By the shores of Gitche Gumee,By the shining Big-Sea-Water,10Stood 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;15Bright before it beat the water,Beat the clear and sunny water,Beat the shining Big-Sea-Water.There the wrinkled old NokomisNursed the little Hiawatha,Rocked him in his linden cradle,Bedded soft in moss and rushes,5Safely 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!10Who is this, that lights the wigwam?With his great eyes lights the wigwam?Ewa-yea! my little owlet!"Many things Nokomis taught himOf the stars that shine in heaven;15Showed 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 northward20In 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,5Heard the lapping of the water,Sounds of music, words of wonder;"Minne-wawa!" said the pine-trees,"Mudway-aushka!" said the water.Saw the fire-fly, Wah-wah-taysee,10Flitting through the dusk of evening,With the twinkle of its candleLighting up the brakes and bushes.And he sang the song of children,Sang the song Nokomis taught him:15"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,20Ere 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 her5Up into the sky at midnight;Right against the moon he threw her;'Tis her body that you see there."Saw the rainbow in the heaven,In the eastern sky the rainbow,10Whispered, "What is that, Nokomis?"And the good Nokomis answered:"'Tis the heaven of flowers you see there:All the wild-flowers of the forest,All the lilies of the prairie,15When 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;20"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 HiawathaLearned of every bird its language,Learned their names and all their secrets,5How 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,10Learned 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,15Talked with them whene'er he met them,Called them "Hiawatha's Brothers."
"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,5Build a swift Cheemaun for sailing,That shall float upon the river,Like a yellow leaf in autumn,Like a yellow water lily!"Lay aside your cloak, O Birch Tree!10Lay 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 Hiawatha15In the solitary forest,By the rushing Taquamenaw,When the birds were singing gaily,In the Moon of Leaves were singing,And the Sun, from sleep awaking,Started up and said, "Behold me!Geezis, the great Sun, behold me!"And the tree with all its branchesRustled in the breeze of morning,5Saying, 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,10Till 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.15"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 Cedar20Went 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.5"Give me of your roots, O Tamarack!Of your fibrous roots, O Larch Tree!My canoe to bind together,So to bind the ends togetherThat the water may not enter,10That the river may not wet me!"And the Larch with all its fibers,Shivered in the air of morning,Touched his forehead with its tassels,Said, with one long sigh of sorrow,15"Take them all, O Hiawatha!"From the earth he tore the fibers,Tore the tough roots of the Larch Tree,Closely sewed the bark together,Bound it closely to the framework.20"Give me of your balm, O Fir Tree!Of your balsam and your resin,So to close the seams togetherThat the water may not enter,That the river may not wet me!"And the Fir Tree, tall and somber,Sobbed through all its robes of darkness,Rattled like a shore with pebbles,5Answered wailing, answered weeping,"Take my balm, O Hiawatha!"And he took the tears of balsam,Took the resin of the Fir Tree,Seamed therewith each seam and fissure,10Made 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,15And two stars to deck her bosom!"From a hollow tree the HedgehogWith his sleepy eyes looked at him,Shot his shining quills, like arrows,Saying, with a drowsy murmur,20Through 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,5Round 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;10And 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;15And it floated on the riverLike a yellow leaf in autumn,Like a yellow water lily.Paddles none had Hiawatha,Paddles none he had or needed,20For 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.
Now the day is over,5Night is drawing nigh,Shadows of the eveningSteal across the sky.Now the darkness gathers,Stars begin to peep,Birds and beasts and flowersSoon will be asleep.Through the long night-watchesMay Thine angels spread10Their white wings above me,Watching round my bed.When the morning wakens,Then may I arisePure and fresh and sinless15In Thy holy eyes.
O, Columbia, the gem of the ocean,The home of the brave and the free,The shrine of each patriot's devotion,A world offers homage to thee;Thy mandates make heroes assemble,5When Liberty's form stands in view;Thy banners make tyranny tremble,When borne by the red, white, and blue,When borne by the red, white, and blue,When borne by the red, white, and blue,10Thy banners make tyranny tremble,When borne by the red, white, and blue.When war wing'd its wide desolation,And threaten'd the land to deform,The ark then of freedom's foundation,15Columbia rode safe thro' the storm:With the garlands of vict'ry around her,When so proudly she bore her brave crew,With her flag proudly floating before her,The boast of the red, white, and blue,The boast of the red, white, and blue,5The boast of the red, white, and blue,With her flag proudly floating before herThe boast of the red, white, and blue.The star-spangled banner bring hither,O'er Columbia's true sons let it wave;10May the wreaths they have won never wither,Nor its stars cease to shine on the brave.May the service united ne'er sever,But hold to their colors so true;The army and navy forever,15Three cheers for the red, white, and blue,Three cheers for the red, white, and blue,Three cheers for the red, white, and blue,The army and navy forever,Three cheers for the red, white, and blue.20
Get up, get up, for shame the blooming mornUpon her wings presents the gods unshorn.See how Aurora throws her fair,Fresh-quilted colors through the air;Get up, sweet slug-a-bed, and see5The dew-bespangled herb and tree.Each flower has wept, and bowed toward the EastAbove an hour since, yet you are not drest,Nay not so much as out of bed,When all the birds have matins said,10And sung their thankful hymns; 'tis sin,Nay, profanation to keep in,When as a thousand virgins on this daySpring sooner than the lark to fetch in May.Come, my Corinna, come, and coming, markHow each field turns a street—each street a park,Made green and trimmed with trees! see howDevotion gives each house a bough,Or branch! each porch, each door, ere this5An ark, a tabernacle is,Made up of whitethorn neatly interwove,As if he were those cooler shades of love.Can such delights be in the streetAnd open fields, and we not see't?10Come we'll abroad, and let's obeyThe proclamation made for May.And sin no more, as we have done, by staying,But, my Corinna! come, let's go a-Maying.
