III.HIAWATHA'S CHILDHOOD.

I have given you streams to fish in."I have given you streams to fish in."

Then Kabibonokka entered,And though Shingebis, the diver,185Felt 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,190Only 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,195Making 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.200Till 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,205Stamped 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,210To come forth and wrestle nakedOn the frozen fens and moorlands.Forth went Shingebis, the diver,Wrestled all night with the North-Wind,Wrestled naked on the moorlands215With 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,220To the kingdom of Wabasso,To the land of the White Rabbit,Hearing still the gusty laughter,Hearing Shingebis, the diver,Singing, "O Kabibonokka,225You 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.230He it was who sent the wood-birds,Sent the Opechee, the robin,Sent the bluebird, the Owaissa,Sent the Shawshaw, sent the swallow,Sent the wild-goose, Wawa, northward,235Sent the melons and tobacco,And the grapes in purple clusters.From his pipe the smoke ascendingFilled the sky with haze and vapor,Filled the air with dreamy softness,240Gave a twinkle to the water.Touched the rugged hills with smoothness,Brought the tender Indian SummerTo the melancholy North-land,In the dreary Moon of Snow-shoes.245Listless, 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 prairie250He beheld a maiden standing,Saw a tall and slender maidenAll alone upon a prairie;Brightest green were all her garments,And her hair was like the sunshine.255Day by day he gazed upon her,Day by day he sighed with passion,Day by day his heart within himGrew more hot with love and longingFor the maid with yellow tresses.260But he was too fat and lazyTo bestir himself and woo her;Yes, too indolent and easyTo pursue her and persuade her.So he only gazed upon her,265Only sat and sighed with passionFor the maiden of the prairie.Till one morning, looking northward,He beheld her yellow tressesChanged and covered o'er with whiteness,270Covered 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,275You have laid your hand upon her,You have wooed and won my maiden,With your stories of the North-land!"Thus the wretched ShawondaseeBreathed into the air his sorrow;280And the South-Wind o'er the prairieWandered warm with sighs of passion,With the sighs of Shawondasee,Till the air seemed full of snow-flakes,Full of thistle-down the prairie,285And the maid with hair like sunshineVanished from his sight forever;Never more did ShawondaseeSee the maid with yellow tresses!Poor, deluded Shawondasee!290'T was no woman that you gazed at,'T was no maiden that you sighed for,'T was the prairie dandelionThat through all the dreamy SummerYou had gazed at with such longing,295You 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;300Thus the sons of MudjekeewisHad their stations in the heavens,At the corners of the heavens;For himself the West-Wind onlyKept the mighty Mudjekeewis.

Decorative image.

