiawatha? All he told to
old Nokomis, When he reached the lodge at sunset, Was the meeting with his
father, Was his fight with Mudjekeewis; Not a word he said of arrows, Not a word
of Laughing Water.
Chapter V
Hiawatha's FastingYou shall hear how Hiawatha Prayed and fasted in the forest, Not for greater skill in hunting, Not for greater craft in fishing, Not for triumphs in the battle, And renown among the warriors, But for profit of the people, For advantage of the nations.
First he built a lodge for fasting, Built a wigwam in the forest, By the
shining Big-Sea-Water, In the blithe and pleasant Spring-time, In the Moon of
Leaves he built it, And, with dreams and visions many, Seven whole days and
nights he fasted.
On the next day of his fasting By the river's brink he wandered, Through the
Muskoday, the meadow, Saw the wild rice, Mahnomonee, Saw the blueberry, Meenahga,
And the strawberry, Odahmin, And the gooseberry, Shahbomin, And the grape.vine,
the Bemahgut, Trailing o'er the alder-branches, Filling all the air with
fragrance! "Master of Life!" he cried, desponding, "Must our
lives depend on these things?"
On the fourth day of his fasting In his lodge he lay exhausted; From his
couch of leaves and branches Gazing with half-open eyelids, Full of shadowy
dreams and visions, On the dizzy, swimming landscape, On the gleaming of the
water, On the splendor of the sunset.
Standing at the open doorway, Long he looked at Hiawatha, Looked with pity
and compassion On his wasted form and features, And, in accents like the sighing
Of the South-Wind in the tree-tops, Said he, "O my Hiawatha! All your
prayers are heard in heaven, For you pray not like the others; Not for greater
skill in hunting, Not for greater craft in fishing, Not for triumph in the
battle, Nor renown among the warriors, But for profit of the people, For
advantage of the nations.
Faint with famine, Hiawatha Started from his bed of branches, From the
twilight of his wigwam Forth into the flush of sunset Came, and wrestled with
Mondamin; At his touch he felt new courage Throbbing in his brain and bosom,
Felt new life and hope and vigor Run through every nerve and fibre.
"'T Is enough!" then said Mondamin, Smiling upon Hiawatha, "But
tomorrow, when the sun sets, I will come again to try you." And he vanished,
and was seen not; Whether sinking as the rain sinks, Whether rising as the mists
rise, Hiawatha saw not, knew not, Only saw that he had vanished, Leaving him
alone and fainting, With the misty lake below him, And the reeling stars above
him.
Thrice they wrestled there together In the glory of the sunset, Till the
darkness fell around them, Till the heron, the Shuh-shuh-gah, From her nest
among the pine-trees, Uttered her loud cry of famine, And Mondamin paused to
listen.
And he cried, "O Hiawatha! Bravely have you wrestled with me, Thrice
have wrestled stoutly with me, And the Master of Life, who sees us, He will give
to you the triumph!"
"Let no hand disturb my slumber, Let no weed nor worm molest me, Let not
Kahgahgee, the raven, Come to haunt me and molest me, Only come yourself to
watch me, Till I wake, and start, and quicken, Till I leap into the sunshine"
On the morrow came Nokomis, On the seventh day of his fasting, Came with food
for Hiawatha, Came imploring and bewailing, Lest his hunger should o'ercome him,
Lest his fasting should be fatal.
Homeward weeping went Nokomis, Sorrowing for her Hiawatha, Fearing lest his
strength should fail him, Lest his fasting should be fatal. He meanwhile sat
weary waiting For the coming of Mondamin, Till the shadows, pointing eastward,
Lengthened over field and forest, Till the sun dropped from the heaven, Floating
on the waters westward, As a red leaf in the Autumn Falls and floats upon the
water, Falls and sinks into its bosom.
Round about him spun the landscape, Sky and forest reeled together, And his
strong heart leaped within him, As the sturgeon leaps and struggles In a net to
break its meshes. Like a ring of fire around him Blazed and flared the red
horizon, And a hundred suns seemed looking At the combat of the wrestlers.
And victorious Hiawatha Made the grave as he commanded, Stripped the garments
from Mondamin, Stripped his tattered plumage from him, Laid him in the earth,
and made it Soft and loose and light above him; And the heron, the Shuh-shuh-gah,
From the melancholy moorlands, Gave a cry of lamentation, Gave a cry of pain and
anguish!
Day by day did Hiawatha Go to wait and watch beside it; Kept the dark mould
soft above it, Kept it clean from weeds and insects, Drove away, with scoffs and
shoutings, Kahgahgee, the king of ravens.
Then he called to old Nokomis And Iagoo, the great boaster, Showed them where
the maize was growing, Told them of his wondrous vision, Of his wrestling and
his triumph, Of this new gift to the nations, Which should be their food
forever.
Chapter VI
Hiawatha's FriendsTwo good friends had Hiawatha, Singled out from all the others, Bound to him
in closest union, And to whom he gave the right hand Of his heart, in joy and
sorrow; Chibiabos, the musician, And the very strong man, Kwasind.
Most beloved by Hiawatha Was the gentle Chibiabos, He the best of all
musicians, He the sweetest of all singers. Beautiful and childlike was he, Brave
as man is, soft as woman, Pliant as a wand of willow, Stately as a deer with
antlers.
From the hollow reeds he fashioned Flutes so musical and mellow, That the
brook, the Sebowisha, Ceased to murmur in the woodland, That the wood-birds
ceased from singing, And the squirrel, Adjidaumo, Ceased his chatter in the
oak-tree, And the rabbit, the Wabasso, Sat upright to look and listen.
Yes, the bluebird, the Owaissa, Envious, said, "O Chibiabos, Teach me
tones as wild and wayward, Teach me songs as full of frenzy!"
And the whippoorwill, Wawonaissa, Sobbing, said, "O Chibiabos, Teach me
tones as melancholy, Teach me songs as full of sadness!"
Very dear to Hiawatha Was the gentle Chibiabos, He the best of all musicians,
He the sweetest of all singers; For his gentleness he loved him, And the magic
of his singing.
Idle in his youth was Kwasind, Very listless, dull, and dreamy, Never played
with other children, Never fished and never hunted, Not like other children was
he; But they saw that much he fasted, Much his Manito entreated, Much besought
his Guardian Spirit.
Slowly, from the ashes, Kwasind Rose, but made no angry answer; From the
lodge went forth in silence, Took the nets, that hung together, Dripping,
freezing at the doorway; Like a wisp of straw he wrung them, Like a wisp of
straw he broke them, Could not wring them without breaking, Such the strength
was in his fingers.
Down a narrow pass they wandered, Where a brooklet led them onward, Where the
trail of deer and bison Marked the soft mud on the margin, Till they found all
further passage Shut against them, barred securely By the trunks of trees
uprooted, Lying lengthwise, lying crosswise, And forbidding further passage.
"Lazy Kwasind!" said the young men, As they sported in the meadow:
"Why stand idly looking at us, Leaning on the rock behind you? Come and
wrestle with the others, Let us pitch the quoit together!"
Once as down that foaming river, Down the rapids of Pauwating, Kwasind sailed
with his companions, In the stream he saw a beaver, Saw Ahmeek, the King of
Beavers, Struggling with the rushing currents, Rising, sinking in the water.
And these two, as I have told you, Were the friends of Hiawatha, Chibiabos,
the musician, And the very strong man, Kwasind. Long they lived in peace
together, Spake with naked hearts together, Pondering much and much contriving
How the tribes of men might prosper.
Chapter VII
Hiawatha's Sailing"Give me of your bark, O Birch-tree! Of your yellow bark, O Birch-tree! Growing by the rushing river, Tall and stately in the valley! I a light canoe will build me, Build a swift Cheemaun for sailing, That shall float on the river, Like a yellow leaf in Autumn, Like a yellow water-lily!
"Lay aside your cloak, O Birch-tree! Lay aside your white-skin wrapper,
For the Summer-time is coming, And the sun is warm in heaven, And you need no
white-skin wrapper!"
And the tree with all its branches Rustled in the breeze of morning, Saying,
with a sigh of patience, "Take my cloak, O Hiawatha!"
"Give me of your boughs, O Cedar! Of your strong and pliant branches, My
canoe to make more steady, Make more strong and firm beneath me!"
Down he hewed the boughs of cedar, Shaped them straightway to a frame-work,
Like two bows he formed and shaped them, Like two bended bows together.
And the Larch, with all its fibres, Shivered in the air of morning, Touched
his forehead with its tassels, Slid, with one long sigh of sorrow. "Take
them all, O Hiawatha!"
"Give me of your balm, O Fir-tree! Of your balsam and your resin, So to
close the seams together That the water may not enter, That the river may not
wet me!"
And he took the tears of balsam, Took the resin of the Fir-tree, Smeared
therewith each seam and fissure, Made each crevice safe from water.
From a hollow tree the Hedgehog With his sleepy eyes looked at him, Shot his
shining quills, like arrows, Saying with a drowsy murmur, Through the tangle of
his whiskers, "Take my quills, O Hiawatha!"
