Thursday's Serial: “The Song of Hiawatha” by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (in English) - the end.

 

XXII. HIAWATHA'S DEPARTURE.

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.

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

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,

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.

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,

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,

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

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,

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?

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,

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,

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,

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,

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,

Landed on the sandy margin.

Then the joyous Hiawatha

Cried aloud and spake in this wise:

"Beautiful is the sun, O strangers,

When you come so far to see us!

All our town in peace awaits you,

All our doors stand open for you;

You shall enter all our wigwams,

For the heart's right hand we give you.

"Never bloomed the earth so gayly,

Never shone the sun so brightly,

As to-day they shine and blossom

When you come so far to see us!

Never was our lake so tranquil,

Nor so free from rocks and sand-bars;

For your birch canoe in passing

Has removed both rock and sand-bar!

"Never before had our tobacco

Such a sweet and pleasant flavor,

Never the broad leaves of our corn-fields

Were so beautiful to look on,

As they seem to us this morning,

When you come so far to see us!"

And the Black-Robe chief made answer,

Stammered in his speech a little,

Speaking words yet unfamiliar:

"Peace be with you, Hiawatha,

Peace be with you and your people,

Peace of prayer, and peace of pardon,

Peace of Christ, and joy of Mary!"

Then the generous Hiawatha

Led the strangers to his wigwam,

Seated them on skins of bison,

Seated them on skins of ermine,

And the careful, old Nokomis

Brought them food in bowls of bass-wood,

Water brought in birchen dippers,

And the calumet, the peace-pipe,

Filled and lighted for their smoking.

All the old men of the village,

All the warriors of the nation,

All the Jossakeeds, the prophets,

The magicians, the Wabenos,

And the medicine-men, the Medas,

Came to bid the strangers welcome;

"It is well," they said, "O brothers,

That you come so far to see us!"

In a circle round the doorway,

With their pipes they sat in silence,

Waiting to behold the strangers,

Waiting to receive their message;

Till the Black-Robe chief, the Pale-face,

From the wigwam came to greet them,

Stammering in his speech a little,

Speaking words yet unfamiliar;

"It is well," they said, "O brother,

That you come so far to see us!"

Then the Black-Robe chief, the prophet,

Told his message to the people,

Told the purport of his mission,

Told them of the Virgin Mary,

And her blessed Son, the Saviour,

How in distant lands and ages

He had lived on earth as we do;

How he fasted, prayed, and labored;

How the Jews, the tribe accursed,

Mocked him, scourged him, crucified him;

How he rose from where they laid him,

Walked again with his disciples,

And ascended into heaven.

And the chiefs made answer, saying:

"We have listened to your message,

We have heard your words of wisdom,

We will think on what you tell us.

It is well for us, O brothers,

That you come so far to see us!"

Then they rose up and departed

Each one homeward to his wigwam,

To the young men and the women

Told the story of the strangers

Whom the Master of Life had sent them

From the shining land of Wabun.

Heavy with the heat and silence

Grew the afternoon of Summer;

With a drowsy sound the forest

Whispered round the sultry wigwam,

With a sound of sleep the water

Rippled on the beach below it;

From the corn-fields shrill and ceaseless

Sang the grasshopper, Pah-puk-keena;

And the guests of Hiawatha,

Weary with the heat of Summer,

Slumbered in the sultry wigwam.

Slowly o'er the simmering landscape

Fell the evening's dusk and coolness,

And the long and level sunbeams

Shot their spears into the forest,

Breaking through its shields of shadow,

Rushed into each secret ambush,

Searched each thicket, dingle, hollow;

Still the guests of Hiawatha

Slumbered in the silent wigwam.

From his place rose Hiawatha,

Bade farewell to old Nokomis,

Spake in whispers, spake in this wise,

Did not wake the guests, that slumbered:

"I am going, O Nokomis,

On a long and distant journey,

To the portals of the Sunset,

To the regions of the home-wind,

Of the Northwest wind, Keewaydin.

