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With a countenance paternal,
Looked with pride upon the beauty
Of his tall and graceful figure,
Saying, "O my Hiawatha!

Is there anything can harm you?
130.Anything you are afraid of?
But the wary Hiawatha
Paused awhile, as if uncertain,
Held his peace as if resolving,
And then answered, There is nothing,
Nothing but the bulrush yonder,
Nothing but the great Apukwa!"

And as Mudjekeewis, rising,
Stretched his hand to pluck the bulrush,
Hiawatha cried in terror,
140 Cried 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;
First of Hiawatha's brothers,
First of Wabun of the East-Wind,
Of the South-Wind, Shawondasse,
Of the North, Cabibonokka;
Then of Hiawatha's mother,
150. Of the beautiful Wenonah,

Of her birth upon the meadow,
Of her death, as old Nokomis,
Had remembered and related.

And he cried, "O Mudjekeewis,
It 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!"
60. And the mighty Mudjekeewis

Tossed upon the wind his tresses,
Bowed his hoary head in anguish
With a silent nod assented.

Then up started Hiawatha,

And with threatening look and gesture
Laid his hand upon the black rock,
On the fatal Wawbeek laid it,
With his mittens, Minjekahwun,
Rent the jutting crag asunder,

170. Smote 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.

But the ruler of the West-Wind

Blew the fragments backward from him,
With the breathing of his nostrils,
With the tempest of his anger,
Blew them back at his assailant:
180. Seized the bulrush, the Apukwa,

Dragged it with its roots and fibres
From the margin of the meadow,
From its ooze the giant bulrush ;
Long and loud laughed Hiawatha!
Then began the deadly conflict,
Hand to hand among the mountains;
From his eyrie screamed the eagle,
The Keneu, the great war-eagle;
Sat upon the crags around them."

40. Wheeling flapped his wings above them.

Like a tall tree in the tempest
Bent and lashed the giant bulrush ;
And in masses huge and heavy
Crashing feH the fatal Wawbeek:
Till the earth shook with the tumult
And confusion of the battle,
And the air was full of shoutings,
And the thunder of the mountains,
Starting, answered, "Baim-wawa!"

204. Back retreated Mudjekeewis,

Rushing westward o'er the mountains.
Stumbling westward down the mountains,
Three whole days retreated fighting,
Still pursued by Hiawatha

To the doorways of the West-Wind,

To the portals of the Sunset,

To the earth's remotest border,

Where into the empty spaces Sinks the sun, as a flamingo Drops into her nest at nightfall, In the melancholy marshes.

210.

"Hold!' at length cried Mudjekeewis,

"Hold, my son, my Hiawatha!

"Tis impossible to kill me,

For you cannot kill the immortal.

I have put you to this trial,

But to know and prove your courage;
Now receive the prize of valour!

"Go back to your home and people,

Liye among them, toil among them, 220.
Cleanse the earth from all that harms it,
Clear the fishing-grounds and rivers,
Slay all monsters and magicians,
All the Wendigoes, the giants,
All 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 Pauguk Glare upon you in the darkness,

1 will share my kingdom with you,
Ruler shall you be thenceforward
Of the Northwest-wind, Keewaydin,
Of the home-wind, the Keewaydin."
Thus was fought that famous battle
In the dreadful days of Shah-shah,
In the days long since departed.
In the kingdom of the West-Wind.
Still the hunter sees its traces,
Scattered far o'er hill and valley;
Sees the giant bulrush growing
By the ponds and water-courses,
Sees the masses of the Wawbeek
Lying still in every valley.

Homeward now went Hiawatha:

Pleasant was the landscape round him,
Pleasant was the air above him,

830.

240.

For the bitterness of anger

Had departed wholly from him,

From his brain the thought of vengeance,

250.

From his heart the burning fever.

Only once his pace he slackened,

Only once he paused or halted,
Paused to purchase heads of arrows
Of the ancient Arrow-maker,

In the land of the Dacotalis,
Where the Falls of Minnehaha

Flash and gleam among the oak-trees,
Laugh and leap into the valley.

There the ancient Arrow-Maker

Made his arrow-heads of sandstone,
Arrow-heads of chalcedony,
Arrow-heads of flint and jasper,
Smoothed and sharpened at the edges,
Hard and polished, keen and costly

With him dwelt his dark-eyed daughter, Wayward as the Minnehaka,

260.