Thus the Birch Canoe was builded In the valley, by the river, In the bosom of
the forest; And the forest's life was in it, All its mystery and its magic, All
the lightness of the birch-tree, All the toughness of the cedar, All the larch's
supple sinews; And it floated on the river Like a yellow leaf in Autumn, Like a
yellow water-lily.
Then he called aloud to Kwasind, To his friend, the strong man, Kwasind,
Saying, "Help me clear this river Of its sunken logs and sand-bars."
And thus sailed my Hiawatha Down the rushing Taquamenaw, Sailed through all
its bends and windings, Sailed through all its deeps and shallows, While his
friend, the strong man, Kwasind, Swam the deeps, the shallows waded.
Chapter VIII
Hiawatha's FishingForth upon the Gitche Gumee, On the shining Big-Sea-Water, With his
fishing-line of cedar, Of the twisted bark of cedar, Forth to catch the sturgeon
Nahma, Mishe-Nahma, King of Fishes, In his birch canoe exulting All alone went
Hiawatha.
At the stern sat Hiawatha, With his fishing-line of cedar; In his plumes the
breeze of morning Played as in the hemlock branches; On the bows, with tail
erected, Sat the squirrel, Adjidaumo; In his fur the breeze of morning Played as
in the prairie grasses.
There he lay in all his armor; On each side a shield to guard him, Plates of
bone upon his forehead, Down his sides and back and shoulders Plates of bone
with spines projecting Painted was he with his war-paints, Stripes of yellow,
red, and azure, Spots of brown and spots of sable; And he lay there on the
bottom, Fanning with his fins of purple, As above him Hiawatha In his birch
canoe came sailing, With his fishing-line of cedar.
Quiet lay the sturgeon, Nahma, Fanning slowly in the water, Looking up at
Hiawatha, Listening to his call and clamor, His unnecessary tumult, Till he
wearied of the shouting; And he said to the Kenozha, To the pike, the
Maskenozha, "Take the bait of this rude fellow, Break the line of
Hiawatha!"
Reeling downward to the bottom Sank the pike in great confusion, And the
mighty sturgeon, Nahma, Said to Ugudwash, the sun-fish, To the bream, with
scales of crimson, "Take the bait of this great boaster, Break the line of
Hiawatha!"
But when Hiawatha saw him Slowly rising through the water, Lifting up his
disk refulgent, Loud he shouted in derision, "Esa! esa! shame upon you! You
are Ugudwash, the sun-fish, You are not the fish I wanted, You are not the King
of Fishes!"
From the white sand of the bottom Up he rose with angry gesture, Quivering in
each nerve and fibre, Clashing all his plates of armor, Gleaming bright with all
his war-paint; In his wrath he darted upward, Flashing leaped into the sunshine,
Opened his great jaws, and swallowed Both canoe and Hiawatha.
And he smote it in his anger, With his fist, the heart of Nahma, Felt the
mighty King of Fishes Shudder through each nerve and fibre, Heard the water
gurgle round him As he leaped and staggered through it, Sick at heart, and faint
and weary.
Then said Hiawatha to him, "O my little friend, the squirrel, Bravely
have you toiled to help me; Take the thanks of Hiawatha, And the name which now
he gives you; For hereafter and forever Boys shall call you Adjidaumo,
Tail-in-air the boys shall call you!"
Then he heard a clang and flapping, As of many wings assembling, Heard a
screaming and confusion, As of birds of prey contending, Saw a gleam of light
above him, Shining through the ribs of Nahma, Saw the glittering eyes of
sea-gulls, Of Kayoshk, the sea-gulls, peering, Gazing at him through the
opening, Heard them saying to each other, "'T is our brother,
Hiawatha!"
And the wild and clamorous sea-gulls Toiled with beak and claws together,
Made the rifts and openings wider In the mighty ribs of Nahma, And from peril
and from prison, From the body of the sturgeon, From the peril of the water,
They released my Hiawatha.
"I have slain the Mishe-Nahma, Slain the King of Fishes!" said he'
"Look! the sea-gulls feed upon him, Yes, my friends Kayoshk, the sea-gulls;
Drive them not away, Nokomis, They have saved me from great peril In the body of
the sturgeon, Wait until their meal is ended, Till their craws are full with
feasting, Till they homeward fly, at sunset, To their nests among the marshes;
Then bring all your pots and kettles, And make oil for us in Winter."
To his sleep went Hiawatha, And Nokomis to her labor, Toiling patient in the
moonlight, Till the sun and moon changed places, Till the sky was red with
sunrise, And Kayoshk, the hungry sea-gulls, Came back from the reedy islands,
Clamorous for their morning banquet.
Chapter IX
Hiawatha and the Pearl-Feather
On the shores of Gitche Gumee, Of the shining Big-Sea-Water, Stood Nokomis,
the old woman, Pointing with her finger westward, O'er the water pointing
westward, To the purple clouds of sunset.
And Nokomis, the old woman, Pointing with her finger westward, Spake these
words to Hiawatha: "Yonder dwells the great Pearl-Feather, Megissogwon, the
Magician, Manito of Wealth and Wampum, Guarded by his fiery serpents, Guarded by
the black pitch-water. You can see his fiery serpents, The Kenabeek, the great
serpents, Coiling, playing in the water; You can see the black pitch-water
Stretching far away beyond them, To the purple clouds of sunset!
"Take your bow, O Hiawatha, Take your arrows, jasper-headed, Take your
war-club, Puggawaugun, And your mittens, Minjekahwun, And your birch-canoe for
sailing, And the oil of Mishe-Nahma, So to smear its sides, that swiftly You may
pass the black pitch-water; Slay this merciless magician, Save the people from
the fever That he breathes across the fen-lands, And avenge my father's
murder!"
Forward leaped Cheemaun exulting, And the noble Hiawatha Sang his war-song
wild and woful, And above him the war-eagle, The Keneu, the great war-eagle,
Master of all fowls with feathers, Screamed and hurtled through the heavens.
But the fearless Hiawatha Cried aloud, and spake in this wise, "Let me
pass my way, Kenabeek, Let me go upon my journey!" And they answered,
hissing fiercely, With their fiery breath made answer: "Back, go back! O
Shaugodaya! Back to old Nokomis, Faint-heart!"
Weltering in the bloody water, Dead lay all the fiery serpents, And among
them Hiawatha Harmless sailed, and cried exulting: "Onward, O Cheemaun, my
darling! Onward to the black pitch-water!"
All night long he sailed upon it, Sailed upon that sluggish water, Covered
with its mould of ages, Black with rotting water-rushes, Rank with flags and
leaves of lilies, Stagnant, lifeless, dreary, dismal, Lighted by the shimmering
moonlight, And by will-o'-the-wisps illumined, Fires by ghosts of dead men
kindled, In their weary night-encampments.
Westward thus fared Hiawatha, Toward the realm of Megissogwon, Toward the
land of the Pearl-Feather, Till the level moon stared at him In his face stared
pale and haggard, Till the sun was hot behind him, Till it burned upon his
shoulders, And before him on the upland He could see the Shining Wigwam Of the
Manito of Wampum, Of the mightiest of Magicians.
Straight he took his bow of ash-tree, On the sand one end he rested, With his
knee he pressed the middle, Stretched the faithful bow-string tighter, Took an
arrow, jasperheaded, Shot it at the Shining Wigwam, Sent it singing as a herald,
As a bearer of his message, Of his challenge loud and lofty: "Come forth
from your lodge, Pearl-Feather! Hiawatha waits your coming!"
"Well I know you, Hiawatha!" Cried he in a voice of thunder, In a
tone of loud derision. "Hasten back, O Shaugodaya! Hasten back among the
women, Back to old Nokomis, Faint-heart! I will slay you as you stand there, As
of old I slew her father!"
Then began the greatest battle That the sun had ever looked on, That the
war-birds ever witnessed. All a Summer's day it lasted, From the sunrise to the
sunset; For the shafts of Hiawatha Harmless hit the shirt of wampum, Harmless
fell the blows he dealt it With his mittens, Minjekahwun, Harmless fell the
heavy war-club; It could dash the rocks asunder, But it could not break the
meshes Of that magic shirt of wampum.
Suddenly from the boughs above him Sang the Mama, the woodpecker: "Aim
your arrows, Hiawatha, At the head of Megissogwon, Strike the tuft of hair upon
it, At their roots the long black tresses; There alone can he be wounded!"
Swifter flew the second arrow, In the pathway of the other, Piercing deeper
than the other, Wounding sorer than the other; And the knees of Megissogwon
Shook like windy reeds beneath him, Bent and trembled like the rushes.
Then the grateful Hiawatha Called the Mama, the woodpecker, From his perch
among the branches Of the melancholy pine-tree, And, in honor of his service,
Stained with blood the tuft of feathers On the little head of Mama; Even to this
day he wears it, Wears the tuft of crimson feathers, As a symbol of his service.
From the wigwam Hiawatha Bore the wealth of Megissogwon, All his wealth of
skins and wampum, Furs of bison and of beaver, Furs of sable and of ermine,
Wampum belts and strings and pouches, Quivers wrought with beads of wampum,
Filled with arrows, silver-headed.
