Lay the cunning Pau-Puk-Keewis,
Lay the handsome Yenadizze,
Slain in his own human figure.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.
VER the waters clear and dark
Flew, like a startled bird, our bark.
All the day long with steady sweep
Sea-gulls followed us over the deep.
Weird and strange were the silent shores,
Rich with their wealth of buried ores;
Mighty the forests, old and gray,
With the secrets locked in their, hearts away;
Semblance of castle and arch and shrine
Towered aloft in the clear sunshine;
And we watched for the warder, stern and grim,
And the priest with his chanted prayer and hymn.
Over that wonderful northern sea,
As one who sails in a dream, sailed we,
Till, when the young moon soared on high,
Nothing was round us but sea and sky.
Far in the east the pale moon swung,
A crescent dim in the azure hung;
But the sun lay low in the glowing west,
With bars of purple across his breast.
The skies were aflame with the sunset glow,
The billows were all aflame below;
The far horizon seemed the gate
To some mystic world's enchanted state;
And all the air was a luminous mist,
Crimson and amber and amethyst.
Then silently into that fiery sea, -
Into the heart of the mystery,—
Three ships went sailing, one by one,
The fairest visions under the sun.
Like the flame in the heart of a ruby set
Were the sails that flew from each mast of jet;
While darkly against the burning sky
Streamer and pennant floated high.
Steadily, silently, on they pressed
Into the glowing, reddening west;
Until, on the far horizon's fold,
They slowly passed through its gate of gold.
You think, perhaps, they were nothing more
Than schooners laden with common ore?
Where Care clasped hands with grimy Toil, And the decks were stained with earthly moil?
Oh, beautiful ships, who sailed that night
Into the west from our yearning sight,
Full well I know that the freight ye bore
Was laden not for an earthly shore!
To some far realm ye were sailing on,
Where all we have lost shall yet be won;
Ye were bearing thither a world of dreams,
Bright as that sunset's golden gleams;
And hopes whose tremulous, rosy flush
Grew fairer still in the twilight hush.
Ye were bearing hence to that mystic sphere
Thoughts no mortal may utter here,
Songs that on earth may not be sung,
Words too holy for human tongue,
The golden deeds that we would have done,—
The fadeless wreaths that we would have won!
And hence it was that our souls with you
Traversed the measureless waste of blue,
Till you passed under the sunset gate,
And to us a voice said, softly, "Wait!
HIAWATHA'S DEPARTURE.
Y 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 through 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, Wah-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
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