With her moods of shade and sunshine, Eyes that smiled and frowned alternate, Feet as rapid as the river.

Tresses flowing like the water,

270.

And as musical a laughter:

And he named her from the river.

From the water-fall he named her, Minnehaha, Laughing Water.

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Fill the fiery brains of young men?
Who shall say what dreams of beauty
Filled the heart of Hiawatha?
All he told to old Nokomis,

When 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!

Long he looked at Hiawatha,
Looked with pity and compassion
On his wasted form and features,
And, in accents like the sighing
Of the South-Wind-in the tree-tops,
Said he, "O my Hiawatha!

70.

All your prayers are heard in heaven, For you pray not like the others,

Not for greater skill in hunting,

V.

HIAWATHA'S FASTING.

You shall near how Hiawatha
Prayed and fasted in the forest,
Not for greater skill in hunting,
Not for greater craft in fishing,
Not for triumphs in the battle,
And renown among the warriors,
But for profit of the people,
For advantage of the nations.

First he built a lodge for fasting, 10. Built a wigwam in the forest,

By the shining Big-Sea-Water,
In the bithe and plesant Spring-time,
In the Moon of Leaves he built it,
And, with dreams and visions many,
Seven whole days and nights he fasted.
On the first day of his fasting
Through the leafy woods he wandered;
Saw the deer start from the thicket,
Saw the rabbit in his burrow,

20 Heard the pheasant, Bena, drumming,
Heard the squirrel, Adjidaumo,
Rattling in his hoard of acorns,
Saw the pigeon, the Omeme,

Building nests among the pine-trees.
And in flocks the wild goose, Wawa,
Flying to the fen-lands northward,
Whirring, wailing far above him.

"Master of Life!" he cried, desponding,
"Must our lives depend on these things?"

30. On the next day of his fasting

By the river's bank he wandered,

Through the Muskoday, the meadow, Saw the wild rice, Mahnomonee, Saw the blueberry, Meenahga, And the strawberry, Odanmin, And the gooseberry, Shahbomin, And the grape-vine, the Bemahgut, Trailing o'er the âlder-branches, Filling all the air with fragrance! 40. "Master of Life!" he cried, desponding, "Must our lives depend on these things?" On the third day of his fasting By the lake he sat and pondered, By the still, transparent water; Saw the sturgeon, Nahma, leaping, Scattering drops like beads of wampum, Saw the yellow perch, the Sahwa, Like a sunbeam in the water. Saw the pike, the Maskenozha,

50. And the herring, Okahahwis,

And the Shawgashee, the craw-fish!

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Master of Life!" he cried, desponding.

Must our lives depend on these things?"
On the fourth day of his fasting

In his lodge he lay exhausted;
From his couch of leaves and branches

Gazing with half-open eyelids,

Full of shadowy dreams and visions,
On the dizzy, swimming landscape,

bo. On the gleaming of the water,
On the splendour of the sunset.

And he saw a youth approaching,
Dressed in garments green and yellow
Coming through the purple twilight,
Through the splendour of the sunset:
Plumes of green bent e'er his forehead,
And his half was soft and golden.

Standing at the open doorway,

Not for greater craft in fishing,

Not for triumph in the battle,

Nor renown among the warriors, But for profit of the people.

80

For advantage of the nations.

"From the Master of Life descending,

90.

I, the friend of man, Mondamin,
Come to warn you and instruct you,
How by struggle and by labour
You shall gain what you have prayed for.
Rise up from your bed of branches,
Rise, youth, and wrestle with me!"
Faint with famine, Hiawatha
Startled from his bed of branches,
From the twilight of his wigwam
Forth into the flush of sunset
Came, and wrestled with Mondamin:
At his touch he felt new courage
Throbbing in his brain and bosom,
Felt new life and hope and vigour
Run through every nerve and fibre.

So they wrestled there together
In the glory of the sunset,

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And the more they strove and struggled.
Stronger still grew Hiawatha:

Till the darkness fell around them,
And the heron, the Shuh-shuh-gah,
From her nest among the pine-trees,
Gave a cry of lamentation,
Gave a scream of pain and famine.

