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The Song of Hiawatha
Henry W. Longfellow
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.
Jane and her mother are credited with having researched,
authenticated, and compiled much of the material Schoolcraft
included in his Algic Researches (1839) and a revision published
in 1856 as The Myth of Hiawatha. It was this latter revision that
Longfellow used as the basis for The Song of Hiawatha.
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.
I would add a personal note here. My father's roots include
Ojibway Indians: his mother, Margaret Caroline Davenport, was a
daughter of Susan des Carreaux, O-gee-em-a-qua (The Chief Woman),
Davenport whose mother was a daughter of Chief Waub-o-jeeg.
Finally, my mother used to rock me to sleep reading portions of
Hiawatha to me, especially:
"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!"
Woodrow W. Morris April 1, 1991
The Song of Hiawatha
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."
Should you ask where Nawadaha Found these songs so wild and
wayward, Found these legends and traditions, I should answer, I
should tell you, "In the bird's-nests of the forest, In the
lodges of the beaver, In the hoofprint of the bison, In the eyry
of the eagle!
"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!"
If still further you should ask me, Saying, "Who was Nawadaha?
Tell us of this Nawadaha," I should answer your inquiries
Straightway in such words as follow.
"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.
"And the pleasant water-courses, You could trace them through the
valley, By the rushing in the Spring-time, By the alders in the
Summer, By the white fog in the Autumn, By the black line in the
Winter; And beside them dwelt the singer, In the vale of
Tawasentha, In the green and silent valley.
"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 the haunts of Nature, Love the sunshine of the
meadow, Love the shadow of the forest, Love the wind among the
branches, And the rain-shower and the snow-storm, And the rushing
of great rivers Through their palisades of pine-trees, And the
thunder in the mountains, Whose innumerable echoes Flap like
eagles in their eyries;Listen to these wild traditions, To this
Song of Hiawatha!
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!
Ye, who sometimes, in your rambles Through the green lanes of the
country, Where the tangled barberry-bushes Hang their tufts of
crimson berries Over stone walls gray with mosses, Pause by some
neglected graveyard, For a while to muse, and ponder On a
half-effaced inscription, Written with little skill of
song-craft, Homely phrases, but each letter Full of hope and yet
of heart-break, Full of all the tender pathos Of the Here and the
Hereafter; Stay and read this rude inscription, Read this Song of
Hiawatha!
Chapter I
The Peace-Pipe
On 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 his footprints flowed a river, Leaped into the light of
morning, O'er the precipice plunging downward Gleamed like
Ishkoodah, the comet. And the Spirit, stooping earthward, With
his finger on the meadow Traced a winding pathway for it, Saying
to it, "Run in this way!"
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.
And the smoke rose slowly, slowly, Through the tranquil air of
morning, First a single line of darkness, Then a denser, bluer
vapor, Then a snow-white cloud unfolding, Like the tree-tops of
the forest, Ever rising, rising, rising, Till it touched the top
of heaven, Till it broke against the heaven, And rolled outward
all around it.
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.
And the Prophets of the nations Said: "Behold it, the Pukwana! By
the signal of the Peace-Pipe, Bending like a wand of willow,
Waving like a hand that beckons, Gitche Manito, the mighty, Calls
the tribes of men together, Calls the warriors to his council!"
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,
Came the Mandans and Dacotahs, Came the Hurons and Ojibways, All
the warriors drawn together By the signal of the Peace-Pipe, To
the Mountains of the Prairie, To the great Red Pipe-stone Quarry,
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.
Gitche Manito, the mighty, The creator of the nations, Looked
upon them with compassion, With paternal love and pity; Looked
upon their wrath and wrangling But as quarrels among children,
But as feuds and fights of children!
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 :
"O my children! my poor children! Listen to the words of wisdom,
Listen to the words of warning, From the lips of the Great
Spirit, From the Master of Life, who made you!
"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 am weary of your quarrels, Weary of your wars and bloodshed,
Weary of your prayers for vengeance, Of your wranglings and
dissensions; All your strength is in your union, All your danger
is in discord; Therefore be at peace henceforward, And as
brothers live together.
"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!
"Bathe now in the stream before you, Wash the war-paint from your
faces, Wash the blood-stains from your fingers, Bury your
war-clubs and your weapons, Break the red stone from this quarry,
Mould and make it into Peace-Pipes, Take the reeds that grow
beside you, Deck them with your brightest feathers, Smoke the
calumet together, And as brothers live henceforward!"
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!
From the river came the warriors, Clean and washed from all their
war-paint; On the banks their clubs they buried, Buried all their
warlike weapons. Gitche Manito, the mighty, The Great Spirit, the
creator, Smiled upon his helpless children!
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.
Silently he stole upon him Till the red nails of the monster
Almost touched him, almost scared him, Till the hot breath of his
nostrils Warmed the hands of Mudjekeewis, As he drew the Belt of
Wampum Over the round ears, that heard not, Over the small eyes,
that saw not, Over the long nose and nostrils, The black muffle
of the nostrils, Out of which the heavy breathing Warmed the
hands of Mudjekeewis.
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.
With the heavy blow bewildered, Rose the Great Bear of the
mountains; But his knees beneath him trembled, And he whimpered
like a woman, As he reeled and staggered forward, As he sat upon
his haunches; And the mighty Mudjekeewis, Standing fearlessly
before him, Taunted him in loud derision, Spake disdainfully in
this wise:
"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!"
Then again he raised his war-club, Smote again the Mishe-Mokwa In
the middle of his forehead, Broke his skull, as ice is broken
When one goes to fish in Winter. Thus was slain the Mishe-Mokwa,
He the Great Bear of the mountains, He the terror of the nations.
"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!"
Thus was Mudjekeewis chosen Father of the Winds of Heaven. For
himself he kept the West-Wind, Gave the others to his children;
Unto Wabun gave the East-Wind, Gave the South to Shawondasee, And
the North-Wind, wild and cruel, To the fierce Kabibonokka.
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.
Lonely in the sky was Wabun; Though the birds sang gayly to him,
Though the wild-flowers of the meadow Filled the air with odors
for him; Though the forests and the rivers Sang and shouted at
his coming, Still his heart was sad within him, For he was alone
in heaven.
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.
Every morning, gazing earthward, Still the first thing he beheld
there Was her blue eyes looking at him, Two blue lakes among the
rushes. And he loved the lonely maiden, Who thus waited for his
coming; For they both were solitary, She on earth and he in
heaven.
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.
But the fierce Kabibonokka Had his dwelling among icebergs, In
the everlasting snow-drifts, In the kingdom of Wabasso, In the
land of the White Rabbit. He it was whose hand in Autumn Painted
all the trees with scarlet, Stained the leaves with red and
yellow; He it was who sent the snow-flake, Sifting, hissing
through the forest, Froze the ponds, the lakes, the rivers, Drove
the loon and sea-gull southward, Drove the cormorant and curlew
To their nests of sedge and sea-tang In the realms of
Shawondasee.
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.
There among the reeds and rushes Found he Shingebis, the diver,
Trailing strings of fish behind him, O'er the frozen fens and
moorlands, Lingering still among the moorlands, Though his tribe
had long departed To the land of Shawondasee.
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!"
And at night Kabibonokka, To the lodge came wild and wailing,
Heaped the snow in drifts about it, Shouted down into the
smoke-flue, Shook the lodge-poles in his fury, Flapped the
curtain of the door-way. Shingebis, the diver, feared not,
Shingebis, the diver, cared not; Four great logs had he for
firewood, One for each moon of the winter, And for food the
fishes served him. By his blazing fire he sat there, Warm and
merry, eating, laughing, Singing, "O Kabibonokka, You are but my
fellow-mortal!"
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.
From Kabibonokka's forehead, From his snow-besprinkled tresses,
Drops of sweat fell fast and heavy, Making dints upon the ashes,
As along the eaves of lodges, As from drooping boughs of hemlock,
Drips the melting snow in spring-time, Making hollows in the
snow-drifts.
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.
Forth went Shingebis, the diver, Wrestled all night with the
North-Wind, Wrestled naked on the moorlands With the fierce
Kabibonokka, Till his panting breath grew fainter, Till his
frozen grasp grew feebler, Till he reeled and staggered backward,
And retreated, baffled, beaten, To the kingdom of Wabasso, To the
land of the White Rabbit, Hearing still the gusty laughter,
Hearing Shingebis, the diver, Singing, "O Kabibonokka, You are
but my fellow-mortal!"
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.
From his pipe the smoke ascending Filled the sky with haze and
vapor, Filled the air with dreamy softness, Gave a twinkle to the
water, Touched the rugged hills with smoothness, Brought the
tender Indian Summer To the melancholy north-land, In the dreary
Moon of Snow-shoes.
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.
Day by day he gazed upon her, Day by day he sighed with passion,
Day by day his heart within him Grew more hot with love and
longing For the maid with yellow tresses. But he was too fat and
lazy To bestir himself and woo her. Yes, too indolent and easy To
pursue her and persuade her; So he only gazed upon her, Only sat
and sighed with passion For the maiden of the prairie.
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!"
Thus the wretched Shawondasee Breathed into the air his sorrow;
And the South-Wind o'er the prairie Wandered warm with sighs of
passion, With the sighs of Shawondasee, Till the air seemed full
of snow-flakes, Full of thistle-down the prairie, And the maid
with hair like sunshine Vanished from his sight forever; Never
more did Shawondasee See the maid with yellow tresses!
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!
Thus the Four Winds were divided Thus the sons of Mudjekeewis Had
their stations in the heavens, At the corners of the heavens; For
himself the West-Wind only Kept the mighty Mudjekeewis.
Chapter III
Hiawatha's Childhood
Downward 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.
She was sporting with her women, Swinging in a swing of
grape-vines, When her rival the rejected, Full of jealousy and
hatred, Cut the leafy swing asunder, Cut in twain the twisted
grape-vines, And Nokomis fell affrighted Downward through the
evening twilight, On the Muskoday, the meadow, On the prairie
full of blossoms. "See! a star falls!" said the people; "From the
sky a star is falling!"
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.
And Nokomis warned her often, Saying oft, and oft repeating, "Oh,
beware of Mudjekeewis, Of the West-Wind, Mudjekeewis; Listen not
to what he tells you; Lie not down upon the meadow, Stoop not
down among the lilies, Lest the West-Wind come and harm you!"
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.
Thus was born my Hiawatha, Thus was born the child of wonder; But
the daughter of Nokomis, Hiawatha's gentle mother, In her anguish
died deserted By the West-Wind, false and faithless, By the
heartless Mudjekeewis.
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!"
By the shores of Gitche Gumee, By the shining Big-Sea-Water,
Stood the wigwam of Nokomis, Daughter of the Moon, Nokomis. Dark
behind it rose the forest, Rose the black and gloomy pine-trees,
Rose the firs with cones upon them; Bright before it beat the
water, Beat the clear and sunny water, Beat the shining
Big-Sea-Water.
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!"
Many things Nokomis taught him Of the stars that shine in heaven;
Showed him Ishkoodah, the comet, Ishkoodah, with fiery tresses;
Showed the Death-Dance of the spirits, Warriors with their plumes
and war-clubs, Flaring far away to northward In the frosty nights
of Winter; Showed the broad white road in heaven, Pathway of the
ghosts, the shadows, Running straight across the heavens, Crowded
with the ghosts, the shadows.
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 fire-fly, Wah-wah-taysee, Flitting through the dusk of
evening, With the twinkle of its candle Lighting up the brakes
and bushes, And he sang the song of children, Sang the song
Nokomis taught him: "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!"
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."
Saw the rainbow in the heaven, In the eastern sky, the rainbow,
Whispered, "What is that, Nokomis?" And the good Nokomis
answered: "'T is the heaven of flowers you see there; All the
wild-flowers of the forest, All the lilies of the prairie, When
on earth they fade and perish, Blossom in that heaven above us."
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."