On the shore stood old Nokomis, On the shore stood Chibiabos, And the very
strong man, Kwasind, Waiting for the hero's coming, Listening to his songs of
triumph. And the people of the village Welcomed him with songs and dances, Made
a joyous feast, and shouted: 'Honor be to Hiawatha! He has slain the great
Pearl-Feather, Slain the mightiest of Magicians, Him, who sent the fiery fever,
Sent the white fog from the fen-lands, Sent disease and death among us!"
Chapter X
Hiawatha's Wooing"As unto the bow the cord is, So unto the man is woman; Though she bends
him, she obeys him, Though she draws him, yet she follows; Useless each without
the other!"
"Wed a maiden of your people," Warning said the old Nokomis;
"Go not eastward, go not westward, For a stranger, whom we know not! Like a
fire upon the hearth-stone Is a neighbor's homely daughter, Like the starlight
or the moonlight Is the handsomest of strangers!"
Gravely then said old Nokomis: "Bring not here an idle maiden, Bring not
here a useless woman, Hands unskilful, feet unwilling; Bring a wife with nimble
fingers, Heart and hand that move together, Feet that run on willing
errands!"
Still dissuading said Nokomis: "Bring not to my lodge a stranger From
the land of the Dacotahs! Very fierce are the Dacotahs, Often is there war
between us, There are feuds yet unforgotten, Wounds that ache and still may
open!"
Thus departed Hiawatha To the land of the Dacotahs, To the land of handsome
women; Striding over moor and meadow, Through interminable forests, Through
uninterrupted silence.
On the outskirts of the forests, 'Twixt the shadow and the sunshine, Herds of
fallow deer were feeding, But they saw not Hiawatha; To his bow he whispered,
"Fail not!" To his arrow whispered, "Swerve not!" Sent it
singing on its errand, To the red heart of the roebuck; Threw the deer across
his shoulder, And sped forward without pausing.
He was thinking, as he sat there, Of the days when with such arrows He had
struck the deer and bison, On the Muskoday, the meadow; Shot the wild goose,
flying southward On the wing, the clamorous Wawa; Thinking of the great
war-parties, How they came to buy his arrows, Could not fight without his
arrows. Ah, no more such noble warriors Could be found on earth as they were!
Now the men were all like women, Only used their tongues for weapons!
Through their thoughts they heard a footstep, Heard a rustling in the
branches, And with glowing cheek and forehead, With the deer upon his shoulders,
Suddenly from out the woodlands Hiawatha stood before them.
At the feet of Laughing Water Hiawatha laid his burden, Threw the red deer
from his shoulders; And the maiden looked up at him, Looked up from her mat of
rushes, Said with gentle look and accent, "You are welcome, Hiawatha!"
Then uprose the Laughing Water, From the ground fair Minnehaha, Laid aside
her mat unfinished, Brought forth food and set before them, Water brought them
from the brooklet, Gave them food in earthen vessels, Gave them drink in bowls
of bass-wood, Listened while the guest was speaking, Listened while her father
answered, But not once her lips she opened, Not a single word she uttered.
"After many years of warfare, Many years of strife and bloodshed, There
is peace between the Ojibways And the tribe of the Dacotahs." Thus
continued Hiawatha, And then added, speaking slowly, "That this peace may
last forever, And our hands be clasped more closely, And our hearts be more
united, Give me as my wife this maiden, Minnehaha, Laughing Water, Loveliest of
Dacotah women!"
And the lovely Laughing Water Seemed more lovely as she stood there, Neither
willing nor reluctant, As she went to Hiawatha, Softly took the seat beside him,
While she said, and blushed to say it, "I will follow you, my
husband!"
From the wigwam he departed, Leading with him Laughing Water; Hand in hand
they went together, Through the woodland and the meadow, Left the old man
standing lonely At the doorway of his wigwam, Heard the Falls of Minnehaha
Calling to them from the distance, Crying to them from afar off, "Fare thee
well, O Minnehaha!"
Pleasant was the journey homeward, Through interminable forests, Over meadow,
over mountain, Over river, hill, and hollow. Short it seemed to Hiawatha, Though
they journeyed very slowly, Though his pace he checked and slackened To the
steps of Laughing Water.
All the travelling winds went with them, O'er the meadows, through the
forest; All the stars of night looked at them, Watched with sleepless eyes their
slumber; From his ambush in the oak-tree Peeped the squirrel, Adjidaumo, Watched
with eager eyes the lovers; And the rabbit, the Wabasso, Scampered from the path
before them, Peering, peeping from his burrow, Sat erect upon his haunches,
Watched with curious eyes the lovers.
From the sky the sun benignant Looked upon them through the branches, Saying
to them, "O my children, Love is sunshine, hate is shadow, Life is
checkered shade and sunshine, Rule by love, O Hiawatha!"
Thus it was they journeyed homeward; Thus it was that Hiawatha To the lodge
of old Nokomis Brought the moonlight, starlight, firelight, Brought the sunshine
of his people, Minnehaha, Laughing Water, Handsomest of all the women In the
land of the Dacotahs, In the land of handsome women.
Chapter XI
Hiawatha's Wedding-FeastYou shall hear how Pau-Puk-Keewis, How the handsome Yenadizze Danced at
Hiawatha's wedding; How the gentle Chibiabos, He the sweetest of musicians, Sang
his songs of love and longing; How Iagoo, the great boaster, He the marvellous
story-teller, Told his tales of strange adventure, That the feast might be more
joyous, That the time might pass more gayly, And the guests be more contented.
She had sent through all the village Messengers with wands of willow, As a
sign of invitation, As a token of the feasting; And the wedding guests
assembled, Clad in all their richest raiment, Robes of fur and belts of wampum,
Splendid with their paint and plumage, Beautiful with beads and tassels.
But the gracious Hiawatha, And the lovely Laughing Water, And the careful old
Nokomis, Tasted not the food before them, Only waited on the others Only served
their guests in silence.
Then she said, "O Pau-Puk-Keewis, Dance for us your merry dances, Dance
the Beggar's Dance to please us, That the feast may be more joyous, That the
time may pass more gayly, And our guests be more contented!"
Skilled was he in sports and pastimes, In the merry dance of snow-shoes, In
the play of quoits and ball-play; Skilled was he in games of hazard, In all
games of skill and hazard, Pugasaing, the Bowl and Counters, Kuntassoo, the Game
of Plum-stones. Though the warriors called him Faint-Heart, Called him coward,
Shaugodaya, Idler, gambler, Yenadizze, Little heeded he their jesting, Little
cared he for their insults, For the women and the maidens Loved the handsome
Pau-Puk-Keewis.
Barred with streaks of red and yellow, Streaks of blue and bright vermilion,
Shone the face of Pau-Puk-Keewis. From his forehead fell his tresses, Smooth,
and parted like a woman's, Shining bright with oil, and plaited, Hung with
braids of scented grasses, As among the guests assembled, To the sound of flutes
and singing, To the sound of drums and voices, Rose the handsome Pau-Puk-Keewis,
And began his mystic dances.
Then along the sandy margin Of the lake, the Big-Sea-Water, On he sped with
frenzied gestures, Stamped upon the sand, and tossed it Wildly in the air around
him; Till the wind became a whirlwind, Till the sand was blown and sifted Like
great snowdrifts o'er the landscape, Heaping all the shores with Sand Dunes,
Sand Hills of the Nagow Wudjoo!
Then they said to Chibiabos, To the friend of Hiawatha, To the sweetest of
all singers, To the best of all musicians, "Sing to us, O Chibiabos! Songs
of love and songs of longing, That the feast may be more joyous, That the time
may pass more gayly, And our guests be more contented!"
"Onaway! Awake, beloved! Thou the wild-flower of the forest! Thou the
wild-bird of the prairie! Thou with eyes so soft and fawn-like!
"Sweet thy breath is as the fragrance Of the wild-flowers in the
morning, As their fragrance is at evening, In the Moon when leaves are falling.
"Onaway! my heart sings to thee, Sings with joy when thou art near me,
As the sighing, singing branches In the pleasant Moon of Strawberries!
"When thou smilest, my beloved, Then my troubled heart is brightened, As
in sunshine gleam the ripples That the cold wind makes in rivers.
"I myself, myself! behold me! Blood of my beating heart, behold me! Oh
awake, awake, beloved! Onaway! awake, beloved!"
Very boastful was Iagoo; Never heard he an adventure But himself had met a
greater; Never any deed of daring But himself had done a bolder; Never any
marvellous story But himself could tell a stranger.
None could run so fast as he could, None could dive so deep as he could, None
could swim so far as he could; None had made so many journeys, None had seen so
many wonders, As this wonderful Iagoo, As this marvellous story-teller! Thus his
name became a by-word And a jest among the people; And whene'er a boastful
hunter Praised his own address too highly, Or a warrior, home returning, Talked
too much of his achievements, All his hearers cried, "Iagoo! Here's Iagoo
come among us!"
And they said, "O good Iagoo, Tell us now a tale of wonder, Tell us of
some strange adventure, That the feast may be more joyous, That the time may
pass more gayly, And our guests be more contented!"