'Tis enough!" then said Mondamin, Smiling upon Hiawatha,

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Thrice they wrestled there together

In the glory of the sunset,

Till the darkness fell around them,
Till the heron, the Shuh-shuh-gah,
From her nest among the pine-trees,
Uttered her loud cry of famine.
And Mondamin paused to listen.
Tall and beautiful he stood there,
In his garments green and yellow;
To and fro his plumes above him
Wayed and nodded with his breathing,
And the sweat of the encounter
Stood like drops of dew upcy him.

And he cried, "O Hiawatha, Bravely have you wrestled with me, Thrice have wrestled stoutly with mic, And the Master of Life, who sees ps, He will give to you the triumph.

140.

Then he smiled, and said: To-morro 150.

Is the last day of your conflict,
Is the last day of your fasting.
You will conquer and o'ercome me;
Make a bed for me to lie in,

Where the rain may fall upon me,
Where the sun may come and warm me;
Strip these garments, green and yellow,
Strip this nodding plumage from me,
bo Lay me in the earth, and make it
Soft and loose and light above me.
"Let no hand disturb my slumber,
Let no weed nor worm molest me,
Let not Kahgahgee, the raven,
Come to haunt me and molest me,
Only come yourself to watch me,
Till I wake, and start, and quicken,
Till I leap into the sunshine."

And thus saying, he departed; 70. Peacefully slept Hiawatha,

But he heard the Wawonaissa,
Heard the whippoorwill complaining,
Perched upon his lonely wigwam;
Heard the rushing Sebowisha,
Heard the rivulet rippling near him,
Talking to the darksome forest;
Heard the sighing of the branches,
As they lifted and subsided

At the passing of the night-wind,

180 Heard them, as one hears in slumber
Far-off murmurs, dreamy whispers:
Peacefully slept Hiawatha.

On the morrow came Nokomis,
On the seventh day of his fasting,
Came with food for Hiawatha,
Came imploring and bewailng,
Lest his hunger should o'ercome him,
Lest his fasting should be fatal.

But he tasted not, and touched not,

(90. Only said to her, Nokomis,

Wait until the sun is setting,
Till the darkness falls around us,
Till the heron, the Shuh-shuh-gah,
Crying from the desolate marshes,
Tells us that the day is ended."

Homeward weeping went Nokomis,
Sorrowing for her Hiawatha,

Fearing lest his strength should fail him,
Lest his fasting should be fatal.
200. He meanwhile sat weary waiting
For the coming of Mondamin,

Till the shadows, pointing eastward,
Lengthened over field, and forest,
Till the sun dropped from the heaven,
Floating on the waters westward,
As a red leaf in the Autumn
Falls and floats upon the water,
Falls and sinks into its bosom.

And behold! the young Mondamin,
10. With his soft and shining tresses,
With his garments green and yellow
With his long and glossy plumage,
Stood and beckoned at the doorway,
And as one in slumber walking.
Pale and haggard, but undaunted,
From the wigwam Hiawatha

Came and wrestled with Mondamin.
Round about him spun the landscape,
Sky and forest reeled together,

20. And his strong heart leaped within him,
As the sturgeon leaps and struggles
In a net to break its meshes.

Like a ring of fire around him
Blazed and flared the red horizon,

And a hundred suns seemed looking
At the combat of the wrestlers.
Suddenly upon the greensward
All alone stood Hiawatha,
Panting with his wild exertion,
230. Palpitating with the struggle;

And before him, breathless, lifeless,
Lay the youth, with hair dishevelled,
Plumage torn, and garinents tattered,
Dead he lay there in the sunset.

And victorious Hiawatha
Made the grave as he commanded,
Stripped the garments from Mondamin,
Stripped his tattered plumage from him,
Laid him in the earth, and made it
Soft and loose and light above him;
And the heron, the Shuh-shuh-gah,
From the melancholy moor-lands,
Gave a cry of lamentation,
Gave a cry of pain and anguish!
Homeward then went Hiawatha
To the lodge of old Nokomis,
And the seven days of his fasting
Were accomplished and completed.
But the place was not forgotten
Where he wrestled with Mondamin;
Nor forgotten nor neglected

Was the grave where lay Mondamin,
Sleeping in the rain and sunshine,

Where his scattered plumes and garments
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
Stood the maize in all its beauty,
With its shining robes about it,
And its long, soft, yellow tresses!
And in rapture Hiawatha
Cried aloud, "Is it Mondamin!
Yes, the friend of man, Mondamin!"
Then he called to old Nokomis

And lagoo, the great boaster,

740.