Downward through the evening twilight,In the days that are forgotten,In the unremembered ages,From the full moon fell Nokomis,5Fell 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,10Full of jealousy and hatred,Cut the leafy swing asunder,Cut in twain the twisted grape-vines,And Nokomis fell affrightedDownward through the evening twilight,15On 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,20There 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,25As the first-born of her daughters.And the daughter of NokomisGrew up like the prairie lilies,Grew a tall and slender maiden,With the beauty of the moonlight,30With the beauty of the starlight.And Nokomis warned her often,Saying oft, and oft repeating,"Oh, beware of Mudjekeewis,Of the West-Wind, Mudjekeewis;35Listen 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,40Heeded 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,45Found 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,50Bore 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,55In her anguish died desertedBy the West-Wind, false and faithless,By the heartless Mudjekeewis.For her daughter, long and loudlyWailed and wept the sad Nokomis;60"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,65By the shining Big-Sea-Water,Stood the wigwam of NokomisDaughter of the Moon, Nokomis.Dark behind it rose the forest,Rose the black and gloomy pine-trees,70Rose 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 Nokomis75Nursed 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,80"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?85Ewa-yea! my little owlet!"Many things Nokomis taught himOf the stars that shine in heaven;Showed him Ishkoodah, the comet,Ishkoodah, with fiery tresses;90Showed the Death-Dance of the spirits,Warriors with their plumes and war-clubsFlaring far away to northwardIn the frosty nights of Winter;Showed the broad white road in heaven,95Pathway of the ghosts, the shadows,Running straight across the heavens,Crowded with the ghosts, the shadows.At the door on summer eveningsSat the little Hiawatha;100Heard 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.105Saw the fire-fly, Wah-wah-taysee,Flitting through the dusk of evening,With the twinkle of its candleLighting up the brakes and bushes,And he sang the song of children,110Sang 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,115Ere upon my bed I lay me,Ere in sleep I close my eyelids!"Saw the moon rise from the waterRippling, rounding from the water,Saw the flecks and shadows on it,120Whispered, "What is that, Nokomis?"And the good Nokomis answered:"Once a warrior, very angry,Seized his grandmother, and threw herUp into the sky at midnight;125Right 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?"130And 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,135Blossom 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?"140And the good Nokomis answered:"That is but the owl and owlet,Talking in their native language,Talking, scolding at each other."Then the little Hiawatha145Learned 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,150Called 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,155How 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,160He 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,165From 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,170Where the red deer herd together,Kill for us a famous roebuck,Kill for us a deer with antlers!"Forth into the forest straightwayAll alone walked Hiawatha175Proudly, with his bow and arrows;And the birds sang round him, o'er him,"Do not shoot us, Hiawatha!"Sang the Opechee, the robin,Sang the bluebird, the Owaissa,180"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,185Laughed, and said between his laughing,"Do not shoot me, Hiawatha!"And the rabbit from his pathwayLeaped aside, and at a distanceSat erect upon his haunches,190Half 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;195On 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,200There 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,205Flecked 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.210Then, 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,215Stamped 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!220Dead he lay there in the forest,By the ford across the river;Beat his timid heart no longer,But the heart of HiawathaThrobbed and shouted and exulted,225As he bore the red deer homeward,And Iagoo and NokomisHailed his coming with applauses.From the red deer's hide NokomisMade a cloak for Hiawatha,230From the red deer's flesh NokomisMade a banquet in 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!

I have given you lands to hunt in."I have given you lands to hunt in."

Out of childhood into manhoodNow had grown my Hiawatha,Skilled in all the craft of hunters,Learned in all the lore of old men,5In 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,10That 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-string15Ere 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,20He 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,25At each stride a mile he measured!Much he questioned old NokomisOf his father Mudjekeewis;Learned from her the fatal secretOf the beauty of his mother,30Of 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,35See 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;40Dressed in deer-skin shirt and leggings,Richly wrought with quills and wampumOn his head his eagle-feathers,Round his waist his belt of wampum,In his hand his bow of ash-wood,45Strung with sinews of the reindeer;In his quiver oaken arrows,Tipped with jasper, winged with feathers;With his mittens, Minjekahwun,With his moccasins enchanted.50Warning 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,55Lest he kill you with his cunning!"But the fearless HiawathaHeeded not her woman's warning;Forth he strode into the forest,At each stride a mile he measured;60Lurid 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.65For 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;70Crossed 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,75Came unto the Rocky Mountains,To the kingdom of the West-Wind,Where upon the gusty summitsSat the ancient Mudjekeewis,Ruler of the winds of heaven.80Filled with awe was HiawathaAt the aspect of his father.On the air about him wildlyTossed and streamed his cloudy tresses,Gleamed like drifting snow his tresses,85Glared like Ishkoodah, the comet,Like the star with fiery tresses.Filled with joy was MudjekeewisWhen he looked on Hiawatha,Saw his youth rise up before him90In the face of Hiawatha,Saw the beauty of WenonahFrom the grave rise up before him."Welcome!" said he, "Hiawatha,To the kingdom of the West-Wind!95Long 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,100And the beautiful Wenonah!"Many days they talked together,Questioned, listened, waited, answered;Much the mighty MudjekeewisBoasted of his ancient prowess,105Of his perilous adventures,His indomitable courage,His invulnerable body.Patiently sat Hiawatha,Listening to his father's boasting;110With 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.115Then 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,120Answered, saying, "There is nothing,Nothing but the black rock yonder,Nothing but the fatal Wawbeek!"And he looked at HiawathaWith a wise look and benignant,125With a countenance paternal,Looked with pride upon the beautyOf his tall and graceful figure,Saying, "O my Hiawatha!Is there anything can harm you?130Anything you are afraid of?"But the wary HiawathaPaused awhile, as if uncertain,Held his peace, as if resolving,And then answered, "There is nothing,135Nothing but the bulrush yonder,Nothing but the great Apukwa!"And as Mudjekeewis, rising,Stretched his hand to pluck the bulrush,Hiawatha cried in terror,140Cried 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;145First 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,150Of the beautiful Wenonah,Of her birth upon the meadow,Of her death, as old NokomisHad remembered and related.And he cried, "O Mudjekeewis,155It 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!"160And the mighty MudjekeewisTossed his gray hairs to the West-Wind,Bowed his hoary head in anguish,With a silent nod assented.

