The Song of Hiawatha | Page 4

From the river came the warriors,
Clean and washed from all their
war-paint;
On the banks their clubs they buried,
Buried all their
warlike weapons.
Gitche Manito, the mighty,
The Great Spirit, the
creator,
Smiled upon his helpless children!
And in silence all the warriors
Broke the red stone of the quarry,

Smoothed and formed it into Peace-Pipes,
Broke the long reeds by
the river,
Decked them with their brightest feathers,
And departed
each one homeward,
While the Master of Life, ascending,
Through
the opening of cloud-curtains,
Through the doorways of the heaven,

Vanished from before their faces,
In the smoke that rolled around
him,
The Pukwana of the Peace-Pipe!
II
The Four Winds
"Honor be to Mudjekeewis!"
Cried the warriors, cried the old men,

When he came in triumph homeward
With the sacred Belt of
Wampum,
From the regions of the North-Wind,
From the kingdom
of Wabasso,
From the land of the White Rabbit.
He had stolen the Belt of Wampum
From the neck of Mishe-Mokwa,

From the Great Bear of the mountains,
From the terror of the
nations,
As he lay asleep and cumbrous
On the summit of the
mountains,
Like a rock with mosses on it,

Spotted brown and gray
with mosses.

Silently he stole upon him
Till the red nails of the monster
Almost
touched him, almost scared him,
Till the hot breath of his nostrils

Warmed the hands of Mudjekeewis,
As he drew the Belt of Wampum

Over the round ears, that heard not,
Over the small eyes, that saw
not,
Over the long nose and nostrils,
The black muffle of the
nostrils,
Out of which the heavy breathing
Warmed the hands of
Mudjekeewis.
Then he swung aloft his war-club,
Shouted loud and long his war-cry,

Smote the mighty Mishe-Mokwa
In the middle of the forehead,

Right between the eyes he smote him.
With the heavy blow bewildered,
Rose the Great Bear of the
mountains;
But his knees beneath him trembled,
And he whimpered
like a woman,
As he reeled and staggered forward,
As he sat upon
his haunches;
And the mighty Mudjekeewis,
Standing fearlessly
before him,
Taunted him in loud derision,
Spake disdainfully in this
wise:
"Hark you, Bear! you are a coward;
And no Brave, as you pretended;

Else you would not cry and whimper
Like a miserable woman!

Bear! you know our tribes are hostile,
Long have been at war together;

Now you find that we are strongest,
You go sneaking in the forest,

You go hiding in the mountains!
Had you conquered me in battle

Not a groan would I have uttered;
But you, Bear! sit here and
whimper,
And disgrace your tribe by crying,
Like a wretched
Shaugodaya,
Like a cowardly old woman!"
Then again he raised his war-club,
Smote again the Mishe-Mokwa

In the middle of his forehead,
Broke his skull, as ice is broken

When one goes to fish in Winter.

Thus was slain the Mishe-Mokwa,

He the Great Bear of the mountains,
He the terror of the nations.
"Honor be to Mudjekeewis!"
With a shout exclaimed the people,


"Honor be to Mudjekeewis!
Henceforth he shall be the West-Wind,

And hereafter and forever
Shall he hold supreme dominion
Over all
the winds of heaven.
Call him no more Mudjekeewis,
Call him
Kabeyun, the West-Wind!"
Thus was Mudjekeewis chosen
Father of the Winds of Heaven.
For
himself he kept the West-Wind,
Gave the others to his children;

Unto Wabun gave the East-Wind,
Gave the South to Shawondasee,

And the North-Wind, wild and cruel,
To the fierce Kabibonokka.
Young and beautiful was Wabun;
He it was who brought the morning,

He it was whose silver arrows
Chased the dark o'er hill and valley;

He it was whose cheeks were painted
With the brightest streaks of
crimson,
And whose voice awoke the village,
Called the deer, and
called the hunter.
Lonely in the sky was Wabun;
Though the birds sang gayly to him,

Though the wild-flowers of the meadow
Filled the air with odors for
him;
Though the forests and the rivers
Sang and shouted at his
coming,
Still his heart was sad within him,
For he was alone in
heaven.
But one morning, gazing earthward,
While the village still was
sleeping,
And the fog lay on the river,
Like a ghost, that goes at
sunrise,
He beheld a maiden walking
All alone upon a meadow,

Gathering water-flags and rushes
By a river in the meadow.
Every morning, gazing earthward,
Still the first thing he beheld there

Was her blue eyes looking at him,
Two blue lakes among the
rushes.
And he loved the lonely maiden,
Who thus waited for his
coming;
For they both were solitary,
She on earth and he in heaven.
And he wooed her with caresses,

Wooed her with his smile of
sunshine,
With his flattering words he wooed her,
With his sighing

and his singing,
Gentlest whispers in the branches,
Softest music,
sweetest odors,
Till he drew her to his bosom,
Folded in his robes
of crimson,
Till into a star he changed her,
Trembling still upon his
bosom;
And forever in the heavens
They are seen together walking,

Wabun and the Wabun-Annung,
Wabun and the Star of Morning.
But the fierce Kabibonokka
Had his dwelling among icebergs,
In
the everlasting snow-drifts,
In the kingdom of Wabasso,
In the land
of the White Rabbit.
He it was whose hand in Autumn
Painted all
the trees with scarlet,
Stained the leaves with red and yellow;
He it
was who sent the snow-flake,
Sifting, hissing through the forest,

Froze the ponds, the lakes, the rivers,
Drove the loon and sea-gull
southward,
Drove the cormorant and curlew
To their nests of sedge
and sea-tang
In the