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"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 HiawathaSaid 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-stoneIs a neighbor's homely daughter,Like the starlight or the moonlightIs the handsomest of strangers!"Thus dissuading spake Nokomis,And my Hiawatha answeredOnly 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 DacotahsLives 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 strangerFrom 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 HiawathaTo 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 thunder,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 forest,'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 wigwamSat 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 southwardOn 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 warriorsCould 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 arrowsTo 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 woodlandsHiawatha stood before them.Straight the ancient Arrow-makerLooked 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 WaterHiawatha 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-skin dressed and whitened,With the Gods of the DacotahsDrawn and painted on its curtainsAnd so tall the doorway, hardlyHiawatha stooped to enter,Hardly touched his eagle-feathersAs he entered at the doorway.Then uprose the Laughing Water,From the ground fair MinnehahaLaid 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 basswood,Listened while the guest was speaking,Listened while her father answeredBut not once her lips she opened,Not a single word she uttered.Yes, as in a dream she listenedTo 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 plentyIn 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 OjibwaysAnd the tribes of the Dacotahs."Thus continued Hiawatha,And then added, speaking slowly,"That this peace may last foreverAnd 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-makerPaused 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 WaterSeemed 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 daughterOf 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 lonelyAt the doorway of his wigwam,Heard the Falls of MinnehahaCalling to them from the distance,Crying to them from afar off,"Fare thee well, O Minnehaha!"And the ancient Arrow-makerTurned 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 strangerWanders 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 slackenedTo the steps of Laughing Water.Over wide and rushing riversIn 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 doorwayWith the dry cones of the pine-tree.All the traveling winds went with them,O'er the meadow, through the forest;All the stars of night looked at them,Watched with sleepless eyes their slumber;From his ambush in the oak-treePeeped 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 sweetlySongs of happiness and heart's-ease;Sang the bluebird, the Owaissa,"Happy are you, Hiawatha,Having such a wife to love you!"Sang the Opechee, the robin,"Happy are you, Laughing Water,Having such a noble husband!"From the sky the sun benignantLooked 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 HiawathaTo the lodge of old NokomisBrought the moonlight, starlight, firelight,Brought the sunshine of his people,Minnehaha, Laughing Water,Handsomest of all the womenIn the land of the Dacotahs,In the land of handsome women.

YOU shall hear how Pau-Puk-Keewis,How the handsome YenadizzeDanced 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 marvelous 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 NokomisMade at Hiawatha's wedding;All the bowls were made of basswood,White and polished very smoothly,All the spoons of horn of bison,Black and polished very smoothly.She had sent through all the villageMessengers 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 smokingWith 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 maidensLoved 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,

HE BEGAN HIS MYSTIC DANCES—Page 204HE BEGAN HIS MYSTIC DANCES—Page 204

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 togetherSwept in eddies round about him.Then along the sandy marginOf the lake, the Big-Sea-Water,On he sped with frenzied gestures,Stamped upon the sand, and tossed itWildly in the air around him;Till the wind became a whirlwind,Till the sand was blown and siftedLike great snowdrifts o'er the landscape,Heaping all the shores with Sand Dunes,Sand Hills of the Nagow Wudjoo!Thus the merry Pau-Puk-KeewisDanced his Beggar's Dance to please them,And, returning, sat down laughingThere among the guests assembled,Sat and fanned himself serenelyWith 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 ChibiabosSang 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 fragranceOf 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 meLeap 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 branchesIn the pleasant Moon of Strawberries!"When thou art not pleased, beloved,Then my heart is sad and darkened,As the shining river darkensWhen the clouds drop shadows on it."When thou smilest, my beloved,Then my troubled heart is brightened,As in sunshine gleam the ripplesThat 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 smilingWhen thou art no longer near me!"I myself, myself! behold me!Blood of my beating heart, behold me!O awake, awake, beloved!Onaway! awake, beloved!"Thus the gentle ChibiabosSang his song of love and longingAnd Iagoo, the great boaster,He the marvelous 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 assembledLonged to hear his pleasant stories,His immeasurable falsehoods.Very boastful was Iagoo;Never heard he an adventureBut himself had met a greater;Never any deed of daringBut himself had done a bolder;Never any marvelous storyBut himself could tell a stranger.Would you listen to his boasting,Would you only give him credence,No one ever shot an arrowHalf so far and high as he had;Ever caught so many fishes,Ever killed so many reindeer,Ever trapped so many beavers!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 marvelous story-teller!Thus his name became a by-wordAnd a jest among the people;And whene'er a boastful hunterPraised 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 cradleOf the little Hiawatha,Carved its framework out of linden,Bound it strong with reindeer sinew;He it was who taught him laterHow 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 assembledAt my Hiawatha's weddingSat Iagoo, old and ugly,Sat the marvelous 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 adventuresOf Osseo, the Magician,From the Evening Star descended."