Chapter XII
The Son of the Evening Star
Can it be the sun descending O'er the level plain of water? Or the Red Swan
floating, flying, Wounded by the magic arrow, Staining all the waves with
crimson, With the crimson of its life-blood, Filling all the air with splendor,
With the splendor of its plumage?
Over it the Star of Evening Melts and trembles through the purple, Hangs
suspended in the twilight. No; it is a bead of wampum On the robes of the Great
Spirit As he passes through the twilight, Walks in silence through the heavens.
"Once, in days no more remembered, Ages nearer the beginning, When the
heavens were closer to us, And the Gods were more familiar, In the North-land
lived a hunter, With ten young and comely daughters, Tall and lithe as wands of
willow; Only Oweenee, the youngest, She the wilful and the wayward, She the
silent, dreamy maiden, Was the fairest of the sisters.
"Ah, but beautiful within him Was the spirit of Osseo, From the Evening
Star descended, Star of Evening, Star of Woman, Star of tenderness and passion!
All its fire was in his bosom, All its beauty in his spirit, All its mystery in
his being, All its splendor in his language!
'Once to some great feast invited, Through the damp and dusk of evening,
Walked together the ten sisters, Walked together with their husbands; Slowly
followed old Osseo, With fair Oweenee beside him; All the others chatted gayly,
These two only walked in silence.
'Listen!' said the eldest sister, 'He is praying to his father! What a pity
that the old man Does not stumble in the pathway, Does not break his neck by
falling!' And they laughed till all the forest Rang with their unseemly
laughter.
"Thus Osseo was transfigured, Thus restored to youth and beauty; But,
alas for good Osseo, And for Oweenee, the faithful! Strangely, too, was she
transfigured. Changed into a weak old woman, With a staff she tottered onward,
Wasted, wrinkled, old, and ugly! And the sisters and their husbands Laughed
until the echoing forest Rang with their unseemly laughter.
"Wrapt in visions, lost in dreaming, At the banquet sat Osseo; All were
merry, all were happy, All were joyous but Osseo. Neither food nor drink he
tasted, Neither did he speak nor listen; But as one bewildered sat he, Looking
dreamily and sadly, First at Oweenee, then upward At the gleaming sky above
them.
"'Taste the food that stands before you: It is blessed and enchanted, It
has magic virtues in it, It will change you to a spirit. All your bowls and all
your kettles Shall be wood and clay no longer; But the bowls be changed to
wampum, And the kettles shall be silver; They shall shine like shells of
scarlet, Like the fire shall gleam and glimmer.
"What Osseo heard as whispers, What as words he comprehended, Was but
music to the others, Music as of birds afar off, Of the whippoorwill afar off,
Of the lonely Wawonaissa Singing in the darksome forest.
"Forth with cheerful words of welcome Came the father of Osseo, He with
radiant locks of silver, He with eyes serene and tender. And he said: `My son,
Osseo, Hang the cage of birds you bring there, Hang the cage with rods of
silver, And the birds with glistening feathers, At the doorway of my wigwam.'
"`In the lodge that glimmers yonder, In the little star that twinkles
Through the vapors, on the left hand, Lives the envious Evil Spirit, The Wabeno,
the magician, Who transformed you to an old man. Take heed lest his beams fall
on you, For the rays he darts around him Are the power of his enchantment, Are
the arrows that he uses.'
"And the boy grew up and prospered, And Osseo, to delight him, Made him
little bows and arrows, Opened the great cage of silver, And let loose his aunts
and uncles, All those birds with glossy feathers, For his little son to shoot
at.
"But, O wondrous transformation! `T was no bird he saw before him, `T
was a beautiful young woman, With the arrow in her bosom!
"After him he saw descending All the birds with shining feathers,
Fluttering, falling, wafted downward, Like the painted leaves of Autumn; And the
lodge with poles of silver, With its roof like wings of beetles, Like the
shining shards of beetles, By the winds of heaven uplifted, Slowly sank upon the
island, Bringing back the good Osseo, Bringing Oweenee, the faithful.
"Still their glittering lodge is seen there, On the tranquil Summer
evenings, And upon the shore the fisher Sometimes hears their happy voices, Sees
them dancing in the starlight !"
All the wedding guests delighted Listened to the marvellous story, Listened
laughing and applauding, And they whispered to each other: "Does he mean
himself, I wonder? And are we the aunts and uncles?"
"When I think of my beloved, Ah me! think of my beloved, When my heart
is thinking of him, O my sweetheart, my Algonquin!
"`I will go with you, he whispered, Ah me! to your native country; Let
me go with you, he whispered, O my sweetheart, my Algonquin!
"When I looked back to behold him, Where we parted, to behold him, After
me he still was gazing, O my sweetheart, my Algonquin!
Chapter XIII
Blessing the CornfieldsSing, O Song of Hiawatha, Of the happy days that followed, In the land of the Ojibways, In the pleasant land and peaceful! Sing the mysteries of Mondamin, Sing the Blessing of the Cornfields!
Buried was the bloody hatchet, Buried was the dreadful war-club, Buried were
all warlike weapons, And the war-cry was forgotten. There was peace among the
nations; Unmolested roved the hunters, Built the birch canoe for sailing, Caught
the fish in lake and river, Shot the deer and trapped the beaver; Unmolested
worked the women, Made their sugar from the maple, Gathered wild rice in the
meadows, Dressed the skins of deer and beaver.
Once, when all the maize was planted, Hiawatha, wise and thoughtful, Spake
and said to Minnehaha, To his wife, the Laughing Water: "You shall bless
to-night the cornfields, Draw a magic circle round them, To protect them from
destruction, Blast of mildew, blight of insect, Wagemin, the thief of
cornfields, Paimosaid, who steals the maize-ear
"Thus the fields shall be more fruitful, And the passing of your
footsteps Draw a magic circle round them, So that neither blight nor mildew,
Neither burrowing worm nor insect, Shall pass o'er the magic circle; Not the
dragon-fly, Kwo-ne-she, Nor the spider, Subbekashe, Nor the grasshopper,
Pah-puk-keena; Nor the mighty caterpillar, Way-muk-kwana, with the bear-skin,
King of all the caterpillars!"
When the noiseless night descended Broad and dark o'er field and forest, When
the mournful Wawonaissa Sorrowing sang among the hemlocks, And the Spirit of
Sleep, Nepahwin, Shut the doors of all the wigwams, From her bed rose Laughing
Water, Laid aside her garments wholly, And with darkness clothed and guarded,
Unashamed and unaffrighted, Walked securely round the cornfields, Drew the
sacred, magic circle Of her footprints round the cornfields.
On the morrow, as the day dawned, Kahgahgee, the King of Ravens, Gathered all
his black marauders, Crows and blackbirds, jays and ravens, Clamorous on the
dusky tree-tops, And descended, fast and fearless, On the fields of Hiawatha, On
the grave of the Mondamin.
But the wary Hiawatha, Ever thoughtful, careful, watchful, Had o'erheard the
scornful laughter When they mocked him from the tree-tops. "Kaw!" he
said, "my friends the ravens! Kahgahgee, my King of Ravens! I will teach
you all a lesson That shall not be soon forgotten!"
Soon they came with caw and clamor, Rush of wings and cry of voices, To their
work of devastation, Settling down upon the cornfields, Delving deep with beak
and talon, For the body of Mondamin. And with all their craft and cunning, All
their skill in wiles of warfare, They perceived no danger near them, Till their
claws became entangled, Till they found themselves imprisoned In the snares of
Hiawatha.
Only Kahgahgee, the leader, Kahgahgee, the King of Ravens, He alone was
spared among them As a hostage for his people. With his prisoner-string he bound
him, Led him captive to his wigwam, Tied him fast with cords of elm-bark To the
ridge-pole of his wigwam.
And he left him, grim and sulky, Sitting in the morning sunshine On the
summit of the wigwam, Croaking fiercely his displeasure, Flapping his great
sable pinions, Vainly struggling for his freedom, Vainly calling on his people!
Then Nokomis, the old woman, Spake, and said to Minnehaha:
And the merry Laughing Water Went rejoicing from the wigwam, With Nokomis,
old and wrinkled, And they called the women round them, Called the young men and
the maidens, To the harvest of the cornfields, To the husking of the maize-ear.
And whene'er some lucky maiden Found a red ear in the husking, Found a
maize-ear red as blood is, "Nushka!" cried they all together,
"Nushka! you shall have a sweetheart, You shall have a handsome
husband!" "Ugh!" the old men all responded From their seats
beneath the pine-trees.
Till the cornfields rang with laughter, Till from Hiawatha's wigwam
Kahgahgee, the King of Ravens, Screamed and quivered in his anger, And from all
the neighboring tree-tops Cawed and croaked the black marauders.
"Ugh!" the old men all responded, From their seats beneath the
pine-trees!
Chapter XIV
Picture-WritingIn those days said Hiawatha, "Lo! how all things fade and perish! From the memory of the old men Pass away the great traditions, The achievements of the warriors, The adventures of the hunters, All the wisdom of the Medas, All the craft of the Wabenos, All the marvellous dreams and visions Of the Jossakeeds, the Prophets!