He was dressed in deer-skin leggings."He was dressed in deer-skin leggings,Fringed with hedge-hog quills and ermine."

"He was dressed in deer-skin leggings,Fringed with hedge-hog quills and ermine."

Then up started Hiawatha,165And with threatening look and gestureLaid his hand upon the black rock,On the fatal Wawbeek laid it,With his mittens, Minjekahwun,Rent the jutting crag asunder,170Smote 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.175But the ruler of the West-WindBlew the fragments backward from him,With the breathing of his nostrils,With the tempest of his anger,Blew them back at his assailant;180Seized the bulrush, the Apukwa,Dragged it with its roots and fibresFrom the margin of the meadow,From its ooze, the giant bulrush;Long and loud laughed Hiawatha!185Then 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,190Wheeling flapped his wings above them.Like a tall tree in the tempestBent and lashed the giant bulrush;And in masses huge and heavyCrashing fell the fatal Wawbeek;195Till the earth shook with the tumultAnd confusion of the battle,And the air was full of shoutings,And the thunder of the mountains,Starting, answered, "Baim-wawa!"200Back retreated Mudjekeewis,Rushing westward o'er the mountains,Stumbling westward down the mountainsThree whole days retreated fighting,Still pursued by Hiawatha205To the doorways of the West-Wind,To the portals of the Sunset,To the earth's remotest border,Where into the empty spacesSinks the sun, as a flamingo210Drops 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,215For 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,220Live 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 giants, the Wendigoes,225All 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 Pauguk230Glare upon you in the darkness,I will share my kingdom with you,Ruler shall you be thenceforwardOf the Northwest-Wind, Keewaydin,Of the home-wind, the Keewaydin."235Thus was fought that famous battleIn the dreadful days of Shah-shah,In the days long since departed,In the kingdom of the West-Wind.Still the hunter sees its traces240Scattered far o'er hill and valley;Sees the giant bulrush growingBy the ponds and water-courses,Sees the masses of the WawbeekLying still in every valley.245Homeward now went Hiawatha;Pleasant was the landscape round him,Pleasant was the air above him,For the bitterness of angerHad departed wholly from him,250From 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 arrows255Of the ancient Arrow-maker,In the land of the Dacotahs,Where the Falls of MinnehahaFlash and gleam among the oak-trees,Laugh and leap into the valley.260There the ancient Arrow-makerMade his arrow-heads of sandstone,Arrow-heads of chalcedony,Arrow-heads of flint and jasper,Smoothed and sharpened at the edges,265Hard 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,270Feet 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,275Minnehaha, Laughing Water.Was it then for heads of arrows,Arrow-heads of chalcedony,Arrow-heads of flint and jasper,That my Hiawatha halted280In the land of the Dacotahs?Was it not to see the maiden,See the face of Laughing WaterPeeping from behind the curtain,Hear the rustling of her garments285From behind the waving curtain,As one sees the MinnehahaGleaming, glancing through the branches,As one hears the Laughing WaterFrom behind its screen of branches?290Who shall say what thoughts and visionsFill the fiery brains of young men?Who shall say what dreams of beautyFilled the heart of Hiawatha?All he told to old Nokomis,295When 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!

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