Then the little Hiawatha Learned of every bird its language,
Learned their names and all their secrets, How they built their
nests in Summer, Where they hid themselves in Winter, Talked with
them whene'er he met them, Called them "Hiawatha's Chickens."
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 Iagoo, the great boaster, He the marvellous story-teller, He
the traveller and the talker, He the friend of old Nokomis, Made
a bow for Hiawatha; From a branch of ash he made it, From an
oak-bough made the arrows, Tipped with flint, and winged with
feathers, And the cord he made of deer-skin.
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!"
Forth into the forest straightway All alone walked Hiawatha
Proudly, with his bow and arrows; And the birds sang round him,
o'er him, "Do not shoot us, Hiawatha!" Sang the robin, the
Opechee, Sang the bluebird, the Owaissa, "Do not shoot us,
Hiawatha!"
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!"
And the rabbit from his pathway Leaped aside, and at a distance
Sat erect upon his haunches, Half in fear and half in frolic,
Saying to the little hunter, "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.
Hidden in the alder-bushes, There he waited till the deer came,
Till he saw two antlers lifted, Saw two eyes look from the
thicket, Saw two nostrils point to windward, And a deer came down
the pathway, Flecked with leafy light and shadow. And his heart
within him fluttered, Trembled like the leaves above him, Like
the birch-leaf palpitated, As the deer came down the pathway.
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!
Dead he lay there in the forest, By the ford across the river;
Beat his timid heart no longer, But the heart of Hiawatha
Throbbed and shouted and exulted, As he bore the red deer
homeward, And Iagoo and Nokomis Hailed his coming with applauses.
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 Mudjekeewis
Out 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!
He had mittens, Minjekahwun, Magic mittens made of deer-skin;
When upon his hands he wore them, He could smite the rocks
asunder, He could grind them into powder. He had moccasins
enchanted, Magic moccasins of deer-skin; When he bound them round
his ankles, When upon his feet he tied them, At each stride a
mile he measured!
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.
Then he said to old Nokomis, "I will go to Mudjekeewis, See how
fares it with my father, At the doorways of the West-Wind, At the
portals of the Sunset!"
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.
Warning said the old Nokomis, "Go not forth, O Hiawatha! To the
kingdom of the West-Wind, To the realms of Mudjekeewis, Lest he
harm you with his magic, Lest he kill you with his cunning!"
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.
So he journeyed westward, westward, Left the fleetest deer behind
him, Left the antelope and bison; Crossed the rushing Esconaba,
Crossed the mighty Mississippi, Passed the Mountains of the
Prairie, Passed the land of Crows and Foxes, Passed the dwellings
of the Blackfeet, Came unto the Rocky Mountains, To the kingdom
of the West-Wind, Where upon the gusty summits Sat the ancient
Mudjekeewis, Ruler of the winds of heaven.
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.
Filled with joy was Mudjekeewis When he looked on Hiawatha, Saw
his youth rise up before him In the face of Hiawatha, Saw the
beauty of Wenonah From the grave rise up before him.
"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!"
Many days they talked together, Questioned, listened, waited,
answered; Much the mighty Mudjekeewis Boasted of his ancient
prowess, Of his perilous adventures, His indomitable courage, His
invulnerable body.
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.
Then he said, "O Mudjekeewis, Is there nothing that can harm you?
Nothing that you are afraid of?" And the mighty Mudjekeewis,
Grand and gracious in his boasting, Answered, saying, "There is
nothing, Nothing but the black rock yonder, Nothing but the fatal
Wawbeek!"
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?"
But the wary Hiawatha Paused awhile, as if uncertain, Held his
peace, as if resolving, And then answered, "There is nothing,
Nothing but the bulrush yonder, Nothing but the great Apukwa!"
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!"
Then they talked of other matters; First of Hiawatha's brothers,
First of Wabun, of the East-Wind, Of the South-Wind, Shawondasee,
Of the North, Kabibonokka; Then of Hiawatha's mother, Of the
beautiful Wenonah, Of her birth upon the meadow, Of her death, as
old Nokomis Had remembered and related.
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.
Then up started Hiawatha, And with threatening look and gesture
Laid his hand upon the black rock, On the fatal Wawbeek laid it,
With his mittens, Minjekahwun, Rent the jutting crag asunder,
Smote and crushed it into fragments, Hurled them madly at his
father, The remorseful Mudjekeewis, For his heart was hot within
him, Like a living coal his heart was.
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!
Then began the deadly conflict, Hand to hand among the mountains;
From his eyry screamed the eagle, The Keneu, the great war-eagle,
Sat upon the crags around them, Wheeling flapped his wings above
them.
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!"
Back retreated Mudjekeewis, Rushing westward o'er the mountains,
Stumbling westward down the mountains, Three whole days retreated
fighting, Still pursued by Hiawatha To the doorways of the
West-Wind, To the portals of the Sunset, To the earth's remotest
border, Where into the empty spaces Sinks the sun, as a flamingo
Drops into her nest at nightfall In the melancholy marshes.
"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!
"Go back to your home and people, Live among them, toil among
them, Cleanse the earth from all that harms it, Clear the
fishing-grounds and rivers, Slay all monsters and magicians, All
the Wendigoes, the giants, All the serpents, the Kenabeeks, As I
slew the Mishe-Mokwa, Slew the Great Bear of the mountains.
"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."
Thus was fought that famous battle In the dreadful days of
Shah-shah, In the days long since departed, In the kingdom of the
West-Wind. Still the hunter sees its traces Scattered far o'er
hill and valley; Sees the giant bulrush growing By the ponds and
water-courses, Sees the masses of the Wawbeek Lying still in
every valley.
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.
Only once his pace he slackened, Only once he paused or halted,
Paused to purchase heads of arrows Of the ancient Arrow-maker, In
the land of the Dacotahs, Where the Falls of Minnehaha Flash and
gleam among the oak-trees, Laugh and leap into the valley.
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.
With him dwelt his dark-eyed daughter, Wayward as the Minnehaha,
With her moods of shade and sunshine, Eyes that smiled and
frowned alternate, Feet as rapid as the river, Tresses flowing
like the water, And as musical a laughter: And he named her from
the river, From the water-fall he named her, Minnehaha, Laughing
Water.
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?
Was it not to see the maiden, See the face of Laughing Water
Peeping from behind the curtain, Hear the rustling of her
garments From behind the waving curtain, As one sees the
Minnehaha Gleaming, glancing through the branches, As one hears
the Laughing Water From behind its screen of branches?
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 Fasting
You 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 first day of his fasting Through the leafy woods he
wandered; Saw the deer start from the thicket, Saw the rabbit in
his burrow, Heard the pheasant, Bena, drumming, Heard the
squirrel, Adjidaumo, Rattling in his hoard of acorns, Saw the
pigeon, the Omeme, Building nests among the pinetrees, And in
flocks the wild-goose, Wawa, Flying to the fen-lands northward,
Whirring, wailing far above him. "Master of Life!" he cried,
desponding, "Must our lives depend on these things?"
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 third day of his fasting By the lake he sat and pondered,
By the still, transparent water; Saw the sturgeon, Nahma,
leaping, Scattering drops like beads of wampum, Saw the yellow
perch, the Sahwa, Like a sunbeam in the water, Saw the pike, the
Maskenozha, And the herring, Okahahwis, And the Shawgashee, the
crawfish! "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.
And he saw a youth approaching, Dressed in garments green and
yellow, Coming through the purple twilight, Through the splendor
of the sunset; Plumes of green bent o'er his forehead, And his
hair was soft and golden.
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.
"From the Master of Life descending, I, the friend of man,
Mondamin, Come to warn you and instruct you, How by struggle and
by labor You shall gain what you have prayed for. Rise up from
your bed of branches, Rise, O youth, and wrestle with me!"
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.
So they wrestled there together In the glory of the sunset, And
the more they strove and struggled, Stronger still grew Hiawatha;
Till the darkness fell around them, And the heron, the
Shuh-shuh-gah, From her nest among the pine-trees, Gave a cry of
lamentation, Gave a scream of pain and famine.
"'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.
On the morrow and the next day, When the sun through heaven
descending, Like a red and burning cinder From the hearth of the
Great Spirit, Fell into the western waters, Came Mondamin for the
trial, For the strife with Hiawatha; Came as silent as the dew
comes, From the empty air appearing, Into empty air returning,
Taking shape when earth it touches, But invisible to all men In
its coming and its going.
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.
Tall and beautiful he stood there, In his garments green and
yellow; To and fro his plumes above him, Waved and nodded with
his breathing, And the sweat of the encounter Stood like drops of
dew upon him.
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!"
Then he smiled, and said: "To-morrow Is the last day of your
conflict, Is the last day of your fasting. You will conquer and
o'ercome me; Make a bed for me to lie in, Where the rain may fall
upon me, Where the sun may come and warm me; Strip these
garments, green and yellow, Strip this nodding plumage from me,
Lay me in the earth, and make it Soft and loose and light above
me.
"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"
And thus saying, he departed; Peacefully slept Hiawatha, But he
heard the Wawonaissa, Heard the whippoorwill complaining, Perched
upon his lonely wigwam; Heard the rushing Sebowisha, Heard the
rivulet rippling near him, Talking to the darksome forest; Heard
the sighing of the branches, As they lifted and subsided At the
passing of the night-wind, Heard them, as one hears in slumber
Far-off murmurs, dreamy whispers: Peacefully slept Hiawatha.
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.
But he tasted not, and touched not, Only said to her, "Nokomis,
Wait until the sun is setting, Till the darkness falls around us,
Till the heron, the Shuh-shuh-gah, Crying from the desolate
marshes, Tells us that the day is ended."
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.
And behold! the young Mondamin, With his soft and shining
tresses, With his garments green and yellow, With his long and
glossy plumage, Stood and beckoned at the doorway. And as one in
slumber walking, Pale and haggard, but undaunted, From the wigwam
Hiawatha Came and wrestled with Mondamin.
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.
Suddenly upon the greensward All alone stood Hiawatha, Panting
with his wild exertion, Palpitating with the struggle; And before
him breathless, lifeless, Lay the youth, with hair dishevelled,
Plumage torn, and garments tattered, Dead he lay there in the
sunset.
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!
Homeward then went Hiawatha To the lodge of old Nokomis, And the
seven days of his fasting Were accomplished and completed. But
the place was not forgotten Where he wrestled with Mondamin; Nor
forgotten nor neglected Was the grave where lay Mondamin,
Sleeping in the rain and sunshine, Where his scattered plumes and
garments Faded in the rain and sunshine.
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.
Till at length a small green feather From the earth shot slowly
upward, Then another and another, And before the Summer ended
Stood the maize in all its beauty, With its shining robes about
it, And its long, soft, yellow tresses; And in rapture Hiawatha
Cried aloud, "It is Mondamin! Yes, the friend of man, Mondamin!"
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.
And still later, when the Autumn Changed the long, green leaves
to yellow, And the soft and juicy kernels Grew like wampum hard
and yellow, Then the ripened ears he gathered, Stripped the
withered husks from off them, As he once had stripped the
wrestler, Gave the first Feast of Mondamin, And made known unto
the people This new gift of the Great Spirit.
Chapter VI
Hiawatha's Friends
Two 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.
Straight between them ran the pathway, Never grew the grass upon
it; Singing birds, that utter falsehoods, Story-tellers,
mischief-makers, Found no eager ear to listen, Could not breed
ill-will between them, For they kept each other's counsel, Spake
with naked hearts together, Pondering much and much contriving
How the tribes of men might prosper.
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.
When he sang, the village listened; All the warriors gathered
round him, All the women came to hear him; Now he stirred their
souls to passion, Now he melted them to pity.
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 brook, the Sebowisha, Pausing, said, "O Chibiabos, Teach
my waves to flow in music, Softly as your words in singing!"
Yes, the bluebird, the Owaissa, Envious, said, "O Chibiabos,
Teach me tones as wild and wayward, Teach me songs as full of
frenzy!"