"Great men die and are forgotten, Wise men speak; their words of wisdom
Perish in the ears that hear them, Do not reach the generations That, as yet
unborn, are waiting In the great, mysterious darkness Of the speechless days
that shall be!
"Face to face we speak together, But we cannot speak when absent, Cannot
send our voices from us To the friends that dwell afar off; Cannot send a secret
message, But the bearer learns our secret, May pervert it, may betray it, May
reveal it unto others." Thus said Hiawatha, walking In the solitary forest,
Pondering, musing in the forest, On the welfare of his people.
Gitche Manito the Mighty, He, the Master of Life, was painted As an egg, with
points projecting To the four winds of the heavens. Everywhere is the Great
Spirit, Was the meaning of this symbol.
Life and Death he drew as circles, Life was white, but Death was darkened;
Sun and moon and stars he painted, Man and beast, and fish and reptile, Forests,
mountains, lakes, and rivers.
All these things did Hiawatha Show unto his wondering people, And interpreted
their meaning, And he said: "Behold, your grave-posts Have no mark, no
sign, nor symbol, Go and paint them all with figures; Each one with its
household symbol, With its own ancestral Totem; So that those who follow after
May distinguish them and know them."
And the Jossakeeds, the Prophets, The Wabenos, the Magicians, And the
Medicine-men, the Medas, Painted upon bark and deer-skin Figures for the songs
they chanted, For each song a separate symbol, Figures mystical and awful,
Figures strange and brightly colored; And each figure had its meaning, Each some
magic song suggested.
Such as these the shapes they painted On the birch-bark and the deer-skin;
Songs of war and songs of hunting, Songs of medicine and of magic, All were
written in these figures, For each figure had its meaning, Each its separate
song recorded.
First a human figure standing, Painted in the brightest scarlet; `T Is the
lover, the musician, And the meaning is, "My painting Makes me powerful
over others."
Then the same red figure seated In the shelter of a wigwam, And the meaning
of the symbol, "I will come and sit beside you In the mystery of my
passion!"
Next the maiden on an island, In the centre of an Island; And the song this
shape suggested Was, "Though you were at a distance, Were upon some far-off
island, Such the spell I cast upon you, Such the magic power of passion, I could
straightway draw you to me!"
And the last of all the figures Was a heart within a circle, Drawn within a
magic circle; And the image had this meaning: "Naked lies your heart before
me, To your naked heart I whisper!"
Chapter XV
Hiawatha's LamentationIn those days the Evil Spirits, All the Manitos of mischief, Fearing
Hiawatha's wisdom, And his love for Chibiabos, Jealous of their faithful
friendship, And their noble words and actions, Made at length a league against
them, To molest them and destroy them.
Once when Peboan, the Winter, Roofed with ice the Big-Sea-Water, When the
snow-flakes, whirling downward, Hissed among the withered oak-leaves, Changed
the pine-trees into wigwams, Covered all the earth with silence, Armed with
arrows, shod with snow-shoes, Heeding not his brother's warning, Fearing not the
Evil Spirits, Forth to hunt the deer with antlers All alone went Chibiabos.
But beneath, the Evil Spirits Lay in ambush, waiting for him, Broke the
treacherous ice beneath him, Dragged him downward to the bottom, Buried in the
sand his body. Unktahee, the god of water, He the god of the Dacotahs, Drowned
him in the deep abysses Of the lake of Gitche Gumee.
Then his face with black he painted, With his robe his head he covered, In
his wigwam sat lamenting, Seven long weeks he sat lamenting, Uttering still this
moan of sorrow:
And the melancholy fir-trees Waved their dark green fans above him, Waved
their purple cones above him, Sighing with him to console him, Mingling with his
lamentation Their complaining, their lamenting.
From the tree-tops sang the bluebird, Sang the bluebird, the Owaissa,
"Chibiabos! Chibiabos! He is dead, the sweet musician!"
And at night through all the forest Went the whippoorwill complaining,
Wailing went the Wawonaissa, "Chibiabos! Chibiabos! He is dead, the sweet
musician! He the sweetest of all singers!"
When he heard their steps approaching~, Hiawatha ceased lamenting, Called no
more on Chibiabos; Naught he questioned, naught he answered, But his mournful
head uncovered, From his face the mourning colors Washed he slowly and in
silence, Slowly and in silence followed Onward to the Sacred Wigwam.
"I myself, myself! behold me! `T Is the great Gray Eagle talking; Come,
ye white crows, come and hear him! The loud-speaking thunder helps me; All the
unseen spirits help me; I can hear their voices calling, All around the sky I
hear them! I can blow you strong, my brother, I can heal you, Hiawatha!"
Friends of mine are all the serpents! Hear me shake my skin of hen-hawk!
Mahng, the white loon, I can kill him; I can shoot your heart and kill it! I can
blow you strong, my brother, I can heal you, Hiawatha !"
"I myself, myself! the prophet! When I speak the wigwam trembles, Shakes
the Sacred Lodge with terror, Hands unseen begin to shake it! When I walk, the
sky I tread on Bends and makes a noise beneath me! I can blow you strong, my
brother! Rise and speak, O Hiawatha!"
Then they shook their medicine-pouches O'er the head of Hiawatha, Danced
their medicine-dance around him; And upstarting wild and haggard, Like a man
from dreams awakened, He was healed of all his madness. As the clouds are swept
from heaven, Straightway from his brain departed All his moody melancholy; As
the ice is swept from rivers, Straightway from his heart departed All his sorrow
and affliction.
Through a chink a coal they gave him, Through the door a burning fire-brand;
Ruler in the Land of Spirits, Ruler o'er the dead, they made him, Telling him a
fire to kindle For all those that died thereafter, Camp-fires for their night
encampments On their solitary journey To the kingdom of Ponemah, To the land of
the Hereafter.
Four whole days he journeyed onward Down the pathway of the dead men; On the
dead-man's strawberry feasted, Crossed the melancholy river, On the swinging log
he crossed it, Came unto the Lake of Silver, In the Stone Canoe was carried To
the Islands of the Blessed, To the land of ghosts and shadows.
"Ay! why do the living," said they, "Lay such heavy burdens on
us! Better were it to go naked, Better were it to go fasting, Than to bear such
heavy burdens On our long and weary journey!" Forth then issued Hiawatha,
Wandered eastward, wandered westward, Teaching men the use of simples And the
antidotes for poisons, And the cure of all diseases. Thus was first made known
to mortals All the mystery of Medamin, All the sacred art of healing.
Chapter XVI
Pau-Puk-KeewisYou shall hear how Pau-Puk-Keewis, He, the handsome Yenadizze, Whom the people called the Storm-Fool, Vexed the village with disturbance; You shall hear of all his mischief, And his flight from Hiawatha, And his wondrous transmigrations, And the end of his adventures.
On the shores of Gitche Gumee, On the dunes of Nagow Wudjoo, By the shining
Big-Sea-Water Stood the lodge of Pau-Puk-Keewis. It was he who in his frenzy
Whirled these drifting sands together, On the dunes of Nagow Wudjoo, When, among
the guests assembled, He so merrily and madly Danced at Hiawatha's wedding,
Danced the Beggar's Dance to please them.
He was telling them the story Of Ojeeg, the Summer-Maker, How he made a hole
in heaven, How he climbed up into heaven, And let out the summer-weather, The
perpetual, pleasant Summer; How the Otter first essayed it; How the Beaver,
Lynx, and Badger Tried in turn the great achievement, From the summit of the
mountain Smote their fists against the heavens, Smote against the sky their
foreheads, Cracked the sky, but could not break it; How the Wolverine, uprising,
Made him ready for the encounter, Bent his knees down, like a squirrel, Drew his
arms back, like a cricket.
"Hark you!" shouted Pau-Puk-Keewis As he entered at the doorway;
"I am tired of all this talking, Tired of old Iagoo's stories, Tired of
Hiawatha's wisdom. Here is something to amuse you, Better than this endless
talking."
In a wooden bowl he placed them, Shook and jostled them together, Threw them
on the ground before him, Thus exclaiming and explaining: "Red side up are
all the pieces, And one great Kenabeek standing On the bright side of a brass
piece, On a burnished Ozawabeek; Thirteen tens and eight are counted."
Thus he taught the game of hazard, Thus displayed it and explained it,
Running through its various chances, Various changes, various meanings: Twenty
curious eyes stared at him, Full of eagerness stared at him.
So they sat and played together, All the old men and the young men, Played
for dresses, weapons, wampum, Played till midnight, played till morning, Played
until the Yenadizze, Till the cunning Pau-Puk-Keewis, Of their treasures had
despoiled them, Of the best of all their dresses, Shirts of deer-skin, robes of
ermine, Belts of wampum, crests of feathers, Warlike weapons, pipes and pouches.
Twenty eyes glared wildly at him, Like the eyes of wolves glared at him.
As the fire burns in a pipe-head Dusky red beneath the ashes, So beneath his
shaggy eyebrows Glowed the eyes of old Iagoo. "Ugh!" he answered very
fiercely; "Ugh!" they answered all and each one.