Here are sweet peas, on tiptoe for a flight:With wings of gentle flush o'er delicate white,And taper fingers catching at all things,To bind them all about with tiny rings.Linger awhile upon some bending planks5That lean against a streamlet's rushy banks,And watch intently Nature's gentle doings,They will be found softer than ringdove's cooings.How silent comes the water round that bend!Not the minutest whisper does it send10To the o'erhanging sallows: blades of grassSlowly across the chequer'd shadows pass.
I know the song that the bluebird is singing,Out in the apple-tree where he is swinging:Brave little fellow! the skies may be dreary:Nothing cares he while his heart is so cheery.Hark! how the music leaps out from his throat—5Hark! was there ever so merry a note?Listen awhile, and you'll hear what he's saying,Up in the apple-tree, swinging and swaying."Dear little blossoms, down under the snow,You must be weary of winter, I know;10Hark while I sing you a message of cheer—Summeris coming! andspring-timeis here!"Little white snowdrop! I pray you, arise;Bright yellow crocus! come, open your eyes;Sweet little violets, hid from the cold,5Put on your mantles of purple and gold:Daffodils! daffodils! say, do you hear?—Summeris coming! andspring-timeis here!"
Dark brown is the river,Golden is the sand,10It flows along forever,With trees on either hand.Green leaves a-floating,Castles of the foam,Boats of mine a-boating—Where will all come home?On goes the river5And out past the mill,Away down the valley,Away down the hill.Away down the river,A hundred miles or more,10Other little childrenShall bring my boats ashore.
When the arts in their infancy were,In a fable of old 'tis expressedA wise magpie constructed that rare15Little house for young birds, called a nest.This was talked of the whole country round;You might hear it on every bough sung;"Now no longer upon the rough groundWill fond mothers brood over their young:"For the magpie with exquisite skill5Has invented a moss-covered cellWithin which a whole family willIn the utmost security dwell."To her mate did each female bird say:"Let us fly to the magpie, my dear;10If she will but teach us the way,A nest we will build us up here."It's a thing that's close arched overhead,With a hole made to creep out and in;We, my bird, might make just such a bed15If we only knew how to begin."To the magpie soon all the birds went,And in modest terms made their request,That she would be pleased to consentTo teach them to build up a nest.She replied: "I will show you the way,So observe everything that I do:First, two sticks 'cross each other I lay—"5"To be sure," said the crow, "why I knew"It must be begun with two sticks,And I thought that they crossed should be."Said the pie, "Then some straw and moss mixIn the way you now see done by me."10"Oh, yes, certainly," said the jackdaw,"That must follow, of course, I have thought;Though I never before building saw,I guessed that without being taught.""More moss, more straw, and feathers, I place15In this manner," continued the pie."Yes, no doubt, madam, that is the case;Though no builder myself, so thought I."Whatever she taught them beside,In his turn every bird of them said,Though the nest-making art he ne'er tried,5He had just such a thought in his head.Still the pie went on showing her art,Till the nest she had built up halfway;She no more of her skill would impart,But in her anger went fluttering away.10And this speech in their hearing she made,As she perched o'er their heads on a tree:"If ye all were well skilled in my trade,Pray, why came ye to learn it of me?"
