And, in accents like the sighing Of the South-Wind in the tree-tops, Said he, "O my Hiawatha! All your prayers are heard in heaven, 75 For you pray not like the others; Not for greater skill in hunting, Not for greater craft in fishing, Not for triumph in the battle, Nor renown among the warriors, 80 But for profit of the people, For advantage of the nations. "From the Master of Life descending, I, the friend of man, Mondamin, Come to warn you and instruct you, 85 How by struggle and by labor You shall gain what you have prayed for. Rise up from your bed of branches, Rise, O youth, and wrestle with me!" Faint with famine, Hiawatha 90 Started 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 95 Throbbing in his brain and bosom, Felt new life and hope and vigor Run through every nerve and fibre. So they wrestled there together In the glory of the sunset, 100 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 haunts among the fen-lands, 105 Gave a cry of lamentation, Gave a scream of pain and famine. "'T is enough!" then said Mondamin, Smiling upon Hiawatha, "But tomorrow, when the sun sets, 110 I will come again to try you." And he vanished, and was seen not; Whether sinking as the rain sinks, Whether rising as the mists rise, Hiawatha saw not, knew not, 115 Only saw that he had vanished, Leaving him alone and fainting, With the misty lake below him, And the reeling stars above him. On the morrow and the next day, 120 When the sun through heaven descending, Like a red and burning cinder From the hearth of the Great Spirit, Fell into the western waters, Came Mondamin for the trial, 125 For the strife with Hiawatha; Came as silent as the dew comes, From the empty air appearing, Into empty air returning, Taking shape when earth it touches 130 But invisible to all men In its coming and its going. Thrice they wrestled there together In the glory of the sunset, Till the darkness fell around them, 135 Till the heron, the Shuh-shuh-gah, From her haunts among the fen-lands, Uttered her loud cry of famine, And Mondamin paused to listen. Tall and beautiful he stood there, 140 In his garments green and yellow; To and fro his plumes above him Waved and nodded with his breathing, And the sweat of the encounter Stood like drops of dew upon him.