The Song of Hiawatha

" Do not fear for me, 0 brother! Harm and evil come not near me!" Once when Peboan, the Winter, Roofed with ice the Big-Sea-Water, When the snow-flakes, whirling downward, Hissed among the withered oak-leaves, Changed the pine-trees into wigwams, Covered all the earth with silence, – Armed with arrows, shod with snow-shoes, Heeding not his brother's warning, Fearing not the Evil Spirits, Forth to hunt the deer with antlers All alone went Chibiabos. Right across the Big-Sea-Water Sprang with speed the deer before him. With the wind and snow he followed, O'er the treacherous ice he followed, Wild with all the fierce commotion And the rapture of the hunting. But beneath, the Evil Spirits Lay in ambush, waiting for him, Broke the treacherous ice beneath him.

Dragged him downward to the bottom, Buried in the sand his body. Unktahee, the god of water, He the god of the Dacotahs, Drowned him in the deep ab ys s es Of the lake of Gitche Gumee.

From the headlands Hiawatha Sent forth such a wail of anguish, Such a fearful lamentation, That the bison paused to listen, And the wolves howled from the prairies, And the thunder in the distance Starting answered " Baim-wawa! "

Then his face with black he painted, With his robe his head he covered, In his wigwam sat lamenting, Seven long weeks he sat lamentuy, Uttering still this moan of sorrow : -

" He is dead, the sweet musician ! He the sweetest of all singers! He has gone from us forever, He has moved a little nearer To the Master of all music, To the Master of all singing I 0 my brother, Chibiabos!"

And the melancholy fir-trees Waved their dark green fans abort him,

Waved their purple cones above him, Sighing with him to console him, Mingling with his lamentation Their complaining, their lamenting.

Came the Spring, and all the forest Looked in vain for Chibiabos; Sighed the rivulet, Sebowisha, Sighed the rushes in the meadow.

From the tree-tops sang the bluebird, Sang the bluebird, the Owaissa, * Chibiabos! Chibiabos! He is dead, the sweet musician ! "

From the wigwam sang the robin, Sang the robin, the Opechee, "Chibiabos! Chibiabos! He is dead, the sweetest singer!"

Aiti at night through all the forest Went the whippoorwill complaining, Wailing went the Wawonaissa, " Chibiabos ! Chibiabos ! He is dead, the sweet musician! He the sweetest of all singers! "

Then the medicine-men, the Medas, The magicians, the Wabenos, And the Jossakeeds, the Prophets, Came to visit Hiawatha ; Built a Sacred Lodge beside him,

To appease him, to console him, Walked in silent, grave procession, Bearing each a pouch of healing, Skin of beaver, lynx, or otter, Filled with magic roots and simples, Filled with very potent medicines.

When he heard their steps approaching, Hiawatha ceased lamenting, Called no more on Chibiabos; Naught he questioned, naught he answered, But his mournful head uncovered, From his face the mourning colors Washed he slowly and in silence, Slowly and in silence followed Onward to the Sacred Wigwam.

There a magic drink they gave him, Made of Nahma-wusk, the spearmint, And Wabeno-wusk, the yarrow, Roots of power, and herbs of healing; Beat their drums, and shook their rattles; Chanted singly and in chorus, Mystic songs like these, they chanted.

" I myself, myself! behold me ! 'T is the great Gray Eagle talking; Come, ye white crows, come and hear him! The loud-speaking thunder helps me; All the unseen spirits help me ;

I can hear their voices calling, All around the sky I hear them ! I can blow you strong, my brother, I can heal you, Hiawatha ! "

" Hi-au-ha! " replied the chorus, " Way-ha-way ! " the mystic chorus.

" Friends o? mine are all the serpents! Hear me shake my skin of hen-hawk! Mahng, the white loon, I can kill him; I can shoot your heart and kill it! I can blow you strong, my brother, I can heal you, Hiawatha ! "

" Hi-au-ha! " replied the chorus, " Way-ha-way! " the mystic chorus.

" I myself, myself ! the prophet! When I speak the wigwam trembles, Shakes the Sacred Lodge with terror, Hands unseen begin to shake it! When I walk, the sky I tread on Bends and makes a noise beneath me ! I can blow you strong, my brother! Rise and speak, 0 Hiawatha! "

" Hi-au-ha ! " replied the chorus, " Way-ha-way! " the mystic chorus.

Then they shook their medicine-pouches O'er the head of Hiawatha, Danced their medicine-dance around him;

And upstarting wild and haggard. Like a man from dreams awakened, He was healed of all his madness. As the clouds are swept from heaven, Straightway from his brain departed All his moody melancholy; As the ice is swept from rivers, Straightway from his heart departed All his sorrow and affliction.