All alone stood Hiawatha, Dead he lay there in the sunset. Stripped his tattered plumage from him, Laid him in the earth, and made it Homeward then went Hiawatha ments 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 For they kept each other's counsel, How the tribes of men might pros- Most beloved by Hiawatha Showed them where the maize was Stately as a deer with antlers. When he sang, the village listened; All the warriors gathered round | He the mightiest among many: him, All the women came to hear him ; ioned Flutes so musical and mellow, And the squirrel, Adjidaumo, 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 Opechee, the robin, Joyous, said, "O Chibiabos, each me tones as sweet and tender, Teach me songs as full of gladness! And the whippoorwill, Wawonaissa, Sobbing, said, "O Chibiabos, All the hearts of men were softened Dear, too, unto Hiawatha | 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! 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, 1 Indian dude. 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!" All the trunks had Kwasind lifted, young men, 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, HIAWATHA'S SAILING.1 GIVE me of your bark, O Birch- Of your yellow bark, O Birch-Tree! Like a yellow leaf in Autumn, 'Lay aside your cloak, O Birch- Lay aside your white-skin wrapper, Thus aloud cried Hiawatha By the rushing Taqaumenaw, And the tree with all its branches With his knife the tree he girdled ; Just beneath its lowest branches, Just above the roots he cut it, 1 This beautiful description of the build ing of the canoe reminds one of Longfellow's more elaborate poem "The Build ing of the Ship." 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 framework, Like two bows he formed and shaped them, Like two bended bows together. Give me of your roots, O Tama- Of your fibrous roots, O Larch-Tree! Said, 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 bark together, Of your balsam and your resin, "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 Hedge hog! All your quills, O Kagh, the Hedgehog! I will make a necklace of them, 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 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, 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, To the water of Pauwating, VIII. HIAWATHA'S FISHING. FORTH upon the Gitche Gumee, water He could see the fishes swimming In his plumes the breeze of morning On the white sand of the bottom With his fins he fanned and winnowed, With his tail he swept the sandfloor. 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, In his birch canoe came sailing, "Take my bait," cried Hiawatha, Down into the depths beneath him, Take my bait, O Sturgeon, Nahma! |