Yes, the robin, the Opechee, Joyous, said, "O Chibiabos, Teach me
tones as sweet and tender, Teach me songs as full of gladness!"
And the whippoorwill, Wawonaissa, Sobbing, said, "O Chibiabos,
Teach me tones as melancholy, Teach me songs as full of
sadness!"
All the many sounds of nature Borrowed sweetness from his
singing; All the hearts of men were softened By the pathos of his
music; For he sang of peace and freedom, Sang of beauty, love,
and longing; Sang of death, and life undying In the Islands of
the Blessed, In the kingdom of Ponemah, In the land of the
Hereafter.
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.
Dear, too, unto Hiawatha Was the very strong man, Kwasind, He the
strongest of all mortals, He the mightiest among many; For his
very strength he loved him, For his strength allied to goodness.
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.
"Lazy Kwasind!" said his mother, "In my work you never help me!
In the Summer you are roaming Idly in the fields and forests; In
the Winter you are cowering O'er the firebrands in the wigwam! In
the coldest days of Winter I must break the ice for fishing; With
my nets you never help me! At the door my nets are hanging,
Dripping, freezing with the water; Go and wring them, Yenadizze!
Go and dry them in the sunshine!"
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.
"Lazy Kwasind!" said his father, "In the hunt you never help me;
Every bow you touch is broken, Snapped asunder every arrow; Yet
come with me to the forest, You shall bring the hunting
homeward."
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.
"We must go back," said the old man, "O'er these logs we cannot
clamber; Not a woodchuck could get through them, Not a squirrel
clamber o'er them!" And straightway his pipe he lighted, And sat
down to smoke and ponder. But before his pipe was finished, Lo!
the path was cleared before him; All the trunks had Kwasind
lifted, To the right hand, to the left hand, Shot the pine-trees
swift as arrows, Hurled the cedars light as lances.
"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!"
Lazy Kwasind made no answer, To their challenge made no answer,
Only rose, and slowly turning, Seized the huge rock in his
fingers, Tore it from its deep foundation, Poised it in the air a
moment, Pitched it sheer into the river, Sheer into the swift
Pauwating, Where it still is seen in Summer.
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.
Without speaking, without pausing, Kwasind leaped into the river,
Plunged beneath the bubbling surface, Through the whirlpools
chased the beaver, Followed him among the islands, Stayed so long
beneath the water, That his terrified companions Cried, "Alas!
good-by to Kwasind! We shall never more see Kwasind!" But he
reappeared triumphant, And upon his shining shoulders Brought the
beaver, dead and dripping, Brought the King of all the Beavers.
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!"
Thus aloud cried Hiawatha In the solitary forest, By the rushing
Taquamenaw, When the birds were singing gayly, In the Moon of
Leaves were singing, And the sun, from sleep awaking, Started up
and said, "Behold me! Gheezis, the great Sun, behold me!"
And the tree with all its branches Rustled in the breeze of
morning, Saying, with a sigh of patience, "Take my cloak, O
Hiawatha!"
With his knife the tree he girdled; Just beneath its lowest
branches, Just above the roots, he cut it, Till the sap came
oozing outward; Down the trunk, from top to bottom, Sheer he
cleft the bark asunder, With a wooden wedge he raised it,
Stripped it from the trunk unbroken.
"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!"
Through the summit of the Cedar Went a sound, a cry of horror,
Went a murmur of resistance; But it whispered, bending downward,
'Take my boughs, O Hiawatha!"
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.
"Give me of your roots, O Tamarack! Of your fibrous roots, O
Larch-tree! My canoe to bind together, So to bind the ends
together That the water may not enter, That the river may not wet
me!"
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!"
From the earth he tore the fibres, Tore the tough roots of the
Larch-tree, Closely sewed the hark together, Bound it closely to
the frame-work.
"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 the Fir-tree, tall and sombre, Sobbed through all its robes
of darkness, Rattled like a shore with pebbles, Answered wailing,
answered weeping, "Take my balm, O Hiawatha!"
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.
"Give me of your quills, O Hedgehog! All your quills, O Kagh, the
Hedgehog! I will make a necklace of them, Make a girdle for my
beauty, And two stars to deck her bosom!"
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!"
From the ground the quills he gathered, All the little shining
arrows, Stained them red and blue and yellow, With the juice of
roots and berries; Into his canoe he wrought them, Round its
waist a shining girdle, Round its bows a gleaming necklace, On
its breast two stars resplendent.
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.
Paddles none had Hiawatha, Paddles none he had or needed, For his
thoughts as paddles served him, And his wishes served to guide
him; Swift or slow at will he glided, Veered to right or left at
pleasure.
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."
Straight into the river Kwasind Plunged as if he were an otter,
Dived as if he were a beaver, Stood up to his waist in water, To
his arm-pits in the river, Swam and scouted in the river, Tugged
at sunken logs and branches, With his hands he scooped the
sand-bars, With his feet the ooze and tangle.
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.
Up and down the river went they, In and out among its islands,
Cleared its bed of root and sand-bar, Dragged the dead trees from
its channel, Made its passage safe and certain, Made a pathway
for the people, From its springs among the mountains, To the
waters of Pauwating, To the bay of Taquamenaw.
Chapter VIII
Hiawatha's Fishing
Forth 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.
Through the clear, transparent water He could see the fishes
swimming Far down in the depths below him; See the yellow perch,
the Sahwa, Like a sunbeam in the water, See the Shawgashee, the
craw-fish, Like a spider on the bottom, On the white and sandy
bottom.
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.
On the white sand of the bottom Lay the monster Mishe-Nahma, Lay
the sturgeon, King of Fishes; Through his gills he breathed the
water, With his fins he fanned and winnowed, With his tail he
swept the sand-floor.
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.
"Take my bait," cried Hiawatha, Dawn into the depths beneath him,
"Take my bait, O Sturgeon, Nahma! Come up from below the water,
Let us see which is the stronger!" And he dropped his line of
cedar Through the clear, transparent water, Waited vainly for an
answer, Long sat waiting for an answer, And repeating loud and
louder, "Take my bait, O King of Fishes!"
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!"
In his fingers Hiawatha Felt the loose line jerk and tighten, As
he drew it in, it tugged so That the birch canoe stood endwise,
Like a birch log in the water, With the squirrel, Adjidaumo,
Perched and frisking on the summit. Full of scorn was Hiawatha
When he saw the fish rise upward, Saw the pike, the Maskenozha,
Coming nearer, nearer to him, And he shouted through the water,
"Esa! esa! shame upon you! You are but the pike, Kenozha, You are
not the fish I wanted, You are not the King of Fishes!"
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!"
Slowly upward, wavering, gleaming, Rose the Ugudwash, the
sun-fish, Seized the line of Hiawatha, Swung with all his weight
upon it, Made a whirlpool in the water, Whirled the birch canoe
in circles, Round and round in gurgling eddies, Till the circles
in the water Reached the far-off sandy beaches, Till the
water-flags and rushes Nodded on the distant margins.
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!"
Slowly downward, wavering, gleaming, Sank the Ugudwash, the
sun-fish, And again the sturgeon, Nahma, Heard the shout of
Hiawatha, Heard his challenge of defiance, The unnecessary
tumult, Ringing far across the water.
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.
Down into that darksome cavern Plunged the headlong Hiawatha, As
a log on some black river Shoots and plunges down the rapids,
Found himself in utter darkness, Groped about in helpless wonder,
Till he felt a great heart beating, Throbbing in that utter
darkness.
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.
Crosswise then did Hiawatha Drag his birch-canoe for safety, Lest
from out the jaws of Nahma, In the turmoil and confusion, Forth
he might be hurled and perish. And the squirrel, Adjidaumo,
Frisked and chatted very gayly, Toiled and tugged with Hiawatha
Till the labor was completed.
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!"
And again the sturgeon, Nahma, Gasped and quivered in the water,
Then was still, and drifted landward Till he grated on the
pebbles, Till the listening Hiawatha Heard him grate upon the
margin, Felt him strand upon the pebbles, Knew that Nahma, King
of Fishes, Lay there dead upon the margin.
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 he shouted from below them, Cried exulting from the caverns:
"O ye sea-gulls! O my brothers! I have slain the sturgeon, Nahma;
Make the rifts a little larger, With your claws the openings
widen, Set me free from this dark prison, And henceforward and
forever Men shall speak of your achievements, Calling you
Kayoshk, the sea-gulls, Yes, Kayoshk, the Noble Scratchers!"
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.
He was standing near his wigwam, On the margin of the water, And
he called to old Nokomis, Called and beckoned to Nokomis, Pointed
to the sturgeon, Nahma, Lying lifeless on the pebbles, With the
sea-gulls feeding on him.
"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."
And she waited till the sun set, Till the pallid moon, the
Night-sun, Rose above the tranquil water, Till Kayoshk, the sated
sea-gulls, From their banquet rose with clamor, And across the
fiery sunset Winged their way to far-off islands, To their nests
among the rushes.
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.
Three whole days and nights alternate Old Nokomis and the
sea-gulls Stripped the oily flesh of Nahma, Till the waves washed
through the rib-bones, Till the sea-gulls came no longer, And
upon the sands lay nothing But the skeleton of Nahma.
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.
Fiercely the red sun descending Burned his way along the heavens,
Set the sky on fire behind him, As war-parties, when retreating,
Burn the prairies on their war-trail; And the moon, the
Night-sun, eastward, Suddenly starting from his ambush, Followed
fast those bloody footprints, Followed in that fiery war-trail,
With its glare upon his features.
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!
"He it was who slew my father, By his wicked wiles and cunning,
When he from the moon descended, When he came on earth to seek
me. He, the mightiest of Magicians, Sends the fever from the
marshes, Sends the pestilential vapors, Sends the poisonous
exhalations, Sends the white fog from the fen-lands, Sends
disease and death among us!
"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!"
Straightway then my Hiawatha Armed himself with all his war-gear,
Launched his birch-canoe for sailing; With his palm its sides he
patted, Said with glee, "Cheemaun, my darling, O my Birch-canoe!
leap forward, Where you see the fiery serpents, Where you see the
black pitch-water!"
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.
Soon he reached the fiery serpents, The Kenabeek, the great
serpents, Lying huge upon the water, Sparkling, rippling in the
water, Lying coiled across the passage, With their blazing crests
uplifted, Breathing fiery fogs and vapors, So that none could
pass beyond them.
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!"
Then the angry Hiawatha Raised his mighty bow of ash-tree, Seized
his arrows, jasper-headed, Shot them fast among the serpents;
Every twanging of the bow-string Was a war-cry and a death-cry,
Every whizzing of an arrow Was a death-song of Kenabeek.
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!"
Then he took the oil of Nahma, And the bows and sides anointed,
Smeared them well with oil, that swiftly He might pass 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.
All the air was white with moonlight, All the water black with
shadow, And around him the Suggema, The mosquito, sang his
war-song, And the fire-flies, Wah-wah-taysee, Waved their torches
to mislead him; And the bull-frog, the Dahinda, Thrust his head
into the moonlight, Fixed his yellow eyes upon him, Sobbed and
sank beneath the surface; And anon a thousand whistles, Answered
over all the fen-lands, And the heron, the Shuh-shuh-gah, Far off
on the reedy margin, Heralded the hero's coming.
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.
Then once more Cheemaun he patted, To his birch-canoe said,
"Onward!" And it stirred in all its fibres, And with one great
bound of triumph Leaped across the water-lilies, Leaped through
tangled flags and rushes, And upon the beach beyond them Dry-shod
landed Hiawatha.
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!"
Straightway from the Shining Wigwam Came the mighty Megissogwon,
Tall of stature, broad of shoulder, Dark and terrible in aspect,
Clad from head to foot in wampum, Armed with all his warlike
weapons, Painted like the sky of morning, Streaked with crimson,
blue, and yellow, Crested with great eagle-feathers, Streaming
upward, streaming outward.
"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!"