Red were both the great Kenabeeks, Red the Ininewug, the wedge-men, Red the
Sheshebwug, the ducklings, Black the four brass Ozawabeeks, White alone the
fish, the Keego; Only five the pieces counted!
Twenty eyes glared at him fiercely, Like the eyes of wolves glared at him, As
he turned and left the wigwam, Followed by his Meshinauwa, By the nephew of
Iagoo, By the tall and graceful stripling, Bearing in his arms the winnings,
Shirts of deer-skin, robes of ermine, Belts of wampum, pipes and weapons.
Hot and red with smoke and gambling Were the eyes of Pau-Puk-Keewis As he
came forth to the freshness Of the pleasant Summer morning. All the birds were
singing gayly, All the streamlets flowing swiftly, And the heart of
Pau-Puk-Keewis Sang with pleasure as the birds sing, Beat with triumph like the
streamlets, As he wandered through the village, In the early gray of morning,
With his fan of turkey-feathers, With his plumes and tufts of swan's down, Till
he reached the farthest wigwam, Reached the lodge of Hiawatha.
"All are gone! the lodge Is empty!" Thus it was spake
Pau-Puk-Keewis, In his heart resolving mischief "Gone is wary Hiawatha,
Gone the silly Laughing Water, Gone Nokomis, the old woman, And the lodge is
left unguarded!"
With a stealthy step he entered, Round the lodge in wild disorder Threw the
household things about him, Piled together in confusion Bowls of wood and
earthen kettles, Robes of buffalo and beaver, Skins of otter, lynx, and ermine,
As an insult to Nokomis, As a taunt to Minnehaha.
Then he climbed the rocky headlands, Looking o'er the Gitche Gumee, Perched
himself upon their summit, Waiting full of mirth and mischief The return of
Hiawatha.
And he killed them as he lay there, Slaughtered them by tens and twenties,
Threw their bodies down the headland, Threw them on the beach below him, Till at
length Kayoshk, the sea-gull, Perched upon a crag above them, Shouted: "It
is Pau-Puk-Keewis! He is slaying us by hundreds! Send a message to our brother,
Tidings send to Hiawatha!"
Chapter XVII
The Hunting of Pau-Puk-Keewis
Full of wrath was Hiawatha When he came into the village, Found the people in
confusion, Heard of all the misdemeanors, All the malice and the mischief, Of
the cunning Pau-Puk-Keewis.
Then in swift pursuit departed Hiawatha and the hunters On the trail of
Pau-Puk-Keewis, Through the forest, where he passed it, To the headlands where
he rested; But they found not Pau-Puk-Keewis, Only in the trampled grasses, In
the whortleberry-bushes, Found the couch where he had rested, Found the impress
of his body.
Over rock and over river, Through bush, and brake, and forest, Ran the
cunning Pau-Puk-Keewis; Like an antelope he bounded, Till he came unto a
streamlet In the middle of the forest, To a streamlet still and tranquil, That
had overflowed its margin, To a dam made by the beavers, To a pond of quiet
water, Where knee-deep the trees were standing, Where the water lilies floated,
Where the rushes waved and whispered.
On the dam stood Pau-Puk-Keewis, O'er his ankles flowed the streamlet, Flowed
the bright and silvery water, And he spake unto the beaver, With a smile he
spake in this wise:
Cautiously replied the beaver, With reserve he thus made answer: "Let me
first consult the others, Let me ask the other beavers." Down he sank into
the water, Heavily sank he, as a stone sinks, Down among the leaves and
branches, Brown and matted at the bottom.
From the bottom rose the beavers, Silently above the surface Rose one head
and then another, Till the pond seemed full of beavers, Full of black and
shining faces.
"Yes!" replied Ahmeek, the beaver, He the King of all the beavers,
"Let yourself slide down among us, Down into the tranquil water."
"Make me large," said Pau-Puk-Keewis, "Make me large and make
me larger, Larger than the other beavers." "Yes," the beaver
chief responded, "When our lodge below you enter, In our wigwam we will
make you Ten times larger than the others."
Here they made him large and larger, Made him largest of the beavers, Ten
times larger than the others. "You shall be our ruler," said they;
"Chief and King of all the beavers."
Then they heard a cry above them, Heard a shouting and a tramping, Heard a
crashing and a rushing, And the water round and o'er them Sank and sucked away
in eddies, And they knew their dam was broken.
Through the roof looked Hiawatha, Cried aloud, "O Pau-Puk-Keewis Vain
are all your craft and cunning, Vain your manifold disguises! Well I know you,
Pau-Puk-Keewis!" With their clubs they beat and bruised him, Beat to death
poor Pau-Puk-Keewis, Pounded him as maize is pounded, Till his skull was crushed
to pieces.
And it fluttered, strove, and struggled, Waving hither, waving thither, As
the curtains of a wigwam Struggle with their thongs of deer-skin, When the
wintry wind is blowing; Till it drew itself together, Till it rose up from the
body, Till it took the form and features Of the cunning Pau-Puk-Keewis Vanishing
into the forest.
To a lake with many islands Came the breathless Pau-Puk-Keewis, Where among
the water-lilies Pishnekuh, the brant, were sailing; Through the tufts of rushes
floating, Steering through the reedy Islands. Now their broad black beaks they
lifted, Now they plunged beneath the water, Now they darkened in the shadow, Now
they brightened in the sunshine.
Straightway to a brant they changed him, With two huge and dusky pinions,
With a bosom smooth and rounded, With a bill like two great paddles, Made him
larger than the others, Ten times larger than the largest, Just as, shouting
from the forest, On the shore stood Hiawatha.
Fast and far they fled to northward, Fast and far through mist and sunshine,
Fed among the moors and fen-lands, Slept among the reeds and rushes.
For the people of the village Saw the flock of brant with wonder, Saw the
wings of Pau-Puk-Keewis Flapping far up in the ether, Broader than two doorway
curtains.
All in vain did Pau-Puk-Keewis Struggle to regain his balance! Whirling round
and round and downward, He beheld in turn the village And in turn the flock
above him, Saw the village coming nearer, And the flock receding farther, Heard
the voices growing louder, Heard the shouting and the laughter; Saw no more the
flocks above him, Only saw the earth beneath him; Dead out of the empty heaven,
Dead among the shouting people, With a heavy sound and sullen, Fell the brant
with broken pinions.
And so near he came, so near him, That his hand was stretched to seize him,
His right hand to seize and hold him, When the cunning Pau-Puk-Keewis Whirled
and spun about in circles, Fanned the air into a whirlwind, Danced the dust and
leaves about him, And amid the whirling eddies Sprang into a hollow oak-tree,
Changed himself into a serpent, Gliding out through root and rubbish.
And the Old Man of the Mountain, He the Manito of Mountains, Opened wide his
rocky doorways, Opened wide his deep abysses, Giving Pau-Puk-Keewis shelter In
his caverns dark and dreary, Bidding Pau-Puk-Keewis welcome To his gloomy lodge
of sandstone.
Then he raised his hands to heaven, Called imploring on the tempest, Called
Waywassimo, the lightning, And the thunder, Annemeekee; And they came with night
and darkness, Sweeping down the Big-Sea-Water From the distant Thunder
Mountains; And the trembling Pau-Puk-Keewis Heard the footsteps of the thunder,
Saw the red eyes of the lightning, Was afraid, and crouched and trembled.
Ended were his wild adventures, Ended were his tricks and gambols, Ended all
his craft and cunning, Ended all his mischief-making, All his gambling and his
dancing, All his wooing of the maidens.
And the name of Pau-Puk-Keewis Lingers still among the people, Lingers still
among the singers, And among the story-tellers; And in Winter, when the
snow-flakes Whirl in eddies round the lodges, When the wind in gusty tumult O'er
the smoke-flue pipes and whistles, "There," they cry, "comes
Pau-Puk-Keewis, He is dancing through the village, He is gathering in his
harvest!"
Chapter XVIII
The Death of KwasindFar and wide among the nations Spread the name and fame of Kwasind; No man dared to strive with Kwasind, No man could compete with Kwasind. But the mischievous Puk-Wudjies, They the envious Little People, They the fairies and the pygmies, Plotted and conspired against him.
"If this hateful Kwasind," said they, "If this great,
outrageous fellow Goes on thus a little longer, Tearing everything he touches,
Rending everything to pieces, Filling all the world with wonder, What becomes of
the Puk-Wudjies? Who will care for the Puk-Wudjies? He will tread us down like
mushrooms, Drive us all into the water, Give our bodies to be eaten By the
wicked Nee-ba-naw-baigs, By the Spirits of the water!
Now this wondrous strength of Kwasind In his crown alone was seated; In his
crown too was his weakness; There alone could he be wounded, Nowhere else could
weapon pierce him, Nowhere else could weapon harm him.
So they gathered cones together, Gathered seed-cones of the pine-tree,
Gathered blue cones of the fir-tree, In the woods by Taquamenaw, Brought them to
the river's margin, Heaped them in great piles together, Where the red rocks
from the margin Jutting overhang the river. There they lay in wait for Kwasind,
The malicious Little People.
