Sang the bluebird, the Owaissa, "Chibiabos! Chibiabos! 75 He is dead, the sweet musician!" From the wigwam sang the robin, Sang the Opechee, the robin, "Chibiabos! Chibiabos! He is dead, the sweetest singer!" 80 And at night through all the forest Went the whippoorwill complaining, Wailing went the Wawonaissa, "Chibiabos! Chibiabos! He is dead, the sweet musician! 85 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; 90 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, 95 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; 100 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 105 Onward to the Sacred Wigwam. [Illustration: "Then the medicine-men, the Medas, The magicians, the Wabenos, And the Jossakeeds, the prophets, Came to visit Hiawatha."]