But these guests I leave behind me,

In your watch and ward I leave them;

See that never harm comes near them,

See that never fear molests them,

Never danger nor suspicion,

Never want of food or shelter,

In the lodge of Hiawatha!"

Forth into the village went he,

Bade farewell to all the warriors,

Bade farewell to all the young men,

Spake persuading, spake in this wise:

"I am going, O my people,

On a long and distant journey;

Many moons and many winters

Will have come, and will have vanished,

Ere I come again to see you.

But my guests I leave behind me;

Listen to their words of wisdom,

Listen to the truth they tell you,

For the Master of Life has sent them

From the land of light and morning!"

On the shore stood Hiawatha,

Turned and waved his hand at parting;

On the clear and luminous water

Launched his birch canoe for sailing,

From the pebbles of the margin

Shoved it forth into the water;

Whispered to it, "Westward! westward!"

And with speed it darted forward.

And the evening sun descending

Set the clouds on fire with redness,

Burned the broad sky, like a prairie,

Left upon the level water

One long track and trail of splendor,

Down whose stream, as down a river,

Westward, westward Hiawatha

Sailed into the fiery sunset,

Sailed into the purple vapors,

Sailed into the dusk of evening.

And the people from the margin

Watched him floating, rising, sinking,

Till the birch canoe seemed lifted

High into that sea of splendor,

Till it sank into the vapors

Like the new moon slowly, slowly

Sinking in the purple distance.

And they said, "Farewell for ever!"

Said, "Farewell, O Hiawatha!"

And the forests, dark and lonely,

Moved through all their depths of darkness,

Sighed, "Farewell, O Hiawatha!"

And the waves upon the margin

Rising, rippling on the pebbles,

Sobbed, "Farewell, O Hiawatha!"

And the heron, the Shuh-shuh-gah,

From her haunts among the fen-lands,

Screamed, "Farewell, O Hiawatha!"

Thus departed Hiawatha,

Hiawatha the Beloved,

In the glory of the sunset,

In the purple mists of evening,

To the regions of the home-wind,

Of the Northwest wind Keewaydin,

To the Islands of the Blessed,

To the kingdom of Ponemah,

To the land of the Hereafter!

Thursday's Serial: “The Song of Hiawatha” by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (in English) - XXI

 

XXI. THE WHITE MAN'S FOOT.

In his lodge beside a river,

Close beside a frozen river,

Sat an old man, sad and lonely.

White his hair was as a snow-drift;

Dull and low his fire was burning,

And the old man shook and trembled,

Folded in his Waubewyon,

In his tattered white-skin-wrapper,

Hearing nothing but the tempest

As it roared along the forest,

Seeing nothing but the snow-storm,

As it whirled and hissed and drifted.

All the coals were white with ashes,

And the fire was slowly dying,

As a young man, walking lightly,

At the open doorway entered.

Red with blood of youth his cheeks were,

Soft his eyes, as stars in Spring-time,

Bound his forehead was with grasses,

Bound and plumed with scented grasses;

On his lips a smile of beauty,

Filling all the lodge with sunshine,

In his hand a bunch of blossoms

Filling all the lodge with sweetness.

"Ah, my son!" exclaimed the old man,

"Happy are my eyes to see you.

Sit here on the mat beside me,

Sit here by the dying embers,

Let us pass the night together.

Tell me of your strange adventures,

Of the lands where you have travelled;

I will tell you of my prowess,

Of my many deeds of wonder."

From his pouch he drew his peace-pipe,

Very old and strangely fashioned;

Made of red stone was the pipe-head,

And the stem a reed with feathers;

Filled the pipe with bark of willow,

Placed a burning coal upon it,

Gave it to his guest, the stranger,

And began to speak in this wise:

"When I blow my breath about me,

When I breathe upon the landscape,

Motionless are all the rivers,

Hard as stone becomes the water!"