Down the river came the Strong Man, In his birch canoe came Kwasind, Floating
slowly down the current Of the sluggish Taquamenaw, Very languid with the
weather, Very sleepy with the silence.
To his ear there came a murmur As of waves upon a sea-shore, As of far-off
tumbling waters, As of winds among the pine-trees; And he felt upon his forehead
Blows of little airy war-clubs, Wielded by the slumbrous legions Of the Spirit
of Sleep, Nepahwin, As of some one breathing on him.
So he floated down the river, Like a blind man seated upright, Floated down
the Taquamenaw, Underneath the trembling birch-trees, Underneath the wooded
headlands, Underneath the war encampment Of the pygmies, the Puk-Wudjies.
And he sideways swayed and tumbled, Sideways fell into the river, Plunged
beneath the sluggish water Headlong, as an otter plunges; And the birch canoe,
abandoned, Drifted empty down the river, Bottom upward swerved and drifted:
Nothing more was seen of Kwasind.
Chapter XIX
The GhostsNever stoops the soaring vulture On his quarry in the desert, On the sick or
wounded bison, But another vulture, watching From his high aerial look-out, Sees
the downward plunge, and follows; And a third pursues the second, Coming from
the invisible ether, First a speck, and then a vulture, Till the air is dark
with pinions.
Now, o'er all the dreary North-land, Mighty Peboan, the Winter, Breathing on
the lakes and rivers, Into stone had changed their waters. From his hair he
shook the snow-flakes, Till the plains were strewn with whiteness, One
uninterrupted level, As if, stooping, the Creator With his hand had smoothed
them over. Through the forest, wide and wailing, Roamed the hunter on his
snow-shoes; In the village worked the women, Pounded maize, or dressed the
deer-skin; And the young men played together On the ice the noisy ball-play, On
the plain the dance of snow-shoes.
On their faces gleamed the firelight, Painting them with streaks of crimson,
In the eyes of old Nokomis Glimmered like the watery moonlight, In the eyes of
Laughing Water Glistened like the sun in water; And behind them crouched their
shadows In the corners of the wigwam, And the smoke In wreaths above them
Climbed and crowded through the smoke-flue.
From their aspect and their garments, Strangers seemed they in the village;
Very pale and haggard were they, As they sat there sad and silent, Trembling,
cowering with the shadows.
Homeward now came Hiawatha From his hunting in the forest, With the snow upon
his tresses, And the red deer on his shoulders. At the feet of Laughing Water
Down he threw his lifeless burden; Nobler, handsomer she thought him, Than when
first he came to woo her, First threw down the deer before her, As a token of
his wishes, As a promise of the future.
When the evening meal was ready, And the deer had been divided, Both the
pallid guests, the strangers, Springing from among the shadows, Seized upon the
choicest portions, Seized the white fat of the roebuck, Set apart for Laughing
Water, For the wife of Hiawatha; Without asking, without thanking, Eagerly
devoured the morsels, Flitted back among the shadows In the corner of the
wigwam.
Many a daylight dawned and darkened, Many a night shook off the daylight As
the pine shakes off the snow-flakes From the midnight of its branches; Day by
day the guests unmoving Sat there silent in the wigwam; But by night, in storm
or starlight, Forth they went into the forest, Bringing fire-wood to the wigwam,
Bringing pine-cones for the burning, Always sad and always silent.
Never once had Hiawatha By a word or look reproved them; Never once had old
Nokomis Made a gesture of impatience; Never once had Laughing Water Shown
resentment at the outrage. All had they endured in silence, That the rights of
guest and stranger, That the virtue of free-giving, By a look might not be
lessened, By a word might not be broken.
From his couch rose Hiawatha, From his shaggy hides of bison, Pushed aside
the deer-skin curtain, Saw the pallid guests, the shadows, Sitting upright on
their couches, Weeping in the silent midnight.
Then the shadows ceased from weeping, Ceased from sobbing and lamenting, And
they said, with gentle voices: "We are ghosts of the departed, Souls of
those who once were with you. From the realms of Chibiabos Hither have we come
to try you, Hither have we come to warn you.
"Think of this, O Hiawatha! Speak of it to all the people, That
henceforward and forever They no more with lamentations Sadden the souls of the
departed In the Islands of the Blessed.
"Four days is the spirit's journey To the land of ghosts and shadows,
Four its lonely night encampments; Four times must their fires be lighted.
Therefore, when the dead are buried, Let a fire, as night approaches, Four times
on the grave be kindled, That the soul upon its journey May not lack the
cheerful firelight, May not grope about in darkness.
When they ceased, a sudden darkness Fell and filled the silent wigwam.
Hiawatha heard a rustle As of garments trailing by him, Heard the curtain of the
doorway Lifted by a hand he saw not, Felt the cold breath of the night air, For
a moment saw the starlight; But he saw the ghosts no longer, Saw no more the
wandering spirits From the kingdom of Ponemah, From the land of the Hereafter.
Chapter XX
The Famine
Oh the famine and the fever! Oh the wasting of the famine! Oh the blasting of
the fever! Oh the wailing of the children! Oh the anguish of the women!
Into Hiawatha's wigwam Came two other guests, as silent As the ghosts were,
and as gloomy, Waited not to be invited Did not parley at the doorway Sat there
without word of welcome In the seat of Laughing Water; Looked with haggard eyes
and hollow At the face of Laughing Water.
And the lovely Minnehaha Shuddered as they looked upon her, Shuddered at the
words they uttered, Lay down on her bed in silence, Hid her face, but made no
answer; Lay there trembling, freezing, burning At the looks they cast upon her,
At the fearful words they uttered.
Wrapped in furs and armed for hunting, With his mighty bow of ash-tree, With
his quiver full of arrows, With his mittens, Minjekahwun, Into the vast and
vacant forest On his snow-shoes strode he forward.
Through the far-resounding forest, Through the forest vast and vacant Rang
that cry of desolation, But there came no other answer Than the echo of his
crying, Than the echo of the woodlands, "Minnehaha! Minnehaha!"
In the wigwam with Nokomis, With those gloomy guests that watched her, With
the Famine and the Fever, She was lying, the Beloved, She, the dying Minnehaha.
And the desolate Hiawatha, Far away amid the forest, Miles away among the
mountains, Heard that sudden cry of anguish, Heard the voice of Minnehaha
Calling to him in the darkness, "Hiawatha! Hiawatha!"
And he rushed into the wigwam, Saw the old Nokomis slowly Rocking to and fro
and moaning, Saw his lovely Minnehaha Lying dead and cold before him, And his
bursting heart within him Uttered such a cry of anguish, That the forest moaned
and shuddered, That the very stars in heaven Shook and trembled with his
anguish.
With both hands his face he covered, Seven long days and nights he sat there,
As if in a swoon he sat there, Speechless, motionless, unconscious Of the
daylight or the darkness.
And at night a fire was lighted, On her grave four times was kindled, For her
soul upon its journey To the Islands of the Blessed. From his doorway Hiawatha
Saw it burning In the forest, Lighting up the gloomy hemlocks; From his
sleepless bed uprising, From the bed of Minnehaha, Stood and watched it at the
doorway, That it might not be extinguished,
Chapter XXI
The White Man's FootIn his lodge beside a river, Close beside a frozen river, Sat an old man, sad
and lonely. White his hair was as a snow-drift; Dull and low his fire was
burning, And the old man shook and trembled, Folded in his Waubewyon, In his
tattered white-skin-wrapper, Hearing nothing but the tempest As it roared along
the forest, Seeing nothing but the snow-storm, As it whirled and hissed and
drifted.
"Ah, my son!" exclaimed the old man, "Happy are my eyes to see
you. Sit here on the mat beside me, Sit here by the dying embers, Let us pass
the night together, Tell me of your strange adventures, Of the lands where you
have travelled; I will tell you of my prowess, Of my many deeds of wonder."
And the young man answered, smiling: "When I blow my breath about me,
When I breathe upon the landscape, Flowers spring up o'er all the meadows,
Singing, onward rush the rivers!"
"When I shake my flowing ringlets," Said the young man, softly
laughing, "Showers of rain fall warm and welcome, Plants lift up their
heads rejoicing, Back Into their lakes and marshes Come the wild goose and the
heron, Homeward shoots the arrowy swallow, Sing the bluebird and the robin, And
where'er my footsteps wander, All the meadows wave with blossoms, All the
woodlands ring with music, All the trees are dark with foliage!"
Then the old man's tongue was speechless And the air grew warm and pleasant,
And upon the wigwam sweetly Sang the bluebird and the robin, And the stream
began to murmur, And a scent of growing grasses Through the lodge was gently
wafted.
From his eyes the tears were flowing, As from melting lakes the streamlets,
And his body shrunk and dwindled As the shouting sun ascended, Till into the air
it faded, Till into the ground it vanished, And the young man saw before him, On
the hearth-stone of the wigwam, Where the fire had smoked and smouldered, Saw
the earliest flower of Spring-time, Saw the Beauty of the Spring-time, Saw the
Miskodeed in blossom.
