'T was an afternoon in Summer; Very hot and still the air was, Very smooth the gliding river, 55 Motionless the sleeping shadows: Insects glistened in the sunshine, Insects skated on the water Filled the drowsy air with buzzing, With a far-resounding war-cry. 60 Down the river came the Strong Man, In his birch canoe came Kwasind, Floating slowly down the current Of the sluggish Taquamenaw, Very languid with the weather, 65 Very sleepy with the silence. From the overhanging branches, From the tassels of the birch-trees, Soft the Spirit of Sleep descended; By his airy hosts surrounded, 70 His invisible attendants, Came the Spirit of Sleep, Nepahwin; Like the burnished Dush-kwo-ne-she, Like a dragon fly, he hovered O'er the drowsy head of Kwasind. 75 To his ear there came a murmur As of waves upon a sea-shore, As of far-off tumbling waters, As of winds among the pine-trees; And he felt upon his forehead 80 Blows of little airy war-clubs, Wielded by the slumbrous legions Of the Spirit of Sleep, Nepahwin, As of some one breathing on him. At the first blow of their war-clubs, 85 Fell a drowsiness on Kwasind; At the second blow they smote him, Motionless his paddle rested; At the third, before his vision Reeled the landscape into darkness, 90 Very sound asleep was Kwasind. So he floated down the river, Like a blind man seated upright, Floated down the Taquamenaw, Underneath the trembling birch-trees, 95 Underneath the wooded headlands, Underneath the war encampment Of the pygmies, the Puk-Wudjies. There they stood, all armed and waiting, Hurled the pine-cones down upon him, 100 Struck him on his brawny shoulders, On his crown defenseless struck him. "Death to Kwasind!" was the sudden War-cry of the Little People. And he sideways swayed and tumbled, 105 Sideways fell into the river, Plunged beneath the sluggish water Headlong, as an otter plunges; And the birch canoe, abandoned, Drifted empty down the river, 110 Bottom upward swerved and drifted: Nothing more was seen of Kwasind. [Illustration: "There they stood, all armed and waiting, Hurled the pine-cones down upon him."] But the memory of the Strong Man Lingered long among the people, And whenever through the forest 115 Raged and roared the wintry tempest, And the branches, tossed and troubled, Creaked and groaned and split asunder, "Kwasind!" cried they; "that is Kwasind! He is gathering in his fire-wood!" 120 [Illustration: _Strings of Black and White Wampum Shells._] XIX.