250.

260.

270.

Showed them where the maize was growing, Told them of his wondrous vision,

Of his wrestling and his triumph,

Of this new gift to the nations,

Which should be their food for ever.

And still later, when the Autumn

Changed the long green leaves to yellow,

280.

And the soft and juicy kernels

Grew like wampum hard and yellow,
Then the ripened ears he gathered.
Stripped the withered husks from off them,
As he once had stripped the wrestler,
Gave the first Feast of Mondamin,
And made known unto the people
This new gift of the Great Spirit.

VI.

HIAWATHA'S FRIENDS.

Two good friends had Hiawatha,
Singled out from all the others,
Bound to him in closest union,
And to whom he gave the right hand
Of his heart, in joy and sorrow;
Chibiabos the musician,

And the very strong man, Kwasind.

Straight between them ran the pathway, Never grew the grass upon it;

Singing birds, that utter falsehoods,
Story-tellers, mischief-makers,
Found no eager ear to listen,

Could not breed ill-will between them,

For they kept each other's counsel,
Spake with naked hearts together,
Pondering much and much contriving
Now the tribes of men might prosper.
Most beloved by Hiawatha
Was the gentle Chibiabos,
He the best of all musicians,
He the sweetest of all singers.
Beautiful and childlike was he,
Brave as man is, soft as woman.

20.

Pliant as a wand of willow,
Stately as a deer with antlers,

When he sang, the village listened; All the warriors gathered round him, All the women caine to hear him: Now he stirred their souls to passion, 30. Now he melted them to pity.

40.

From the hollow reeds he fashioned
Flutes so musical and mellow,
That the brook, the Sebowisha,
Ceased to murmur in the woodland,
That the wood-birds ceased from singing,
And the squirrel, Adjidaumo,
Ceased his chatter in the oak-tree,
And the rabbit, the Wabasso,
Sat upright to look and listen.

Yes, the brook, the Sebowisha,
Pau-ing, said. "O Chibiabos,
Teach my waves to flow in music,
Softly as your words in singing!"

Yos, the blue bird, the Owaissa,
Envious, said, "O Chibiabos,
Teach me tones as wild and wayward,
Teach me songs as full of frenzy!"
Yes, the robin, the Opechee,
Joyous said, "O Chibiabos,

50. Teach me tones as sweet and tender,
Teach me songs as full of gladness!"
And the whipoorwill, Wawonaissa,
Sobbing, said, "O Chibiabos,
Teach me tonos as melancholy,
Teach me songs as full of sadness!"
All the many sounds of nature
Borrowed sweetness from his singing;
All the hearts of men were softened
By the pathos of his music:

60. For he sang of peace, and freedom,
Sang of beauty, love, and longing;
Sang of death, and life undying
In the Islands of the Blessed,
In the kingdom of Ponemah,
In the land of the Hereafter.
Very dear to Hiawatha

Was the gentle Chibiabos,
He the best of all musicians,
He the sweetest of all singers:
70. For his gentleness he loved him.
And the magic of his singing.

Dear, too, unto Hiawatha
Was the very strong man, Kwasind,
He the strongest of all mortals,
He the mightiest among many:
For his very strength he loved him,
For his strength allied to goodness.
Idle in his youth was Kwasind,
Very listless, dull, and dreamy,
8. Never played with other children,
Never fished and never hunted,
Nor like other children was he;
But they saw that much he fasted,
Mach his Manito entreated,
Much besought his Guardian Spirit.

Lazy Kwasind!" said his mother.
"In my work you never help me!
In the Summer you are roaming
Idly in the fields and forests;
4. In the Winter you are cowering

O'er the firebrands in the Wigwam! In the coldest days of Winter I must break the ice for fishing: With my nets you never help me! At the door my nets are hanging, Dripping, freezing with the water; Go and wring them, Yenadize! Go and dry them in the sunshine!" Slowly, from the ashes, Kwasind 100. 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 haunt you never help me;
Every how 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,
And forbidding further passage.

"We must go back," said the old man,
"O'er those logs we cannot clamber:
Not a woodchuck could get through them,
Not a squirrel clamber o'er them!"
And straightway his pipe he lighted,
And sat down to smoke and ponder.
But before his pipe was finished.
Lo! the path was cleared before him;
All the trunks had Kwasind lifted,
To the right hand, to the left hand,
Shot the pine-trees swift as arrows,
Hurled the cedars light us lances.
"Lazy Kwasind!" said the young men,
As they sported in the meadow;
"Why stand idly looking at us,
Leaning on the rock behind you?
Come and wrestle with the others,
Let us pitch the quoit together!"

Lazy Kwasind inade 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,

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Through the whirlpools chased the beaver, 160. Followed him among the islands,

Staid so long beneath the water,

That his terrifled companions

Cried. "Alas! good bye to Kwasind!
We shall never more see Kwasind!"
But he reappeared triumphant,
And won his shining shoulders
Brought the beaver, dead and dripping,
Brought the King of all the Beavers.
And these two, as I have told you,
Were the friends of Hiawatha,
Chibiabos, the musician,

And the very strong man, Kwesind.
Long they lived in peace together,
Spake with naked hearts together,
Pondering much and much contriving
How the tribes of men might prosper.

VII.

HIAWATHA'S SAILING.

"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!
In a light canoe will build me,
Baild a swift Cheemaun for sailing,

no.

10.

That shall float upon the river, Like a yellow leaf in Autumn, Like a yellow water-lily!

Lay aside your cloak, O Birch-Tree!
Lay 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 Hiawatha
In 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 branches
Rustled in the breeze of morning,
Saying, 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,
Till the sap came oozing outward;
30. 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
Want a sound, a cry of horror,

40. 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 Tamarack! Of your fibrous roots, O Larch-Treee! My canoe to bind together,

50. So to bind the ends together
That the water may not enter,
That the river may not wet me!"

And the Larch, with all its fibres,
Shivered in the air of morning,
Touched his forehead with its tassels,
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,
6. Closely sewed the bark together,
Bound it closely to the framework.

Give me of your balm, O Fir-Tree!
Of your balsami and your resin,
So to close the seams together
That the water may not enter,
That the river may not wet me!"

And the Fir-Tree, tall and sombre,
Sobbed through all its robes of darkness.
Rattled like a shore with pebbles,
70. Answered wailing, answered weeping,
Take my baim, O Hiawatha!"

And he took the tears of balsam,
Took the resin of the Fir-tree,
Sneared therewith each seam and fissure,
Made 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,
8. And two stars to deck her bosom!"

From a hollow tree the Hedgehog
With his sleepy eyes looked at him,
Shot his shining quills, like arrows,
Sying with a drowsy murnar,
Though the tangle of his whiskers,
Take my quills, O Hiawatha!"

From th ground the quills be 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 boom of the forest;
And 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;
And it floated on the river
Like a yellow leaf in Autum,
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,
Stood up to his waist in water,
To his arm-pits in the river,

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Swam and shouted in the river,

120.

Tugged at sunken logs and branches,

With his hands he scooped the sand-bars,

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.
Made a pathway for the people,

From its springs among the mountains,
To the waters of Pauwating,
To the bay of Taquamenaw.

VIII.

HIAWATHA'S FISHING. FORTH upon the Gitche Gumee, On the shining Big-Sea Water, With his fishing-line of cedar, Of the twisted bark of cedar. Forth to catch the sturgeon Nahma, Nishe-Nahma, King of Fishes. In his birch-canoe exulting All alone went Hiawatha.

Through the clear transparent water
He could see the fishes swimming
Far down in the depths below him
See the yellow perch, the Sahwa,
Like a sunbeam in the water,
See the Shawgashee the craw-fish,
Like a spider on the bottom,
On the white and sandy bottom,

At the stern sat Hiawatha,
Wih his fishing-line of cedar;
In his plumes the breeze of morning
Played as in the hemlock branches;
On the bows, with tail erected,
Sat the squirrel, Ajidaumo:
In his fur the breeze of morning
Played as in the prairie grasses

On the white sand of the bottom
Lay the monster Mi he-Nalima,

130

20.

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