But my Hiawatha answered, Nothing daunted, fearing nothing: "Big
words do not smite like war-clubs, Boastful breath is not a
bow-string, Taunts are not so sharp as arrows, Deeds are better
things than words are, Actions mightier than boastings!"
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.
Till at sunset Hiawatha, Leaning on his bow of ash-tree, Wounded,
weary, and desponding, With his mighty war-club broken, With his
mittens torn and tattered, And three useless arrows only, Paused
to rest beneath a pine-tree, From whose branches trailed the
mosses, And whose trunk was coated over With the Dead-man's
Moccasin-leather, With the fungus white and yellow.
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!"
Winged with feathers, tipped with jasper, Swift flew Hiawatha's
arrow, Just as Megissogwon, stooping, Raised a heavy stone to
throw it. Full upon the crown it struck him, At the roots of his
long tresses, And he reeled and staggered forward, Plunging like
a wounded bison, Yes, like Pezhekee, the bison, When the snow is
on the prairie.
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.
But the third and latest arrow Swiftest flew, and wounded sorest,
And the mighty Megissogwon Saw the fiery eyes of Pauguk, Saw the
eyes of Death glare at him, Heard his voice call in the darkness;
At the feet of Hiawatha Lifeless lay the great Pearl-Feather, Lay
the mightiest of Magicians.
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.
Then he stripped the shirt of wampum From the back of
Megissogwon, As a trophy of the battle, As a signal of his
conquest. On the shore he left the body, Half on land and half in
water, In the sand his feet were buried, And his face was in the
water. And above him, wheeled and clamored The Keneu, the great
war-eagle, Sailing round in narrower circles, Hovering nearer,
nearer, nearer.
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.
Homeward then he sailed exulting, Homeward through the black
pitch-water, Homeward through the weltering serpents, With the
trophies of the battle, With a shout and song of triumph.
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!"
Ever dear to Hiawatha Was the memory of Mama! And in token of his
friendship, As a mark of his remembrance, He adorned and decked
his pipe-stem With the crimson tuft of feathers, With the
blood-red crest of Mama. But the wealth of Megissogwon, All the
trophies of the battle, He divided with his people, Shared it
equally among them.
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!"
Thus the youthful Hiawatha Said within himself and pondered, Much
perplexed by various feelings, Listless, longing, hoping,
fearing, Dreaming still of Minnehaha, Of the lovely Laughing
Water, In the land of the Dacotahs.
"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!"
Thus dissuading spake Nokomis, And my Hiawatha answered Only
this: "Dear old Nokomis, Very pleasant is the firelight, But I
like the starlight better, Better do I like the moonlight!"
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!"
Smiling answered Hiawatha: 'In the land of the Dacotahs Lives the
Arrow-maker's daughter, Minnehaha, Laughing Water, Handsomest of
all the women. I will bring her to your wigwam, She shall run
upon your errands, Be your starlight, moonlight, firelight, Be
the sunlight of my people!"
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!"
Laughing answered Hiawatha: "For that reason, if no other, Would
I wed the fair Dacotah, That our tribes might be united, That old
feuds might be forgotten, And old wounds be healed forever!"
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.
With his moccasins of magic, At each stride a mile he measured;
Yet the way seemed long before him, And his heart outran his
footsteps; And he journeyed without resting, Till he heard the
cataract's laughter, Heard the Falls of Minnehaha Calling to him
through the silence. "Pleasant is the sound!" he murmured,
"Pleasant is the voice that calls me!"
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.
At the doorway of his wigwam Sat the ancient Arrow-maker, In the
land of the Dacotahs, Making arrow-heads of jasper, Arrow-heads
of chalcedony. At his side, in all her beauty, Sat the lovely
Minnehaha, Sat his daughter, Laughing Water, Plaiting mats of
flags and rushes Of the past the old man's thoughts were, And the
maiden's of the future.
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!
She was thinking of a hunter, From another tribe and country,
Young and tall and very handsome, Who one morning, in the
Spring-time, Came to buy her father's arrows, Sat and rested in
the wigwam, Lingered long about the doorway, Looking back as he
departed. She had heard her father praise him, Praise his courage
and his wisdom; Would he come again for arrows To the Falls of
Minnehaha? On the mat her hands lay idle, And her eyes were very
dreamy.
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.
Straight the ancient Arrow-maker Looked up gravely from his
labor, Laid aside the unfinished arrow, Bade him enter at the
doorway, Saying, as he rose to meet him, 'Hiawatha, you are
welcome!"
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!"
Very spacious was the wigwam, Made of deer-skins dressed and
whitened, With the Gods of the Dacotahs Drawn and painted on its
curtains, And so tall the doorway, hardly Hiawatha stooped to
enter, Hardly touched his eagle-feathers As he entered at the
doorway.
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.
Yes, as in a dream she listened To the words of Hiawatha, As he
talked of old Nokomis, Who had nursed him in his childhood, As he
told of his companions, Chibiabos, the musician, And the very
strong man, Kwasind, And of happiness and plenty In the land of
the Ojibways, In the pleasant land and peaceful.
"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 ancient Arrow-maker Paused a moment ere he answered,
Smoked a little while in silence, Looked at Hiawatha proudly,
Fondly looked at Laughing Water, And made answer very gravely:
"Yes, if Minnehaha wishes; Let your heart speak, Minnehaha!"
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!"
This was Hiawatha's wooing! Thus it was he won the daughter Of
the ancient Arrow-maker, In the land of the Dacotahs!
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!"
And the ancient Arrow-maker Turned again unto his labor, Sat down
by his sunny doorway, Murmuring to himself, and saying: "Thus it
is our daughters leave us, Those we love, and those who love us!
Just when they have learned to help us, When we are old and lean
upon them, Comes a youth with flaunting feathers, With his flute
of reeds, a stranger Wanders piping through the village, Beckons
to the fairest maiden, And she follows where he leads her,
Leaving all things for the stranger!"
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.
Over wide and rushing rivers In his arms he bore the maiden;
Light he thought her as a feather, As the plume upon his
head-gear; Cleared the tangled pathway for her, Bent aside the
swaying branches, Made at night a lodge of branches, And a bed
with boughs of hemlock, And a fire before the doorway With the
dry cones of the pine-tree.
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.
Pleasant was the journey homeward! All the birds sang loud and
sweetly Songs of happiness and heart's-ease; Sang the bluebird,
the Owaissa, "Happy are you, Hiawatha, Having such a wife to love
you!" Sang the robin, the Opechee, "Happy are you, Laughing
Water, Having such a noble husband!"
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!"
From the sky the moon looked at them, Filled the lodge with
mystic splendors, Whispered to them, "O my children, Day is
restless, night is quiet, Man imperious, woman feeble; Half is
mine, although I follow; Rule by patience, Laughing Water!"
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-Feast
You 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.
Sumptuous was the feast Nokomis Made at Hiawatha's wedding; All
the bowls were made of bass-wood, White and polished very
smoothly, All the spoons of horn of bison, Black and polished
very smoothly.
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.
First they ate the sturgeon, Nahma, And the pike, the Maskenozha,
Caught and cooked by old Nokomis; Then on pemican they feasted,
Pemican and buffalo marrow, Haunch of deer and hump of bison,
Yellow cakes of the Mondamin, And the wild rice of the river.
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.
And when all the guests had finished, Old Nokomis, brisk and
busy, From an ample pouch of otter, Filled the red-stone pipes
for smoking With tobacco from the South-land, Mixed with bark of
the red willow, And with herbs and leaves of fragrance.
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!"
Then the handsome Pau-Puk-Keewis, He the idle Yenadizze, He the
merry mischief-maker, Whom the people called the Storm-Fool, Rose
among the guests assembled.
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.
He was dressed in shirt of doeskin, White and soft, and fringed
with ermine, All inwrought with beads of wampum; He was dressed
in deer-skin leggings, Fringed with hedgehog quills and ermine,
And in moccasins of buck-skin, Thick with quills and beads
embroidered. On his head were plumes of swan's down, On his heels
were tails of foxes, In one hand a fan of feathers, And a pipe
was in the other.
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.
First he danced a solemn measure, Very slow in step and gesture,
In and out among the pine-trees, Through the shadows and the
sunshine, Treading softly like a panther. Then more swiftly and
still swifter, Whirling, spinning round in circles, Leaping o'er
the guests assembled, Eddying round and round the wigwam, Till
the leaves went whirling with him, Till the dust and wind
together Swept in eddies round about him.
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!
Thus the merry Pau-Puk-Keewis Danced his Beggar's Dance to please
them, And, returning, sat down laughing There among the guests
assembled, Sat and fanned himself serenely With his fan of
turkey-feathers.
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!"
And the gentle Chibiabos Sang in accents sweet and tender, Sang
in tones of deep emotion, Songs of love and songs of longing;
Looking still at Hiawatha, Looking at fair Laughing Water, Sang
he softly, sang in this wise:
"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!
"If thou only lookest at me, I am happy, I am happy, As the
lilies of the prairie, When they feel the dew upon them!
"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.
"Does not all the blood within me Leap to meet thee, leap to meet
thee, As the springs to meet the sunshine, In the Moon when
nights are brightest?
"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 art not pleased, beloved, Then my heart is sad and
darkened, As the shining river darkens When the clouds drop
shadows on it!
"When thou smilest, my beloved, Then my troubled heart is
brightened, As in sunshine gleam the ripples That the cold wind
makes in rivers.
"Smiles the earth, and smile the waters, Smile the cloudless
skies above us, But I lose the way of smiling When thou art no
longer near me!
"I myself, myself! behold me! Blood of my beating heart,
behold me! Oh awake, awake, beloved! Onaway! awake, beloved!"
Thus the gentle Chibiabos Sang his song of love and longing; And
Iagoo, the great boaster, He the marvellous story-teller, He the
friend of old Nokomis, Jealous of the sweet musician, Jealous of
the applause they gave him, Saw in all the eyes around him, Saw
in all their looks and gestures, That the wedding guests
assembled Longed to hear his pleasant stories, His immeasurable
falsehoods.
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.
Would you listen to his boasting, Would you only give him
credence, No one ever shot an arrow Half so far and high as he
had; Ever caught so many fishes, Ever killed so many reindeer,
Ever trapped so many beaver!
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!"
He it was who carved the cradle Of the little Hiawatha, Carved
its framework out of linden, Bound it strong with reindeer
sinews; He it was who taught him later How to make his bows and
arrows, How to make the bows of ash-tree, And the arrows of the
oak-tree. So among the guests assembled At my Hiawatha's wedding
Sat Iagoo, old and ugly, Sat the marvellous story-teller.
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!"
And Iagoo answered straightway, "You shall hear a tale of wonder,
You shall hear the strange adventures Of Osseo, the Magician,
From the Evening Star descending."
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?
Yes; it is the sun descending, Sinking down into the water; All
the sky is stained with purple, All the water flushed with
crimson! No; it is the Red Swan floating, Diving down beneath the
water; To the sky its wings are lifted, With its blood the waves
are reddened!
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.
This with joy beheld Iagoo And he said in haste: "Behold it! See
the sacred Star of Evening! You shall hear a tale of wonder, Hear
the story of Osseo, Son of the Evening Star, Osseo!
"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.
"All these women married warriors, Married brave and haughty
husbands; Only Oweenee, the youngest, Laughed and flouted all her
lovers, All her young and handsome suitors, And then married old
Osseo, Old Osseo, poor and ugly, Broken with age and weak with
coughing, Always coughing like a squirrel.
"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!
"And her lovers, the rejected, Handsome men with belts of wampum,
Handsome men with paint and feathers. Pointed at her in derision,
Followed her with jest and laughter. But she said: 'I care not
for you, Care not for your belts of wampum, Care not for your
paint and feathers, Care not for your jests and laughter; I am
happy with Osseo!'
'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.
"At the western sky Osseo Gazed intent, as if imploring, Often
stopped and gazed imploring At the trembling Star of Evening, At
the tender Star of Woman; And they heard him murmur softly, 'Ah,
showain nemeshin, Nosa! Pity, pity me, my father!'
