By the shore of Gitche Gumee, By the shining Big-Sea-Water, At the doorway of his wigwam, In the pleasant summer morning, Hiawatha stood and waited. 5 All the air was full of freshness, All the earth was bright and joyous, And before him, through the sunshine, Westward toward the neighboring forest Passed in golden swarms the Ahmo, 10 Passed the bees, the honey-makers, Burning, singing in the sunshine. Bright above him shone the heavens, Level spread the lake before him; From its bosom leaped the sturgeon, 15 Sparkling, flashing in the sunshine; On its margin the great forest Stood reflected in the water, Every tree-top had its shadow, Motionless beneath the water. 20 From the brow of Hiawatha Gone was every trace of sorrow, As the fog from off the water, As the mist from off the meadow. With a smile of joy and triumph, 25 With a look of exultation, As of one who in a vision Sees what is to be, but is not, Stood and waited Hiawatha. Toward the sun his hands were lifted, 30 Both the palms spread out against it, And between the parted fingers Fell the sunshine on his features, Flecked with light his naked shoulders, As it falls and flecks an oak-tree 35 Through the rifted leaves and branches. O'er the water floating, flying, Something in the hazy distance, Something in the mists of morning, Loomed and lifted from the water, 40 Now seemed floating, now seemed flying, Coming nearer, nearer, nearer. Was it Shingebis the diver? Was it the pelican, the Shada? Or the heron, the Shuh-shuh-gah? 45 Or the white goose, Waw-be-wawa, With the water dripping, flashing From its glossy neck and feathers? It was neither goose nor diver, Neither pelican nor heron, 50 O'er the water, floating, flying, Through the shining mist of morning, But a birch canoe with paddles, Rising, sinking on the water, Dripping, flashing in the sunshine; 55 And within it came a people From the distant land of Wabun, From the farthest realms of morning Came the Black-Robe chief, the Prophet, He the Priest of Prayer, the Pale-face, 60 With his guides and his companions. And the noble Hiawatha, With his hands aloft extended, Held aloft in sign of welcome, Waited, full of exultation, 65 Till the birch canoe with paddles Grated on the shining pebbles, Stranded on the sandy margin, Till the Black-Robe chief, the Pale-face, With the cross upon his bosom, 70 Landed on the sandy margin. Then the joyous Hiawatha Cried aloud and spake in this wise: