And their wretched, lifeless bodies Hung aloft on poles for scarecrows 145 Round the consecrated corn-fields, As a signal of his vengeance, As a warning to marauders. Only Kahgahgee, the leader, Kahgahgee, the King of Ravens, 150 He alone was spared among them As 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-bark 155 To 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, 160 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 sunshine 165 On the summit of the wigwam, Croaking fiercely his displeasure, Flapping his great sable pinions, Vainly struggling for his freedom, Vainly calling on his people! 170 Summer passed, and Shawondasee Breathed his sighs o'er all the landscape, From the South-land sent his ardors, Wafted kisses warm and tender; And the maize-field grew and ripened, 175 Till it stood in all the splendor Of its garments green and yellow, Of its tassels and its plumage, And the maize-ears full and shining Gleamed from bursting sheaths of verdure. 180 [Illustration: "Called the young men and the maidens, To the harvest of the cornfields, To the husking of the maize ear."]