Sailing on the wind to northward, Flying in great flocks, like arrows, Like
huge arrows shot through heaven, Passed the swan, the Mahnahbezee, Speaking
almost as a man speaks; And in long lines waving, bending Like a bow-string
snapped asunder, Came the white goose, Waw-be-wawa; And in pairs, or singly
flying, Mahng the loon, with clangorous pinions, The blue heron, the
Shuh-shuh-gah, And the grouse, the Mushkodasa.
From his wanderings far to eastward, From the regions of the morning, From
the shining land of Wabun, Homeward now returned Iagoo, The great traveller, the
great boaster, Full of new and strange adventures, Marvels many and many
wonders.
He had seen, he said, a water Bigger than the Big-Sea-Water, Broader than the
Gitche Gumee, Bitter so that none could drink it! At each other looked the
warriors, Looked the women at each other, Smiled, and said, "It cannot be
so!" Kaw!" they said, it cannot be so!"
From its mouth, he said, to greet him, Came Waywassimo, the lightning, Came
the thunder, Annemeekee! And the warriors and the women Laughed aloud at poor
Iagoo; "Kaw!" they said, "what tales you tell us!"
Only Hiawatha laughed not, But he gravely spake and answered To their jeering
and their jesting: "True is all Iagoo tells us; I have seen it in a vision,
Seen the great canoe with pinions, Seen the people with white faces, Seen the
coming of this bearded People of the wooden vessel From the regions of the
morning, From the shining land of Wabun.
"Let us welcome, then, the strangers, Hail them as our friends and
brothers, And the heart's right hand of friendship Give them when they come to
see us. Gitche Manito, the Mighty, Said this to me in my vision.
"Then a darker, drearier vision Passed before me, vague and cloud-like;
I beheld our nation scattered, All forgetful of my counsels, Weakened, warring
with each other: Saw the remnants of our people Sweeping westward, wild and
woful, Like the cloud-rack of a tempest, Like the withered leaves of
Autumn!"
Chapter XXII
Hiawatha's DepartureBy the shore of Gitche Gumee, By the shining Big-Sea-Water, At the doorway of his wigwam, In the pleasant Summer morning, Hiawatha stood and waited. All the air was full of freshness, All the earth was bright and joyous, And before him, through the sunshine, Westward toward the neighboring forest Passed in golden swarms the Ahmo, Passed the bees, the honey-makers, Burning, singing In the sunshine.
Bright above him shone the heavens, Level spread the lake before him; From
its bosom leaped the sturgeon, Sparkling, flashing in the sunshine; On its
margin the great forest Stood reflected in the water, Every tree-top had its
shadow, Motionless beneath the water.
Toward the sun his hands were lifted, Both the palms spread out against it,
And between the parted fingers Fell the sunshine on his features, Flecked with
light his naked shoulders, As it falls and flecks an oak-tree Through the rifted
leaves and branches.
Was it Shingebis the diver? Or the pelican, the Shada? Or the heron, the
Shuh-shuh-gah? Or the white goose, Waw-be-wawa, With the water dripping,
flashing, From its glossy neck and feathers?
And the noble Hiawatha, With his hands aloft extended, Held aloft in sign of
welcome, Waited, full of exultation, Till the birch canoe with paddles Grated on
the shining pebbles, Stranded on the sandy margin, Till the Black-Robe chief,
the Pale-face, With the cross upon his bosom, Landed on the sandy margin.
"Never bloomed the earth so gayly, Never shone the sun so brightly, As
to-day they shine and blossom When you come so far to see us! Never was our lake
so tranquil, Nor so free from rocks, and sand-bars; For your birch canoe in
passing Has removed both rock and sand-bar.
And the Black-Robe chief made answer, Stammered In his speech a little,
Speaking words yet unfamiliar: "Peace be with you, Hiawatha, Peace be with
you and your people, Peace of prayer, and peace of pardon, Peace of Christ, and
joy of Mary!"
All the old men of the village, All the warriors of the nation, All the
Jossakeeds, the Prophets, The magicians, the Wabenos, And the Medicine-men, the
Medas, Came to bid the strangers welcome; "It is well", they said,
"O brothers, That you come so far to see us!"
Then the Black-Robe chief, the Prophet, Told his message to the people, Told
the purport of his mission, Told them of the Virgin Mary, And her blessed Son,
the Saviour, How in distant lands and ages He had lived on earth as we do; How
he fasted, prayed, and labored; How the Jews, the tribe accursed, Mocked him,
scourged him, crucified him; How he rose from where they laid him, Walked again
with his disciples, And ascended into heaven.
Then they rose up and departed Each one homeward to his wigwam, To the young
men and the women Told the story of the strangers Whom the Master of Life had
sent them From the shining land of Wabun.
Slowly o'er the simmering landscape Fell the evening's dusk and coolness, And
the long and level sunbeams Shot their spears into the forest, Breaking through
its shields of shadow, Rushed into each secret ambush, Searched each thicket,
dingle, hollow; Still the guests of Hiawatha Slumbered In the silent wigwam.
"I am going, O Nokomis, On a long and distant journey, To the portals of
the Sunset. To the regions of the home-wind, Of the Northwest-Wind, Keewaydin.
But these guests I leave behind me, In your watch and ward I leave them; See
that never harm comes near them, See that never fear molests them, Never danger
nor suspicion, Never want of food or shelter, In the lodge of Hiawatha!"
I am going, O my people, On a long and distant journey; Many moons and many
winters Will have come, and will have vanished, Ere I come again to see you. But
my guests I leave behind me; Listen to their words of wisdom, Listen to the
truth they tell you, For the Master of Life has sent them From the land of light
and morning!"
And the evening sun descending Set the clouds on fire with redness, Burned
the broad sky, like a prairie, Left upon the level water One long track and
trail of splendor, Down whose stream, as down a river, Westward, westward
Hiawatha Sailed into the fiery sunset, Sailed into the purple vapors, Sailed
into the dusk of evening:
And they said, "Farewell forever!" Said, "Farewell, O
Hiawatha!" And the forests, dark and lonely, Moved through all their depths
of darkness, Sighed, "Farewell, O Hiawatha!" And the waves upon the
margin Rising, rippling on the pebbles, Sobbed, "Farewell, O
Hiawatha!" And the heron, the Shuh-shuh-gah, From her haunts among the
fen-lands, Screamed, "Farewell, O Hiawatha!"
VOCABULARY
Adjidau'mo, the red squirrelAhdeek', the reindeer
Annemee'kee, the thunder
Baim-wa'wa, the sound of the thunder
Chemaun', a birch canoe
Chibia'bos, a musician; friend of Hiawatha; ruler of the Land of Spirits
Dush-kwo-ne'-she or Kwo-ne'-she, the dragon fly
Ewa-yea', lullaby
Gitche Man'ito, the Great Spirit, the Master of Life
Hiawa'tha, the Prophet. the Teacher, son of Mudjekeewis, the West-Wind and
Wenonah, daughter of Nokomis
Inin'ewug, men, or pawns in the Game of the Bowl
Jee'bi, a ghost, a spirit
Kabibonok'ka, the North-Wind
Kahgahgee', the raven
Kaween', no indeed
Kee'go, a fish
Kena'beek, a serpent
Keno'zha, the pickerel
Kuntasoo', the Game of Plumstones
Kwo-ne'-she, or Dush-kwo-ne'-she, the dragon-fly
Mahng, the loon
Ma'ma, the woodpecker
Meenah'ga, the blueberry
Meshinau'wa, a pipe-bearer
Minneha'ha, Laughing Water; wife of Hiawatha; a water-fall in a stream
running into the Mississippi between Fort Snelling and the Falls of St. Anthony
Mishe-Mo'kwa, the Great Bear
Miskodeed', the Spring-Beauty, the Claytonia Virginica
Moon of Bright Nights, April
Moon of Strawberries, June
Moon of Snow-shoes, November
Mudway-aush'ka, sound of waves on a shore
Nah'ma, the sturgeon
Na'gow Wudj'oo, the Sand Dunes of Lake Superior
Nenemoo'sha, sweetheart
Noko'mis, a grandmother, mother of Wenonah
Nush'ka, look! look!
Okahha'wis, the fresh-water herring
Ona'gon, a bowl
Osse'o, Son of the Evening Star
Oweenee', wife of Osseo
Pah-puk-kee'na, the grasshopper
Pau-Puk-Kee'wis, the handsome Yenadizze, the son of Storm Fool
Pem'ican, meat of the deer or buffalo dried and pounded
Pishnekuh', the brant
Puggawau'gun, a war-club
Sah-sah-je'wun, rapids
Sha'da, the pelican
Shah-shah, long ago
Shawgashee', the craw-fish
Shaw-shaw, the swallow
Shin'gebis, the diver, or grebe
Shuh-shuh-gah', the blue heron
Subbeka'she, the spider
To'tem, family coat-of-arms
Ugudwash', the sun-fish
Wabas'so, the rabbit, the North
Wabe'no-wusk, yarrow
Wa'bun An'nung, the Star of the East, the Morning Star
Wah-wah-tay'see, the fire-fly
Wa'wa, the wild goose
Wawonais'sa, the whippoorwill
Weno'nah, the eldest daughter; Hiawatha's mother, daughter of Nokomis