'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.
"On their pathway through the woodlands Lay an oak, by storms
uprooted, Lay the great trunk of an oak-tree, Buried half in
leaves and mosses, Mouldering, crumbling, huge and hollow. And
Osseo, when he saw it, Gave a shout, a cry of anguish, Leaped
into its yawning cavern, At one end went in an old man, Wasted,
wrinkled, old, and ugly; From the other came a young man, Tall
and straight and strong and handsome.
"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.
"But Osseo turned not from her, Walked with slower step beside
her, Took her hand, as brown and withered As an oak-leaf is in
Winter, Called her sweetheart, Nenemoosha, Soothed her with soft
words of kindness, Till they reached the lodge of feasting, Till
they sat down in the wigwam, Sacred to the Star of Evening, To
the tender Star of Woman.
"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.
"Then a voice was heard, a whisper, Coming from the starry
distance, Coming from the empty vastness, Low, and musical, and
tender; And the voice said: 'O Osseo! O my son, my best beloved!
Broken are the spells that bound you, All the charms of the
magicians, All the magic powers of evil; Come to me; ascend,
Osseo!
"'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.
"'And the women shall no longer Bear the dreary doom of labor,
But be changed to birds, and glisten With the beauty of the
starlight, Painted with the dusky splendors Of the skies and
clouds of evening!'
"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.
"Then the lodge began to tremble, Straight began to shake and
tremble, And they felt it rising, rising, Slowly through the air
ascending, From the darkness of the tree-tops Forth into the dewy
starlight, Till it passed the topmost branches; And behold! the
wooden dishes All were changed to shells of scarlet! And behold!
the earthen kettles All were changed to bowls of silver! And the
roof-poles of the wigwam Were as glittering rods of silver, And
the roof of bark upon them As the shining shards of beetles.
"Then Osseo gazed around him, And he saw the nine fair sisters,
All the sisters and their husbands, Changed to birds of various
plumage. Some were jays and some were magpies, Others thrushes,
others blackbirds; And they hopped, and sang, and twittered,
Perked and fluttered all their feathers, Strutted in their
shining plumage, And their tails like fans unfolded. "Only
Oweenee, the youngest, Was not changed, but sat in silence,
Wasted, wrinkled, old, and ugly, Looking sadly at the others;
Till Osseo, gazing upward, Gave another cry of anguish, Such a
cry as he had uttered By the oak-tree in the forest. "Then
returned her youth and beauty, And her soiled and tattered
garments Were transformed to robes of ermine, And her staff
became a feather, Yes, a shining silver feather! "And again the
wigwam trembled, Swayed and rushed through airy currents, Through
transparent cloud and vapor, And amid celestial splendors On the
Evening Star alighted, As a snow-flake falls on snow-flake, As a
leaf drops on a river, As the thistledown on water.
"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.'
"At the door he hung the bird-cage, And they entered in and
gladly Listened to Osseo's father, Ruler of the Star of Evening,
As he said: `O my Osseo! I have had compassion on you, Given you
back your youth and beauty, Into birds of various plumage Changed
your sisters and their husbands; Changed them thus because they
mocked you In the figure of the old man, In that aspect sad and
wrinkled, Could not see your heart of passion, Could not see your
youth immortal; Only Oweenee, the faithful, Saw your naked heart
and loved you.
"`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.'
"Many years, in peace and quiet, On the peaceful Star of Evening
Dwelt Osseo with his father; Many years, in song and flutter, At
the doorway of the wigwam, Hung the cage with rods of silver, And
fair Oweenee, the faithful, Bore a son unto Osseo, With the
beauty of his mother, With the courage of his father.
"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.
"Round and round they wheeled and darted, Filled the Evening Star
with music, With their songs of joy and freedom Filled the
Evening Star with splendor, With the fluttering of their plumage;
Till the boy, the little hunter, Bent his bow and shot an arrow,
Shot a swift and fatal arrow, And a bird, with shining feathers,
At his feet fell wounded sorely.
"But, O wondrous transformation! `T was no bird he saw before
him, `T was a beautiful young woman, With the arrow in her
bosom!
"When her blood fell on the planet, On the sacred Star of
Evening, Broken was the spell of magic, Powerless was the strange
enchantment, And the youth, the fearless bowman, Suddenly felt
himself descending, Held by unseen hands, but sinking Downward
through the empty spaces, Downward through the clouds and vapors,
Till he rested on an island, On an island, green and grassy,
Yonder in the Big-Sea-Water.
"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.
"Then the birds, again transfigured, Reassumed the shape of
mortals, Took their shape, but not their stature; They remained
as Little People, Like the pygmies, the Puk-Wudjies, And on
pleasant nights of Summer, When the Evening Star was shining,
Hand in hand they danced together On the island's craggy
headlands, On the sand-beach low and level.
"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 !"
When the story was completed, When the wondrous tale was ended,
Looking round upon his listeners, Solemnly Iagoo added: "There
are great men, I have known such, Whom their people understand
not, Whom they even make a jest of, Scoff and jeer at in
derision. From the story of Osseo Let us learn the fate of
jesters!"
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?"
Then again sang Chibiabos, Sang a song of love and longing, In
those accents sweet and tender, In those tones of pensive
sadness, Sang a maiden's lamentation For her lover, her
Algonquin.
"When I think of my beloved, Ah me! think of my beloved, When
my heart is thinking of him, O my sweetheart, my Algonquin!
"Ah me! when I parted from him, Round my neck he hung the wampum,
As a pledge, the snow-white wampum, 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!
"Far away, away, I answered, Very far away, I answered, Ah me! is
my native country, 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!
"By the tree he still was standing, By the fallen tree was
standing, That had dropped into the water, O my sweetheart, my
Algonquin! "When I think of my beloved, Ah me! think of my
beloved, When my heart is thinking of him, O my sweetheart, my
Algonquin!" Such was Hiawatha's Wedding, Such the dance of
Pau-Puk-Keewis, Such the story of Iagoo, Such the songs of
Chibiabos; Thus the wedding banquet ended, And the wedding guests
departed, Leaving Hiawatha happy With the night and Minnehaha.
Chapter XIII
Blessing the Cornfields
Sing, 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.
All around the happy village Stood the maize-fields, green and
shining, Waved the green plumes of Mondamin, Waved his soft and
sunny tresses, Filling all the land with plenty. `T was the women
who in Spring-time Planted the broad fields and fruitful, Buried
in the earth Mondamin; `T was the women who in Autumn Stripped
the yellow husks of harvest, Stripped the garments from Mondamin,
Even as Hiawatha taught them.
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
"In the night, when all Is silence,' In the night, when all Is
darkness, When the Spirit of Sleep, Nepahwin, Shuts the doors of
all the wigwams, So that not an ear can hear you, So that not an
eye can see you, Rise up from your bed in silence, Lay aside your
garments wholly, Walk around the fields you planted, Round the
borders of the cornfields, Covered by your tresses only, Robed
with darkness as a garment.
"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!"
On the tree-tops near the cornfields Sat the hungry crows and
ravens, Kahgahgee, the King of Ravens, With his band of black
marauders. And they laughed at Hiawatha, Till the tree-tops shook
with laughter, With their melancholy laughter, At the words of
Hiawatha. "Hear him!" said they; "hear the Wise Man, Hear the
plots of Hiawatha!"
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.
No one but the Midnight only Saw her beauty in the darkness, No
one but the Wawonaissa Heard the panting of her bosom Guskewau,
the darkness, wrapped her Closely in his sacred mantle, So that
none might see her beauty, So that none might boast, "I saw her!"
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.
"We will drag Mondamin," said they, "From the grave where he is
buried, Spite of all the magic circles Laughing Water draws
around it, Spite of all the sacred footprints Minnehaha stamps
upon it!"
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!"
He had risen before the daybreak, He had spread o'er all the
cornfields Snares to catch the black marauders, And was lying now
in ambush In the neighboring grove of pine-trees, Waiting for the
crows and blackbirds, Waiting for the jays and ravens.
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.
From his place of ambush came he, Striding terrible among them,
And so awful was his aspect That the bravest quailed with terror.
Without mercy he destroyed them Right and left, by tens and
twenties, And their wretched, lifeless bodies Hung aloft on poles
for scarecrows Round the consecrated cornfields, As a signal of
his vengeance, As a warning to marauders.
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.
"Kahgahgee, my raven!" said he, "You the leader of the robbers,
You the plotter of this mischief, The contriver of this outrage,
I will keep you, I will hold you, As a hostage for your people,
As a pledge of good behavior!"
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!
Summer passed, and Shawondasee Breathed his sighs o'er all the
landscape, From the South-land sent his ardor, Wafted kisses warm
and tender; And the maize-field grew and ripened, Till it stood
in all the splendor Of its garments green and yellow, Of its
tassels and its plumage, And the maize-ears full and shining
Gleamed from bursting sheaths of verdure.
Then Nokomis, the old woman, Spake, and said to Minnehaha:
`T is the Moon when, leaves are falling; All the wild rice has
been gathered, And the maize is ripe and ready; Let us gather in
the harvest, Let us wrestle with Mondamin, Strip him of his
plumes and tassels, Of his garments green and yellow!"
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.
On the border of the forest, Underneath the fragrant pine-trees,
Sat the old men and the warriors Smoking in the pleasant shadow.
In uninterrupted silence Looked they at the gamesome labor Of the
young men and the women; Listened to their noisy talking, To
their laughter and their singing, Heard them chattering like the
magpies, Heard them laughing like the blue-jays, Heard them
singing like the robins.
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.
And whene'er a youth or maiden Found a crooked ear in husking,
Found a maize-ear in the husking Blighted, mildewed, or
misshapen, Then they laughed and sang together, Crept and limped
about the cornfields, Mimicked in their gait and gestures Some
old man, bent almost double, Singing singly or together:
"Wagemin, the thief of cornfields! Paimosaid, who steals the
maize-ear!"
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-Writing
In 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!
"On the grave-posts of our fathers Are no signs, no figures
painted; Who are in those graves we know not, Only know they are
our fathers. Of what kith they are and kindred, From what old,
ancestral Totem, Be it Eagle, Bear, or Beaver, They descended,
this we know not, Only know they are our fathers.
"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.
From his pouch he took his colors, Took his paints of different
colors, On the smooth bark of a birch-tree Painted many shapes
and figures, Wonderful and mystic figures, And each figure had a
meaning, Each some word or thought suggested.
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.
Gitche Manito the Mighty, He the dreadful Spirit of Evil, As a
serpent was depicted, As Kenabeek, the great serpent. Very
crafty, very cunning, Is the creeping Spirit of Evil, 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.
For the earth he drew a straight line, For the sky a bow above
it; White the space between for daytime, Filled with little stars
for night-time; On the left a point for sunrise, On the right a
point for sunset, On the top a point for noontide, And for rain
and cloudy weather Waving lines descending from it. Footprints
pointing towards a wigwam Were a sign of invitation, Were a sign
of guests assembling; Bloody hands with palms uplifted Were a
symbol of destruction, Were a hostile sign and symbol.
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 they painted on the grave-posts On the graves yet
unforgotten, Each his own ancestral Totem, Each the symbol of his
household; Figures of the Bear and Reindeer, Of the Turtle,
Crane, and Beaver, Each inverted as a token That the owner was
departed, That the chief who bore the symbol Lay beneath in dust
and ashes.
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.
The Great Spirit, the Creator, Flashing light through all the
heaven; The Great Serpent, the Kenabeek, With his bloody crest
erected, Creeping, looking into heaven; In the sky the sun, that
listens, And the moon eclipsed and dying; Owl and eagle, crane
and hen-hawk, And the cormorant, bird of magic; Headless men,
that walk the heavens, Bodies lying pierced with arrows, Bloody
hands of death uplifted, Flags on graves, and great war-captains
Grasping both the earth and heaven!
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.