The rosy clouds float overhead,The sun is going down;And now the sandman's gentle treadComes stealing through the town."White sand, white sand," he softly cries,5And as he shakes his hand,Straightway there lies on babies' eyesHis gift of shining sand.Blue eyes, gray eyes, black eyes, and brown,As shuts the rose, they softly close, when he goes through the town,10From sunny beaches far away—Yes, in another land—He gathers up at break of dayHis store of shining sand.No tempests beat that shore remote,15No ships may sail that way;His little boat alone may floatWithin that lovely bay.Blue eyes, gray eyes, black eyes, and brown,As shuts the rose, they softly close, when he goes through the town.He smiles to see the eyelids close5Above the happy eyes;And every child right well he knows,—Oh, he is very wise!But if, as he goes through the land,A naughty baby cries, 10His other hand takes dull gray sandTo close the wakeful eyes.Blue eyes, gray eyes, black eyes, and brown,As shuts the rose, they softly close, when he goes through the town.So when you hear the sandman's song15Sound through the twilight sweet,Be sure you do not keep him longA-waiting on the street.Lie softly down, dear little head,Rest quiet, busy hands,Till, by your bed his good night said,He strews the shining sands.5Blue eyes, gray eyes, black eyes, and brown,As shuts the rose, they softly close, when he goes through the town.
A MIDSUMMER LEGEND
"And where have you been, my Mary,And where have you been from me?""I've been to the top of the Caldon-Low,10The midsummer night to see!""And what did you see, my Mary,All up on the Caldon-Low?""I saw the blithe sunshine come down,And I saw the merry winds blow."15"And what did you hear, my Mary,All up on the Caldon Hill?""I heard the drops the water made,And I heard the corn-ears fill.""Oh, tell me all, my Mary—5All, all that ever you know;For you must have seen the fairiesLast night on the Caldon-Low.""Then take me on your knee, mother,And listen, mother of mine:10A hundred fairies danced last night,And the harpers they were nine;"And merry was the glee of the harp-strings,And their dancing feet so small;But, oh! the sound of their talking15Was merrier far than all!""And what were the words, my Mary,That you did hear them say?""I'll tell you all, my mother,But let me have my way.20"And some they played with the water,And rolled it down the hill;'And this,' they said, 'shall speedily turnThe poor old miller's mill;"'For there has been no water5Ever since the first of May;And a busy man shall the miller beBy the dawning of the day!"'Oh, the miller, how he will laugh,When he sees the mill-dam rise!10The jolly old miller, how he will laughTill the tears fill both his eyes!'"And some they seized the little winds,That sounded over the hill,And each put a horn into his mouth,15And blew so sharp and shrill:"'And there,' said they, 'the merry winds goAway from every horn;And those shall clear the mildew dankFrom the blind old widow's corn:20"'Oh, the poor blind widow—Though she has been blind so long,She'll be merry enough when the mildew's gone,And the corn stands stiff and strong!'"And some they brought the brown linseed,5And flung it down from the Low:'And this,' said they, 'by the sunrise,In the weaver's croft shall grow!"'Oh, the poor lame weaver!How he will laugh outright10When he sees his dwindling flax-fieldAll full of flowers by night!'"And then up spoke a brownie,With a long beard on his chin:'I have spun up all the tow,' said he,15'And I want some more to spin."'I've spun a piece of hempen cloth,And I want to spin another—A little sheet for Mary's bed,And an apron for her mother.'"And with that I could not help but laugh,And I laughed out loud and free;And then on top of the Caldon-Low5There was no one left but me."And all on top of the Caldon-LowThe mists were cold and gray,And nothing I saw but the mossy stonesThat round about me lay.10"But, as I came down from the hill-top,I heard, afar below,How busy the jolly miller was,And how merry the wheel did go."And I peeped into the widow's field,15And sure enough were seenThe yellow ears of the mildewed cornAll standing stiff and green!"And down by the weaver's croft I stole,To see if the flax were high;But I saw the weaver at his gate,With the good news in his eye!"Now this is all I heard, mother,5And all that I did see;So, prithee, make my bed, mother,For I'm tired as I can be!"
"Call back your odors, lonely flowers,From the night-wind call them back;10And fold your leaves till the laughing hoursCome forth in the sunbeam's track."The lark lies couched in her grassy nest,And the honey-bee is gone,And all bright things are away to rest;15Why watch ye here alone?""Nay, let our shadowy beauty bloomWhen the stars give quiet light,And let us offer our faint perfumeOn the silent shrine of night."Call it not wasted, the scent we lend5To the breeze when no step is nigh:Oh! thus forever the earth should sendHer grateful breath on high!"And love us as emblems, night's dewy flowers,Of hopes unto sorrow given,10That spring through the gloom of the darkest hours,Looking alone to heaven."
From gold to grayOur mild, sweet dayOf Indian summer fades too soon;15But tenderlyAbove the seaHangs, white and calm, the hunter's moon.In its pale fireThe village spire5Shows like the zodiac's spectral lance;The painted wallsWhereon it fallsTransfigured stand in marble trance.
