"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.
XIII. Blessing the Cornfields
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 Blessing 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.`T was the women who in Spring-timePlanted the broad fields and fruitful,Buried in the earth Mondamin;`T was 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-keena;Nor the mighty caterpillar,Way-muk-kwana, with the bear-skin,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 WawonaissaSorrowing 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 bosomGuskewau, 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 ardor,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:
"`T is 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 huskingBlighted, mildewed, or misshapen,Then they laughed and sang together,Crept and limped about the cornfields,Mimicked in their gait and gesturesSome old man, bent almost double,Singing singly or together:"Wagemin, the thief of cornfields!Paimosaid, who steals the maize-ear!"
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!
XIV. Picture-Writing
In those days said Hiawatha,"Lo! how all things fade and perish!From the memory of the old menPass away the great traditions,The achievements of the warriors,The adventures of the hunters,All the wisdom of the Medas,All the craft of the Wabenos,All the marvellous dreams and visionsOf the Jossakeeds, the Prophets!
"Great men die and are forgotten,Wise men speak; their words of wisdomPerish in the ears that hear them,Do not reach the generationsThat, as yet unborn, are waitingIn the great, mysterious darknessOf the speechless days that shall be!
"On the grave-posts of our fathersAre no signs, no figures painted;Who are in those graves we know not,Only know they are our fathers.Of what kith they are and kindred,From what old, ancestral Totem,Be it Eagle, Bear, or Beaver,They descended, this we know not,Only know they are our fathers.
"Face to face we speak together,But we cannot speak when absent,Cannot send our voices from usTo the friends that dwell afar off;Cannot send a secret message,But the bearer learns our secret,May pervert it, may betray it,May reveal it unto others."Thus said Hiawatha, walkingIn the solitary forest,Pondering, musing in the forest,On the welfare of his people.
From his pouch he took his colors,Took his paints of different colors,On the smooth bark of a birch-treePainted many shapes and figures,Wonderful and mystic figures,And each figure had a meaning,Each some word or thought suggested.
Gitche Manito the Mighty,He, the Master of Life, was paintedAs an egg, with points projectingTo the four winds of the heavens.Everywhere is the Great Spirit,Was the meaning of this symbol.
Mitche Manito the Mighty,He the dreadful Spirit of Evil,As a serpent was depicted,As Kenabeek, the great serpent.Very crafty, very cunning,Is the creeping Spirit of Evil,Was the meaning of this symbol.
Life and Death he drew as circles,Life was white, but Death was darkened;Sun and moon and stars he painted,Man and beast, and fish and reptile,Forests, mountains, lakes, and rivers.
For the earth he drew a straight line,For the sky a bow above it;White the space between for daytime,Filled with little stars for night-time;On the left a point for sunrise,On the right a point for sunset,On the top a point for noontide,And for rain and cloudy weatherWaving lines descending from it.
Footprints pointing towards a wigwamWere a sign of invitation,Were a sign of guests assembling;Bloody hands with palms upliftedWere a symbol of destruction,Were a hostile sign and symbol.
All these things did HiawathaShow unto his wondering people,And interpreted their meaning,And he said: "Behold, your grave-postsHave no mark, no sign, nor symbol,Go and paint them all with figures;Each one with its household symbol,With its own ancestral Totem;So that those who follow afterMay distinguish them and know them."
And they painted on the grave-postsOn the graves yet unforgotten,Each his own ancestral Totem,Each the symbol of his household;Figures of the Bear and Reindeer,Of the Turtle, Crane, and Beaver,Each inverted as a tokenThat the owner was departed,That the chief who bore the symbolLay beneath in dust and ashes.
And the Jossakeeds, the Prophets,The Wabenos, the Magicians,And the Medicine-men, the Medas,Painted upon bark and deer-skinFigures for the songs they chanted,For each song a separate symbol,Figures mystical and awful,Figures strange and brightly colored;And each figure had its meaning,Each some magic song suggested.
The Great Spirit, the Creator,Flashing light through all the heaven;The Great Serpent, the Kenabeek,With his bloody crest erected,Creeping, looking into heaven;In the sky the sun, that listens,And the moon eclipsed and dying;Owl and eagle, crane and hen-hawk,And the cormorant, bird of magic;Headless men, that walk the heavens,Bodies lying pierced with arrows,Bloody hands of death uplifted,Flags on graves, and great war-captainsGrasping both the earth and heaven!
Such as these the shapes they paintedOn the birch-bark and the deer-skin;Songs of war and songs of hunting,Songs of medicine and of magic,All were written in these figures,For each figure had its meaning,Each its separate song recorded.
Nor forgotten was the Love-Song,The most subtle of all medicines,The most potent spell of magic,Dangerous more than war or hunting!Thus the Love-Song was recorded,Symbol and interpretation.
First a human figure standing,Painted in the brightest scarlet;`T is the lover, the musician,And the meaning is, "My paintingMakes me powerful over others."
Then the figure seated, singing,Playing on a drum of magic,And the interpretation, "Listen!`T is my voice you hear, my singing!"
Then the same red figure seatedIn the shelter of a wigwam,And the meaning of the symbol,"I will come and sit beside youIn the mystery of my passion!"
Then two figures, man and woman,Standing hand in hand togetherWith their hands so clasped togetherThat they seemed in one united,And the words thus representedAre, "I see your heart within you,And your cheeks are red with blushes!"
Next the maiden on an island,In the centre of an Island;And the song this shape suggestedWas, "Though you were at a distance,Were upon some far-off island,Such the spell I cast upon you,Such the magic power of passion,I could straightway draw you to me!"
Then the figure of the maidenSleeping, and the lover near her,Whispering to her in her slumbers,Saying, "Though you were far from meIn the land of Sleep and Silence,Still the voice of love would reach you!"
And the last of all the figuresWas a heart within a circle,Drawn within a magic circle;And the image had this meaning:"Naked lies your heart before me,To your naked heart I whisper!"
Thus it was that Hiawatha,In his wisdom, taught the peopleAll the mysteries of painting,All the art of Picture-Writing,On the smooth bark of the birch-tree,On the white skin of the reindeer,On the grave-posts of the village.