Nor forgotten was the Love-Song, The most subtle of all
medicines, The most potent spell of magic, Dangerous more than
war or hunting! Thus the Love-Song was recorded, Symbol and
interpretation.
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 figure seated, singing, Playing on a drum of magic, And
the interpretation, "Listen! `T Is my voice you hear, my
singing!"
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!"
Then two figures, man and woman, Standing hand in hand together
With their hands so clasped together That they seemed in one
united, And the words thus represented Are, "I see your heart
within you, And your cheeks are red with blushes!"
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!"
Then the figure of the maiden Sleeping, and the lover near her,
Whispering to her in her slumbers, Saying, "Though you were far
from me In the land of Sleep and Silence, Still the voice of love
would reach you!"
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!"
Thus it was that Hiawatha, In his wisdom, taught the people All
the mysteries of painting, All the art of Picture-Writing, On the
smooth bark of the birch-tree, On the white skin of the reindeer,
On the grave-posts of the village.
Chapter XV
Hiawatha's Lamentation
In 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.
Hiawatha, wise and wary, Often said to Chibiabos, "O my brother!
do not leave me, Lest the Evil Spirits harm you!" Chibiabos,
young and heedless, Laughing shook his coal-black tresses,
Answered ever sweet and childlike, "Do not fear for me, O
brother! Harm and evil come not near me!"
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.
Right across the Big-Sea-Water Sprang with speed the deer before
him. With the wind and snow he followed, O'er the treacherous ice
he followed, Wild with all the fierce commotion And the rapture
of the hunting.
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.
From the headlands Hiawatha Sent forth such a wail of anguish,
Such a fearful lamentation, That the bison paused to listen, And
the wolves howled from the prairies, And the thunder in the
distance Starting answered "Baim-wawa!"
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:
"He is dead, the sweet musician! He the sweetest of all singers!
He has gone from us forever, He has moved a little nearer To the
Master of all music, To the Master of all singing! O my brother,
Chibiabos!"
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.
Came the Spring, and all the forest Looked in vain for Chibiabos;
Sighed the rivulet, Sebowisha, Sighed the rushes in the meadow.
From the tree-tops sang the bluebird, Sang the bluebird, the
Owaissa, "Chibiabos! Chibiabos! He is dead, the sweet
musician!"
From the wigwam sang the robin, Sang the robin, the Opechee,
"Chibiabos! Chibiabos! He is dead, the sweetest singer!"
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!"
Then the Medicine-men, the Medas, The magicians, the Wabenos, And
the Jossakeeds, the Prophets, Came to visit Hiawatha; Built a
Sacred Lodge beside him, To appease him, to console him, Walked
in silent, grave procession, Bearing each a pouch of healing,
Skin of beaver, lynx, or otter, Filled with magic roots and
simples, Filled with very potent medicines.
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.
There a magic drink they gave him, Made of Nahma-wusk, the
spearmint, And Wabeno-wusk, the yarrow, Roots of power, and herbs
of healing; Beat their drums, and shook their rattles; Chanted
singly and in chorus, Mystic songs like these, they chanted.
"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!"
"Hi-au-ha!" replied the chorus, "Wayha-way!" the mystic chorus.
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 !"
"Hi-au-ha!" replied the chorus, "Wayhaway!" the mystic chorus.
"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!"
"Hi-au-ha!" replied the chorus, "Way-ha-way!" the mystic chorus.
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.
Then they summoned Chibiabos From his grave beneath the waters,
From the sands of Gitche Gumee Summoned Hiawatha's brother. And
so mighty was the magic Of that cry and invocation, That he heard
it as he lay there Underneath the Big-Sea-Water; From the sand he
rose and listened, Heard the music and the singing, Came,
obedient to the summons, To the doorway of the wigwam, But to
enter they forbade him.
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.
From the village of his childhood, From the homes of those who
knew him, Passing silent through the forest, Like a smoke-wreath
wafted sideways, Slowly vanished Chibiabos! Where he passed, the
branches moved not, Where he trod, the grasses bent not, And the
fallen leaves of last year Made no sound beneath his footstep.
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.
On that journey, moving slowly, Many weary spirits saw he,
Panting under heavy burdens, Laden with war-clubs, bows and
arrows, Robes of fur, and pots and kettles, And with food that
friends had given For that solitary journey.
"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-Keewis
You 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.
Now, in search of new adventures, From his lodge went
Pau-Puk-Keewis, Came with speed into the village, Found the young
men all assembled In the lodge of old Iagoo, Listening to his
monstrous stories, To his wonderful adventures.
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.
"Once he leaped," said old Iagoo, "Once he leaped, and lo! above
him Bent the sky, as ice in rivers When the waters rise beneath
it; Twice he leaped, and lo! above him Cracked the sky, as ice in
rivers When the freshet is at highest! Thrice he leaped, and lo!
above him Broke the shattered sky asunder, And he disappeared
within it, And Ojeeg, the Fisher Weasel, With a bound went in
behind him!"
"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."
Then from out his pouch of wolf-skin Forth he drew, with solemn
manner, All the game of Bowl and Counters, Pugasaing, with
thirteen pieces. White on one side were they painted, And
vermilion on the other; Two Kenabeeks or great serpents, Two
Ininewug or wedge-men, One great war-club, Pugamaugun, And one
slender fish, the Keego, Four round pieces, Ozawabeeks, And three
Sheshebwug or ducklings. All were made of bone and painted, All
except the Ozawabeeks; These were brass, on one side burnished,
And were black upon the other.
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."
Then again he shook the pieces, Shook and jostled them together,
Threw them on the ground before him, Still exclaiming and
explaining: "White are both the great Kenabeeks, White the
Ininewug, the wedge-men, Red are all the other pieces; Five tens
and an 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.
"Many games," said old Iagoo, "Many games of skill and hazard
Have I seen in different nations, Have I played in different
countries. He who plays with old Iagoo Must have very nimble
fingers; Though you think yourself so skilful, I can beat you,
Pau-Puk-Keewis, I can even give you lessons In your game of Bowl
and Counters!"
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.
Said the lucky Pau-Puk-Keewis: "In my wigwam I am lonely, In my
wanderings and adventures I have need of a companion, Fain would
have a Meshinauwa, An attendant and pipe-bearer. I will venture
all these winnings, All these garments heaped about me, All this
wampum, all these feathers, On a single throw will venture All
against the young man yonder!" `T was a youth of sixteen summers,
`T was a nephew of Iagoo; Face-in-a-Mist, the people called 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.
Seized the wooden bowl the old man, Closely in his bony fingers
Clutched the fatal bowl, Onagon, Shook it fiercely and with fury,
Made the pieces ring together As he threw them down before him.
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!
Then the smiling Pau-Puk-Keewis Shook the bowl and threw the
pieces; Lightly in the air he tossed them, And they fell about
him scattered; Dark and bright the Ozawabeeks, Red and white the
other pieces, And upright among the others One Ininewug was
standing, Even as crafty Pau-Puk-Keewis Stood alone among the
players, Saying, "Five tens! mine the game is,"
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.
"Carry them," said Pau-Puk-Keewis, Pointing with his fan of
feathers, "To my wigwam far to eastward, On the dunes of Nagow
Wudjoo!"
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.
Silent was it and deserted; No one met him at the doorway, No one
came to bid him welcome; But the birds were singing round it, In
and out and round the doorway, Hopping, singing, fluttering,
feeding, And aloft upon the ridge-pole Kahgahgee, the King of
Ravens, Sat with fiery eyes, and, screaming, Flapped his wings at
Pau-Puk-Keewis.
"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!"
By the neck he seized the raven, Whirled it round him like a
rattle, Like a medicine-pouch he shook it, Strangled Kahgahgee,
the raven, From the ridge-pole of the wigwam Left its lifeless
body hanging, As an insult to its master, As a taunt to Hiawatha.
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 departed Pau-Puk-Keewis, Whistling, singing through the
forest, Whistling gayly to the squirrels, Who from hollow boughs
above him Dropped their acorn-shells upon him, Singing gayly to
the wood birds, Who from out the leafy darkness Answered with a
song as merry.
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.
Stretched upon his back he lay there; Far below him splashed the
waters, Plashed and washed the dreamy waters; Far above him swam
the heavens, Swam the dizzy, dreamy heavens; Round him hovered,
fluttered, rustled Hiawatha's mountain chickens, Flock-wise swept
and wheeled about him, Almost brushed him with their pinions.
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.
Hard his breath came through his nostrils, Through his teeth he
buzzed and muttered Words of anger and resentment, Hot and
humming, like a hornet. "I will slay this Pau-Puk-Keewis, Slay
this mischief-maker!" said he. "Not so long and wide the world
is, Not so rude and rough the way is, That my wrath shall not
attain him, That my vengeance shall not reach him!"
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.
From the lowlands far beneath them, From the Muskoday, the
meadow, Pau-Puk-Keewis, turning backward, Made a gesture of
defiance, Made a gesture of derision; And aloud cried Hiawatha,
From the summit of the mountains: "Not so long and wide the world
is, Not so rude and rough the way is, But my wrath shall overtake
you, And my vengeance shall attain you!"
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, On the dam of trunks and
branches, Through whose chinks the water spouted, O'er whose
summit flowed the streamlet. From the bottom rose the beaver,
Looked with two great eyes of wonder, Eyes that seemed to ask a
question, At the stranger, Pau-Puk-Keewis.
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:
"O my friend Ahmeek, the beaver, Cool and pleasant Is the water;
Let me dive into the water, Let me rest there in your lodges;
Change me, too, into a beaver!"
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.
On the dam stood Pau-Puk-Keewis, O'er his ankles flowed the
streamlet, Spouted through the chinks below him, Dashed upon the
stones beneath him, Spread serene and calm before him, And the
sunshine and the shadows Fell in flecks and gleams upon him, Fell
in little shining patches, Through the waving, rustling branches.
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.
To the beavers Pau-Puk-Keewis Spake entreating, said in this
wise: "Very pleasant Is your dwelling, O my friends! and safe
from danger; Can you not, with all your cunning, All your wisdom
and contrivance, Change me, too, into a beaver?"
"Yes!" replied Ahmeek, the beaver, He the King of all the
beavers, "Let yourself slide down among us, Down into the
tranquil water."
Down into the pond among them Silently sank Pau-Puk-Keewis; Black
became his shirt of deer-skin, Black his moccasins and leggings,
In a broad black tail behind him Spread his fox-tails and his
fringes; He was changed into a beaver.
"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."
Thus into the clear, brown water Silently sank Pau-Puk-Keewis:
Found the bottom covered over With the trunks of trees and
branches, Hoards of food against the winter, Piles and heaps
against the famine; Found the lodge with arching doorway, Leading
into spacious chambers.
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."
But not long had Pau-Puk-Keewis Sat in state among the beavers,
When there came a voice, of warning From the watchman at his
station In the water-flags and lilies, Saying, "Here Is Hiawatha!
Hiawatha with his hunters!"
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.
On the lodge's roof the hunters Leaped, and broke it all asunder;
Streamed the sunshine through the crevice, Sprang the beavers
through the doorway, Hid themselves in deeper water, In the
channel of the streamlet; But the mighty Pau-Puk-Keewis Could not
pass beneath the doorway; He was puffed with pride and feeding,
He was swollen like a bladder.
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.
Six tall hunters, lithe and limber, Bore him home on poles and
branches, Bore the body of the beaver; But the ghost, the Jeebi
in him, Thought and felt as Pau-Puk-Keewis, Still lived on as
Pau-Puk-Keewis.
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.
But the wary Hiawatha Saw the figure ere it vanished, Saw the
form of Pau-Puk-Keewis Glide into the soft blue shadow Of the
pine-trees of the forest; Toward the squares of white beyond it,
Toward an opening in the forest. Like a wind it rushed and
panted, Bending all the boughs before it, And behind it, as the
rain comes, Came the steps of Hiawatha.
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.