CAN it be the sun descendingO'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 EveningMelts and trembles through the purple,Hangs suspended in the twilight.No; it is a bead of wampumOn the robes of the Great Spirit,As he passes through the twilight,Walks in silence through the heavens.This with joy beheld IagooAnd 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 willful 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 himWas 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,I am happy with Osseo!'"Once to some great feast invited,Through the damp and dusk of eveningWalked 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 OsseoGazed intent, as if imploring,Often stopped and gazed imploringAt 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 manDoes not stumble in the pathway,Does not break his neck by falling!'And they laughed till all the forestRang with their unseemly laughter."On their pathway through the woodlandsLay 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 husbandsLaughed until the echoing forestRang with their unseemly laughter."But Osseo turned not from her,Walked with slower step beside her,Took her hand, as brown and witheredAs 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 upwardAt 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 kettlesShall 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 longerBear the dreary doom of labor,But be changed to birds, and glistenWith the beauty of the starlight,Painted with the dusky splendorsOf 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 WawonaissaSinging 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-topsForth into the dewy starlight,Till it passed the topmost branches;And behold! the wooden dishesAll were changed to shells of scarlet!And behold! the earthen kettlesAll were changed to bowls of silver!And the roof-poles of the wigwamWere as glittering rods of silver,And the roof of bark upon themAs 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,Pecked 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 utteredBy the oak-tree in the forest."Then returned her youth and beauty,And her soiled and tattered garmentsWere 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 splendorsOn the Evening Star alighted,As a snow-flake falls on snow-flake,As a leaf drops on a river,As the thistle-down on water."Forth with cheerful words of welcomeCame 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 gladlyListened 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 plumageChanged your sisters and their husbands;Changed them thus because they mocked youIn 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 twinklesThrough 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 himAre the power of his enchantment,Are the arrows that he uses.'"Many years, in peace and quiet,On the peaceful Star of EveningDwelt 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 feathersFor 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!'Twas no bird he saw before him,'Twas 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 sinkingDownward 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 descendingAll 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.

HE WAS HELD BY UNSEEN HANDS, BUT SINKING—Page 221HE WAS HELD BY UNSEEN HANDS, BUT SINKING—Page 221

"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 fisherSometimes 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 OsseoLet them learn the fate of jesters!"All the wedding guests delightedListened to the marvelous 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 lamentationFor 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 happyWith the night and Minnehaha.

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 Blessings 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 villageStood the maize-fields, green and shining,Waved the green plumes of Mondamin,Waved his soft and sunny tresses,Filling all the land with plenty.'Twas the women who in Springtime,Planted the broad fields and fruitful,Buried in the earth Mondamin;'Twas the women who in AutumnStripped 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 footstepsDraw 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-keenaNor the mighty caterpillar,Way-muk-kwana, with the bearskin,King of all the caterpillars!"On the tree-tops near the cornfieldsSat 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 descendedBroad 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 circleOf her footprints round the cornfields.No one but the Midnight onlySaw her beauty in the darkness,No one but the WawonaissaHeard the panting of her bosom;Guskewau, the darkness, wrapped herClosely 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 circlesLaughing Water draws around it,Spite of all the sacred footprintsMinnehaha stamps upon it!"But the wary Hiawatha,Ever thoughtful, careful, watchful,Had o'erheard the scornful laughterWhen 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 lessonThat shall not be soon forgotten!"He had risen before the daybreak,He had spread o'er all the cornfieldsSnares to catch the black marauders,And was lying now in ambushIn 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 imprisonedIn the snares of Hiawatha.From his place of ambush came he,Striding terrible among them,And so awful was his aspectThat the bravest quailed with terror,Without mercy he destroyed themRight and left, by tens and twenties,And their wretched, lifeless bodiesHung aloft on poles for scarecrowsRound 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 themAs 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-barkTo 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 sunshineOn 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 ShawondaseeBreathed his sighs o'er all the landscape,From the South-land sent his ardors,Wafted kisses warm and tender;And the maize-field grew and ripened,Till it stood in all the splendorOf its garments green and yellow,Of its tassels and its plumage,And the maize-ears full and shiningGleamed from bursting sheaths of verdure.Then Nokomis, the old woman,Spake, and said to Minnehaha:"'Tis 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 WaterWent 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 warriorsSmoking in the pleasant shadow.In uninterrupted silenceLooked they at the gamesome laborOf 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 maidenFound 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 respondedFrom their seats beneath the pine-trees.And whene'er a youth or maidenFound 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 cornfieldsMimicked in their gait and gesturesSome old man, bent almost double,Singing singly or together:"Wagemin, the thief of cornfields!Paimosaid, the skulking robber!"Till the cornfields rang with laughter,Till from Hiawatha's wigwamKahgahgee, the King of Ravens,Screamed and quivered in his anger,And from all the neighboring tree-topsCawed and croaked the black marauders."Ugh!" the old men all responded,From their seats beneath the pine-trees!

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