The leaves are fading and falling,10The winds are rough and wild,The birds have ceased their calling,But let me tell you, my child,Though day by day, as it closes,Doth darker and colder grow,15The roots of the bright red rosesWill keep alive in the snow.And when the winter is overThe boughs will get new leaves,The quail will come back to the clover,And the swallow back to the eaves.The robin will wear on his bosom5A vest that is bright and new,And the loveliest wayside blossomsWill shine with the sun and dew.The leaves to-day are whirling,The brooks are all dry and dumb,10But let me tell you, my darling,The spring will be sure to come.There must be rough, cold weather,And winds and rains so wild;Not all good things together15Come to us here, my child.So when some dear joy losesIts beauteous summer glow,Think how the roots of the rosesAre kept alive in the snow.20
He comes,—he comes,—the Frost Spirit comes! You may trace his footsteps nowOn the naked woods and the blasted fields and the brown hill's withered brow.He has smitten the leaves of the gray old trees where their pleasant green came forth,And the winds, which follow wherever he goes, have shaken them down to earth.He comes,—he comes,—the Frost Spirit comes!—from the frozen Labrador,—5From the icy bridge of the Northern seas, which the white bear wanders o'er,—Where the fisherman's sail is stiff with ice, and the luckless forms belowIn the sunless cold of the lingering night into marble statues grow!He comes,—he comes,—the Frost Spirit comes!—on the rushing Northern blast,And the dark Norwegian pines have bowed as his fearful breath went past.With an unscorched wing he has hurried on, where the fires of Hecla glowOn the darkly beautiful sky above and the ancient ice below.He comes,—he comes,—the Frost Spirit comes!—and the quiet lake shall feel5The torpid touch of his glazing breath, and ring to the skater's heel;And the streams which danced on the broken rocks, or sang to the leaning grass,Shall bow again to their winter chain, and in mournful silence pass.He comes,—he comes,—the Frost Spirit comes!—let us meet him as we may,And turn with the light of the parlor-fire his evil power away;And gather closer the circle round, when that firelight dances high,And laugh at the shriek of the baffled Fiend as his sounding wing goes by!
When cats run home and the light is comeAnd the dew is cold upon the ground,5And the far-off stream is dumb,And the whirring sail goes round,And the whirring sail goes round;Alone and warming his five wits,The white owl in the belfry sits.10
When merry milkmaids click the latch,And rarely smells the new-mown hay,And the cock hath sung beneath the thatchTwice or thrice his roundelay,Twice or thrice his roundelay;Alone and warming his five wits,The white owl in the belfry sits.5
Said the Wind to the Moon, "I will blow you out.You stareIn the airLike a ghost in a chair,Always looking what I am about;10I hate to be watched; I will blow you out."The Wind blew hard, and out went the Moon.So, deep,On a heapOf clouds, to sleep,Down lay the Wind, and slumbered soon—Muttering low, "I've done for that Moon."He turned in his bed; she was there again!5On highIn the sky,With her one ghost eye,The Moon shone white and alive and plain.Said the Wind—"I will blow you out again."10The Wind blew hard, and the Moon grew dim."With my sledgeAnd my wedgeI have knocked off her edge!If only I blow right fierce and grim,15The creature will soon be dimmer than dim."He blew and blew, and she thinned to a thread."One puffMore's enoughTo blow her to snuff!One good puff more where the last was bred,5And glimmer, glimmer, glum will go the thread!"He blew a great blast and the thread was gone;In the airNowhereWas a moonbeam bare;10Far off and harmless the shy stars shone;Sure and certain the Moon was gone!The Wind he took to his revels once more;On downIn town,15Like a merry mad clown,He leaped and hallooed with whistle and roar,"What's that?" The glimmering thread once more!He flew in a rage—he danced and blew;But in vainWas the painOf his bursting brain;5For still the broader the Moon-scrap grew,The broader he swelled his big cheeks and blew.Slowly she grew—till she filled the night,And shoneOn her throne10In the sky alone,A matchless, wonderful, silvery light,Radiant and lovely, the Queen of the Night.Said the Wind—"What a marvel of power am I!With my breath,15Good faith!I blew her to death—First blew her away right out of the sky—Then blew her in; what a strength am I!"But the Moon she knew nothing about the affair,For, highIn the sky,5With her one white eye,Motionless, miles above the air,She had never heard the great Wind blare.
We were crowded in the cabin,Not a soul would dare to sleep,—10It was midnight on the waters,And a storm was on the deep.'Tis a fearful thing in winterTo be shattered in the blast,And to hear the rattling trumpetThunder, "Cut away the mast!"So we shuddered there in silence,—For the stoutest held his breath,While the hungry sea was roaring,5And the breakers talked with Death.As thus we sat in darkness,Each one busy in his prayers,—"We are lost!" the captain shouted,As he staggered down the stairs.10But his little daughter whispered,As she took his icy hand,"Is not God upon the ocean,Just the same as on the land?"Then we kissed the little maiden,15And we spoke in better cheer;And we anchored safe in harborWhen the morn was shining clear.