"Pishnekuh!" cried Pau-Puk-Keewis, "Pishnekuh! my brothers!" said
he, "Change me to a brant with plumage, With a shining neck and
feathers, Make me large, and make me larger, Ten times larger
than the others."
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.
Up they rose with cry and clamor, With a whir and beat of
pinions, Rose up from the reedy Islands, From the water-flags and
lilies. And they said to Pau-Puk-Keewis: "In your flying, look
not downward, Take good heed and look not downward, Lest some
strange mischance should happen, Lest some great mishap befall
you!"
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.
On the morrow as they journeyed, Buoyed and lifted by the
South-wind, Wafted onward by the South-wind, Blowing fresh and
strong behind them, Rose a sound of human voices, Rose a clamor
from beneath them, From the lodges of a village, From the people
miles beneath them.
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.
Pau-Puk-Keewis heard the shouting, Knew the voice of Hiawatha,
Knew the outcry of Iagoo, And, forgetful of the warning, Drew his
neck in, and looked downward, And the wind that blew behind him
Caught his mighty fan of feathers, Sent him wheeling, whirling
downward!
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.
But his soul, his ghost, his shadow, Still survived as
Pau-Puk-Keewis, Took again the form and features Of the handsome
Yenadizze, And again went rushing onward, Followed fast by
Hiawatha, Crying: "Not so wide the world is, Not so long and
rough the way Is, But my wrath shall overtake you, But my
vengeance shall attain you!"
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.
With his right hand Hiawatha Smote amain the hollow oak-tree,
Rent it into shreds and splinters, Left it lying there in
fragments. But in vain; for Pau-Puk-Keewis, Once again in human
figure, Full in sight ran on before him, Sped away in gust and
whirlwind, On the shores of Gitche Gumee, Westward by the
Big-Sea-Water, Came unto the rocky headlands, To the Pictured
Rocks of sandstone, Looking over lake and landscape.
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.
There without stood Hiawatha, Found the doorways closed against
him, With his mittens, Minjekahwun, Smote great caverns in the
sandstone, Cried aloud in tones of thunder, "Open! I am
Hiawatha!" But the Old Man of the Mountain Opened not, and made
no answer From the silent crags of sandstone, From the gloomy
rock abysses.
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.
Then Waywassimo, the lightning, Smote the doorways of the
caverns, With his war-club smote the doorways, Smote the jutting
crags of sandstone, And the thunder, Annemeekee, Shouted down
into the caverns, Saying, "Where is Pau-Puk-Keewis!" And the
crags fell, and beneath them Dead among the rocky ruins Lay the
cunning Pau-Puk-Keewis, Lay the handsome Yenadizze, Slain in his
own human figure.
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.
Then the noble Hiawatha Took his soul, his ghost, his shadow,
Spake and said: "O Pau-Puk-Keewis, Never more in human figure
Shall you search for new adventures' Never more with jest and
laughter Dance the dust and leaves in whirlwinds; But above there
in the heavens You shall soar and sail in circles; I will change
you to an eagle, To Keneu, the great war-eagle, Chief of all the
fowls with feathers, Chief of Hiawatha's chickens."
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 Kwasind
Far 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!
So the angry Little People All conspired against the Strong Man,
All conspired to murder Kwasind, Yes, to rid the world of
Kwasind, The audacious, overbearing, Heartless, haughty,
dangerous Kwasind!
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.
Even there the only weapon That could wound him, that could slay
him, Was the seed-cone of the pine-tree, Was the blue cone of the
fir-tree. This was Kwasind's fatal secret, Known to no man among
mortals; But the cunning Little People, The Puk-Wudjies, knew the
secret, Knew the only way to kill 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.
`T was an afternoon in Summer; Very hot and still the air was,
Very smooth the gliding river, Motionless the sleeping shadows:
Insects glistened in the sunshine, Insects skated on the water,
Filled the drowsy air with buzzing, With a far resounding
war-cry.
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.
From the overhanging branches, From the tassels of the
birch-trees, Soft the Spirit of Sleep descended; By his airy
hosts surrounded, His invisible attendants, Came the Spirit of
Sleep, Nepahwin; Like a burnished Dush-kwo-ne-she, Like a
dragon-fly, he hovered O'er the drowsy head of Kwasind.
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.
At the first blow of their war-clubs, Fell a drowsiness on
Kwasind; At the second blow they smote him, Motionless his paddle
rested; At the third, before his vision Reeled the landscape Into
darkness, Very sound asleep was Kwasind.
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.
There they stood, all armed and waiting, Hurled the pine-cones
down upon him, Struck him on his brawny shoulders, On his crown
defenceless struck him. "Death to Kwasind!" was the sudden
War-cry of the Little People.
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.
But the memory of the Strong Man Lingered long among the people,
And whenever through the forest Raged and roared the wintry
tempest, And the branches, tossed and troubled, Creaked and
groaned and split asunder, "Kwasind!" cried they; "that is
Kwasind! He is gathering in his fire-wood!"
Chapter XIX
The Ghosts
Never 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.
So disasters come not singly; But as if they watched and waited,
Scanning one another's motions, When the first descends, the
others Follow, follow, gathering flock-wise Round their victim,
sick and wounded, First a shadow, then a sorrow, Till the air is
dark with anguish.
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.
One dark evening, after sundown, In her wigwam Laughing Water Sat
with old Nokomis, waiting For the steps of Hiawatha Homeward from
the hunt returning.
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.
Then the curtain of the doorway From without was slowly lifted;
Brighter glowed the fire a moment, And a moment swerved the
smoke-wreath, As two women entered softly, Passed the doorway
uninvited, Without word of salutation, Without sign of
recognition, Sat down in the farthest corner, Crouching low among
the shadows.
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.
Was it the wind above the smoke-flue, Muttering down into the
wigwam? Was it the owl, the Koko-koho, Hooting from the dismal
forest? Sure a voice said in the silence: "These are corpses clad
in garments, These are ghosts that come to haunt you, From the
kingdom of Ponemah, From the land of the Hereafter!"
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.
Then he turned and saw the strangers, Cowering, crouching with
the shadows; Said within himself, "Who are they? What strange
guests has Minnehaha?" But he questioned not the strangers, Only
spake to bid them welcome To his lodge, his food, his fireside.
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.
Not a word spake Hiawatha, Not a motion made Nokomis, Not a
gesture Laughing Water; Not a change came o'er their features;
Only Minnehaha softly Whispered, saying, "They are famished; Let
them do what best delights them; Let them eat, for they are
famished."
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.
And whenever Hiawatha Came from fishing or from hunting, When the
evening meal was ready, And the food had been divided, Gliding
from their darksome corner, Came the pallid guests, the
strangers, Seized upon the choicest portions Set aside for
Laughing Water, And without rebuke or question Flitted back among
the shadows.
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.
Once at midnight Hiawatha, Ever wakeful, ever watchful, In the
wigwam, dimly lighted By the brands that still were burning, By
the glimmering, flickering firelight Heard a sighing, oft
repeated,
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.
And he said: "O guests! why is it That your hearts are so
afflicted, That you sob so in the midnight? Has perchance the old
Nokomis, Has my wife, my Minnehaha, Wronged or grieved you by
unkindness, Failed in hospitable duties?"
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.
"Cries of grief and lamentation Reach us in the Blessed Islands;
Cries of anguish from the living, Calling back their friends
departed, Sadden us with useless sorrow. Therefore have we come
to try you; No one knows us, no one heeds us. We are but a burden
to you, And we see that the departed Have no place among the
living.
"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.
"Do not lay such heavy burdens In the graves of those you bury,
Not such weight of furs and wampum, Not such weight of pots and
kettles, For the spirits faint beneath them. Only give them food
to carry, Only give them fire to light them.
"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.
"Farewell, noble Hiawatha! We have put you to the trial, To the
proof have put your patience, By the insult of our presence, By
the outrage of our actions. We have found you great and noble.
Fail not in the greater trial, Faint not In the harder struggle."
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 long and dreary Winter! Oh the cold and cruel Winter! Ever
thicker, thicker, thicker Froze the ice on lake and river, Ever
deeper, deeper, deeper Fell the snow o'er all the landscape, Fell
the covering snow, and drifted Through the forest, round the
village. Hardly from his buried wigwam Could the hunter force a
passage; With his mittens and his snow-shoes Vainly walked he
through the forest, Sought for bird or beast and found none, Saw
no track of deer or rabbit, In the snow beheld no footprints, In
the ghastly, gleaming forest Fell, and could not rise from
weakness, Perished there from cold and hunger.
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!
All the earth was sick and famished; Hungry was the air around
them, Hungry was the sky above them, And the hungry stars in
heaven Like the eyes of wolves glared at them!
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 foremost said: "Behold me! I am Famine, Bukadawin!" And
the other said: "Behold me! I am Fever, Ahkosewin!"
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.
Forth into the empty forest Rushed the maddened Hiawatha; In his
heart was deadly sorrow, In his face a stony firmness; On his
brow the sweat of anguish Started, but it froze and fell not.
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.
"Gitche Manito, the Mighty!" Cried he with his face uplifted In
that bitter hour of anguish, "Give your children food, O father!
Give us food, or we must perish! Give me food for Minnehaha, For
my dying Minnehaha!"
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!"
All day long roved Hiawatha In that melancholy forest, Through
the shadow of whose thickets, In the pleasant days of Summer, Of
that ne'er forgotten Summer, He had brought his young wife
homeward From the land of the Dacotahs; When the birds sang in
the thickets, And the streamlets laughed and glistened, And the
air was full of fragrance, And the lovely Laughing Water Said
with voice that did not tremble, "I will follow you, my husband!"
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.
"Hark!" she said; "I hear a rushing, Hear a roaring and a
rushing, Hear the Falls of Minnehaha Calling to me from a
distance!" "No, my child!" said old Nokomis, "`T is the
night-wind in the pine-trees!" "Look!" she said; "I see my father
Standing lonely at his doorway, Beckoning to me from his wigwam
In the land of the Dacotahs!" "No, my child!" said old Nokomis.
"`T is the smoke, that waves and beckons!" "Ah!" said she, "the
eyes of Pauguk Glare upon me in the darkness, I can feel his icy
fingers Clasping mine amid the darkness! Hiawatha! Hiawatha!"
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!"
Over snow-fields waste and pathless, Under snow-encumbered
branches, Homeward hurried Hiawatha, Empty-handed, heavy-hearted,
Heard Nokomis moaning, wailing: "Wahonowin! Wahonowin! Would that
I had perished for you, Would that I were dead as you are!
Wahonowin!. Wahonowin!"
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.
Then he sat down, still and speechless, On the bed of Minnehaha,
At the feet of Laughing Water, At those willing feet, that never
More would lightly run to meet him, Never more would lightly
follow.
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.
Then they buried Minnehaha; In the snow a grave they made her In
the forest deep and darksome Underneath the moaning hemlocks;
Clothed her in her richest garments Wrapped her in her robes of
ermine, Covered her with snow, like ermine; Thus they buried
Minnehaha.
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,
Might not leave her in the darkness. "Farewell!" said he,
"Minnehaha! Farewell, O my Laughing Water! All my heart is buried
with you, All my thoughts go onward with you! Come not back again
to labor, Come not back again to suffer, Where the Famine and the
Fever Wear the heart and waste the body. Soon my task will be
completed, Soon your footsteps I shall follow To the Islands of
the Blessed, To the Kingdom of Ponemah, To the Land of the
Hereafter!"
Chapter XXI
The White Man's Foot
In 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.
All the coals were white with ashes, And the fire was slowly
dying, As a young man, walking lightly, At the open doorway
entered. Red with blood of youth his cheeks were, Soft his eyes,
as stars In Spring-time, Bound his forehead was with grasses;
Bound and plumed with scented grasses, On his lips a smile of
beauty, Filling all the lodge with sunshine, In his hand a bunch
of blossoms Filling all the lodge with sweetness.
"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."
