The Song of Hiawatha: An Epic PoemLongfellow, Henry Wadsworth
General
The Song of Hiawatha: An Epic Poem
Longfellow, Henry Wadsworth
Hiawatha, active 15th century -- Poetry; Indians of North America -- Poetry; Iroquois Indians -- Kings and rulers -- Poetry
Soiled and stained with streaks of crimson,
As if blood were mingled with it!
From the river came the warriors, 145
Clean and washed from all their war-paint;
On the banks their clubs they buried,
Buried all their warlike weapons,
Gitche Manito, the mighty,
The Great Spirit, the creator, 150
Smiled upon his helpless children!
And in silence all the warriors
Broke the red stone of the quarry,
Smoothed and formed it into Peace-Pipes,
Broke the long reeds by the river, 155
Decked them with their brightest feathers,
And departed each one homeward,
While the Master of Life, ascending,
Through the opening of cloud-curtains,
Through the doorways of the heaven, 160
Vanished from before their faces,
In the smoke that rolled around him,
The Pukwana of the Peace-Pipe!
[Illustration:
"Break the red stone from this quarry,
Mould and make it into Peace-Pipes."]
[Illustration: "I have given you bear and bison."]
II.
THE FOUR WINDS.
"Honor be to Mudjekeewis!"
Cried the warriors, cried the old men,
When he came in triumph homeward
With the sacred Belt of Wampum,
From the regions of the North-Wind, 5
From the kingdom of Wabasso,
From the land of the White Rabbit.
He had stolen the Belt of Wampum
From the neck of Mishe-Mokwa,
From the Great Bear of the mountains, 10
From the terror of the nations,
As he lay asleep and cumbrous
On the summit of the mountains,
Like a rock with mosses on it,
Spotted brown and gray with mosses. 15
Silently he stole upon him,
Till the red nails of the monster
Almost touched him, almost scared him,
Till the hot breath of his nostrils
Warmed the hands of Mudjekeewis, 20
As he drew the Belt of Wampum
Over the round ears, that heard not,
Over the small eyes, that saw not,
Over the long nose and nostrils,
The black muffle of the nostrils, 25
Out of which the heavy breathing
Warmed the hands of Mudjekeewis.
Then he swung aloft his war-club,
Shouted loud and long his war-cry,
Smote the mighty Mishe-Mokwa 30
In the middle of the forehead,
Right between the eyes he smote him.
With the heavy blow bewildered,
Rose the Great Bear of the mountains;
But his knees beneath him trembled, 35
And he whimpered like a woman,
As he reeled and staggered forward,
As he sat upon his haunches;
And the mighty Mudjekeewis,
Standing fearlessly before him, 40
Taunted him in loud derision,
Spake disdainfully in this wise:--
"Hark you, Bear! you are a coward,
And no Brave, as you pretended;
Else you would not cry and whimper 45
Like a miserable woman!
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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