From his pouch he drew his peace-pipe, Very old and strangely
fashioned; Made of red stone was the pipe-head, And the stem a
reed with feathers; Filled the pipe with bark of willow, Placed a
burning coal upon it, Gave it to his guest, the stranger, And
began to speak in this wise: "When I blow my breath about me,
When I breathe upon the landscape, Motionless are all the rivers,
Hard as stone becomes the water!"
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 hoary tresses," Said the old man darkly
frowning, "All the land with snow is covered; All the leaves from
all the branches Fall and fade and die and wither, For I breathe,
and lo! they are not. From the waters and the marshes, Rise the
wild goose and the heron, Fly away to distant regions, For I
speak, and lo! they are not. And where'er my footsteps wander,
All the wild beasts of the forest Hide themselves in holes and
caverns, And the earth becomes as flintstone!"
"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!"
While they spake, the night departed: From the distant realms of
Wabun, From his shining lodge of silver, Like a warrior robed and
painted, Came the sun, and said, "Behold me Gheezis, the great
sun, behold me!"
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.
And Segwun, the youthful stranger, More distinctly in the
daylight Saw the icy face before him; It was Peboan, the Winter!
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.
Thus it was that in the North-land After that unheard-of
coldness, That intolerable Winter, Came the Spring with all its
splendor, All its birds and all its blossoms, All its flowers and
leaves and grasses.
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.
In the thickets and the meadows Piped the bluebird, the Owaissa,
On the summit of the lodges Sang the robin, the Opechee, In the
covert of the pine-trees Cooed the pigeon, the Omemee; And the
sorrowing Hiawatha, Speechless in his infinite sorrow, Heard
their voices calling to him, Went forth from his gloomy doorway,
Stood and gazed into the heaven, Gazed upon the earth and waters.
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.
And the people of the village Listened to him as he told them Of
his marvellous adventures, Laughing answered him in this wise:
"Ugh! it is indeed Iagoo! No one else beholds such 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!"
O'er it, said he, o'er this water Came a great canoe with
pinions, A canoe with wings came flying, Bigger than a grove of
pine-trees, Taller than the tallest tree-tops! And the old men
and the women Looked and tittered at each other; "Kaw!" they
said, "we don't believe it!"
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!"
In it, said he, came a people, In the great canoe with pinions
Came, he said, a hundred warriors; Painted white were all their
faces And with hair their chins were covered! And the warriors
and the women Laughed and shouted in derision, Like the ravens on
the tree-tops, Like the crows upon the hemlocks. "Kaw!" they
said, "what lies you tell us! Do not think that we believe them!"
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.
"Gitche Manito, the Mighty, The Great Spirit, the Creator, Sends
them hither on his errand. Sends them to us with his message.
Wheresoe'er they move, before them Swarms the stinging fly, the
Ahmo, Swarms the bee, the honey-maker; Wheresoe'er they tread,
beneath them Springs a flower unknown among us, Springs the
White-man's Foot in blossom.
"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.
"I beheld, too, in that vision All the secrets of the future, Of
the distant days that shall be. I beheld the westward marches Of
the unknown, crowded nations. All the land was full of people,
Restless, struggling, toiling, striving, Speaking many tongues,
yet feeling But one heart-beat in their bosoms. In the woodlands
rang their axes, Smoked their towns in all the valleys, Over all
the lakes and rivers Rushed their great canoes of thunder.
"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 Departure
By 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.
From the brow of Hiawatha Gone was every trace of sorrow, As the
fog from off the water, As the mist from off the meadow. With a
smile of joy and triumph, With a look of exultation, As of one
who in a vision Sees what is to be, but is not, Stood and waited
Hiawatha.
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.
O'er the water floating, flying, Something in the hazy distance,
Something in the mists of morning, Loomed and lifted from the
water, Now seemed floating, now seemed flying, Coming nearer,
nearer, nearer.
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?
It was neither goose nor diver, Neither pelican nor heron, O'er
the water floating, flying, Through the shining mist of morning,
But a birch canoe with paddles, Rising, sinking on the water,
Dripping, flashing in the sunshine; And within it came a people
From the distant land of Wabun, From the farthest realms of
morning Came the Black-Robe chief, the Prophet, He the Priest of
Prayer, the Pale-face, With his guides and his companions.
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.
Then the joyous Hiawatha Cried aloud and spake in this wise:
"Beautiful is the sun, O strangers, When you come so far to see
us! All our town in peace awaits you, All our doors stand open
for you; You shall enter all our wigwams, For the heart's right
hand we give you.
"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.
"Never before had our tobacco Such a sweet and pleasant flavor,
Never the broad leaves of our cornfields Were so beautiful to
look on, As they seem to us this morning, When you come so far to
see us!'
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!"
Then the generous Hiawatha Led the strangers to his wigwam,
Seated them on skins of bison, Seated them on skins of ermine,
And the careful old Nokomis Brought them food in bowls of
basswood, Water brought in birchen dippers, And the calumet, the
peace-pipe, Filled and lighted for their smoking.
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!"
In a circle round the doorway, With their pipes they sat In
silence, Waiting to behold the strangers, Waiting to receive
their message; Till the Black-Robe chief, the Pale-face, From the
wigwam came to greet them, Stammering in his speech a little,
Speaking words yet unfamiliar; "It Is well," they said, "O
brother, 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.
And the chiefs made answer, saying: "We have listened to your
message, We have heard your words of wisdom, We will think on
what you tell us. It is well for us, O brothers, That you come so
far to see us!"
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.
Heavy with the heat and silence Grew the afternoon of Summer;
With a drowsy sound the forest Whispered round the sultry wigwam,
With a sound of sleep the water Rippled on the beach below it;
From the cornfields shrill and ceaseless Sang the grasshopper,
Pah-puk-keena; And the guests of Hiawatha, Weary with the heat of
Summer, Slumbered in the sultry wigwam.
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.
From his place rose Hiawatha, Bade farewell to old Nokomis, Spake
in whispers, spake in this wise, Did not wake the guests, that
slumbered.
"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!"
Forth into the village went he, Bade farewell to all the
warriors, Bade farewell to all the young men, Spake persuading,
spake in this wise:
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!"
On the shore stood Hiawatha, Turned and waved his hand at
parting; On the clear and luminous water Launched his birch canoe
for sailing, From the pebbles of the margin Shoved it forth into
the water; Whispered to it, "Westward! westward!" And with speed
it darted forward.
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 the people from the margin Watched him floating, rising,
sinking, Till the birch canoe seemed lifted High into that sea of
splendor, Till it sank into the vapors Like the new moon slowly,
slowly Sinking in the purple distance.
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!"
Thus departed Hiawatha, Hiawatha the Beloved, In the glory of the
sunset,. In the purple mists of evening, To the regions of the
home-wind, Of the Northwest-Wind, Keewaydin, To the Islands of
the Blessed, To the Kingdom of Ponemah, To the Land of the
Hereafter!
VOCABULARY
Adjidau'mo, the red squirrel
Ahdeek', the reindeer
Ahmeek', the beaver
Annemee'kee, the thunder
Apuk'wa. a bulrush
Baim-wa'wa, the sound of the thunder
Bemah'gut, the grape-vine
Chemaun', a birch canoe
Chetowaik', the plover
Chibia'bos, a musician; friend of Hiawatha; ruler of the Land
of Spirits
Dahin'da, the bull frog
Dush-kwo-ne'-she or Kwo-ne'-she, the dragon fly
Esa, shame upon you
Ewa-yea', lullaby
Gitche Gu'mee, The Big-Sea-Water, Lake Superior
Gitche Man'ito, the Great Spirit, the Master of Life
Gushkewau', the darkness
Hiawa'tha, the Prophet. the Teacher, son of Mudjekeewis, the
West-Wind and Wenonah, daughter of Nokomis
Ia'goo, a great boaster and story-teller
Inin'ewug, men, or pawns in the Game of the Bowl
Ishkoodah', fire, a comet
Jee'bi, a ghost, a spirit
Joss'akeed, a prophet
Kabibonok'ka, the North-Wind
Ka'go, do not
Kahgahgee', the raven
Kaw, no
Kaween', no indeed
Kayoshk', the sea-gull
Kee'go, a fish
Keeway'din, the Northwest wind, the Home-wind
Kena'beek, a serpent
Keneu', the great war-eagle
Keno'zha, the pickerel
Ko'ko-ko'ho, the owl
Kuntasoo', the Game of Plumstones
Kwa'sind, the Strong Man
Kwo-ne'-she, or Dush-kwo-ne'-she, the dragon-fly
Mahnahbe'zee, the swan
Mahng, the loon
Mahnomo'nee, wild rice
Ma'ma, the woodpecker
Me'da, a medicine-man
Meenah'ga, the blueberry
Megissog'won, the great Pearl-Feather, a magician, and the Manito
of Wealth
Meshinau'wa, a pipe-bearer
Minjekah'wun, Hiawatha's mittens
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
Minne-wa'wa, a pleasant sound, as of the wind in the trees
Mishe-Mo'kwa, the Great Bear
Mishe-Nah'ma, the Great Sturgeon
Miskodeed', the Spring-Beauty, the Claytonia Virginica
Monda'min, Indian corn
Moon of Bright Nights, April
Moon of Leaves, May
Moon of Strawberries, June
Moon of the Falling Leaves, September
Moon of Snow-shoes, November
Mudjekee'wis, the West-Wind; father of Hiawatha
Mudway-aush'ka, sound of waves on a shore
Mushkoda'sa, the grouse
Nah'ma, the sturgeon
Nah'ma-wusk, spearmint
Na'gow Wudj'oo, the Sand Dunes of Lake Superior
Nee-ba-naw'-baigs, water-spirits
Nenemoo'sha, sweetheart
Nepah'win, sleep
Noko'mis, a grandmother, mother of Wenonah
No'sa, my father
Nush'ka, look! look!
Odah'min, the strawberry
Okahha'wis, the fresh-water herring
Ome'mee, the pigeon
Ona'gon, a bowl
Opechee', the robin
Osse'o, Son of the Evening Star
Owais'sa, the blue-bird
Oweenee', wife of Osseo
Ozawa'beek, a round piece of brass or copper in the Game of the
Bowl
Pah-puk-kee'na, the grasshopper
Pau'guk, death
Pau-Puk-Kee'wis, the handsome Yenadizze, the son of Storm
Fool
Pe'boan, Winter
Pem'ican, meat of the deer or buffalo dried and pounded
Pezhekee', the bison
Pishnekuh', the brant
Pone'mah, hereafter
Puggawau'gun, a war-club
Puk-Wudj'ies, little wild men of the woods; pygmies
Sah-sah-je'wun, rapids
Segwun', Spring
Sha'da, the pelican
Shahbo'min, the gooseberry
Shah-shah, long ago
Shaugoda'ya, a coward
Shawgashee', the craw-fish
Shawonda'see, the South-Wind
Shaw-shaw, the swallow
Shesh'ebwug, ducks; pieces in the Game of the Bowl
Shin'gebis, the diver, or grebe
Showain'neme'shin, pity me
Shuh-shuh-gah', the blue heron
Soan-ge-ta'ha, strong-hearted
Subbeka'she, the spider
Sugge'me, the mosquito
To'tem, family coat-of-arms
Ugh, yes
Ugudwash', the sun-fish
Unktahee', the God of Water
Wabas'so, the rabbit, the North
Wabe'no, a magician, a juggler
Wabe'no-wusk, yarrow
Wa'bun, the East-Wind
Wa'bun An'nung, the Star of the East, the Morning Star
Wahono'win, a cry of lamentation
Wah-wah-tay'see, the fire-fly
Waubewy'on, a white skin wrapper
Wa'wa, the wild goose
Waw-be-wa'wa, the white goose
Wawonais'sa, the whippoorwill
Way-muk-kwa'na, the caterpillar
Weno'nah, the eldest daughter; Hiawatha's mother, daughter of
Nokomis
Yenadiz'ze, an idler and gambler; an Indian dandy