And the young man answered, smiling:

"When I blow my breath about me,

When I breathe upon the landscape,

Flowers spring up o'er all the meadows,

Singing, onward rush the rivers!"

"When I shake my hoary tresses,"

Said the old man darkly frowning,

"All the land with snow is covered;

All the leaves from all the branches

Fall and fade and die and wither,

For I breathe, and lo! they are not.

From the waters and the marshes

Rise the wild goose and the heron,

Fly away to distant regions,

For I speak, and lo! they are not.

And where'er my footsteps wander,

All the wild beasts of the forest

Hide themselves in holes and caverns,

And the earth becomes as flintstone!"

"When I shake my flowing ringlets,"

Said the young man, softly laughing,

"Showers of rain fall warm and welcome,

Plants lift up their heads rejoicing,

Back unto their lakes and marshes

Come the wild goose and the heron,

Homeward shoots the arrowy swallow,

Sing the blue-bird and the robin,

And where'er my footsteps wander,

All the meadows wave with blossoms,

All the woodlands ring with music,

All the trees are dark with foliage!"

While they spake, the night departed;

From the distant realms of Wabun,

From his shining lodge of silver,

Like a warrior robed and painted,

Came the sun, and said, "Behold me!

Gheezis, the great sun, behold me!"

Then the old man's tongue was speechless,

And the air grew warm and pleasant,

And upon the wigwam sweetly

Sang the blue-bird and the robin,

And the stream began to murmur,

And a scent of growing grasses

Through the lodge was gently wafted.

And Segwun, the youthful stranger,

More distinctly in the daylight

Saw the icy face before him;

It was Peboan, the Winter!

From his eyes the tears were flowing,

As from melting lakes the streamlets,

And his body shrunk and dwindled

As the shouting sun ascended,

Till into the air it faded,

Till into the ground it vanished,

And the young man saw before him,

On the hearth-stone of the wigwam,

Where the fire had smoked and smouldered,

Saw the earliest flower of Spring-time,

Saw the Beauty of the Spring-time,

Saw the Miskodeed in blossom.

Thus it was that in the Northland

After that unheard-of coldness,

That intolerable Winter,

Came the Spring with all its splendor,

All its birds and all its blossoms,

All its flowers and leaves and grasses.

Sailing on the wind to northward,

Flying in great flocks, like arrows,

Like huge arrows shot through heaven,

Passed the swan, the Mahnahbezee,

Speaking almost as a man speaks;

And in long lines waving, bending

Like a bow-string snapped asunder,

The white goose, the Waw-be-wawa;

And in pairs, or singly flying,

Mahng the loon, with clangorous pinions,

The blue heron, the Shuh-shuh-gah,

And the growse, the Mushkodasa.

In the thickets and the meadows

Piped the blue-bird, the Owaissa,

On the summit of the lodges

Sang the Opechee, the robin,

In the covert of the pine-trees

Cooed the Omemee, the pigeon,

And the sorrowing Hiawatha,

Speechless in his infinite sorrow,

Heard their voices calling to him,

Went forth from his gloomy doorway,

Stood and gazed into the heaven,

Gazed upon the earth and waters.

From his wanderings far to eastward,

From the regions of the morning,

From the shining land of Wabun,

Homeward now returned Iagoo,

The great traveller, the great boaster,

Full of new and strange adventures,

Marvels many and many wonders.

And the people of the village

Listened to him as he told them

Of his marvellous adventures,

Laughing answered him in this wise:

"Ugh! it is indeed Iagoo!

No one else beholds such wonders!"

He had seen, he said, a water

Bigger than the Big-Sea-Water,

Broader than the Gitche Gumee,

Bitter so that none could drink it!

At each other looked the warriors,

Looked the women at each other,

Smiled, and said, "It cannot be so!

Kaw!" they said, "it cannot be so!"

O'er it, said he, o'er this water

Came a great canoe with pinions,

A canoe with wings came flying,

Bigger than a grove of pine-trees,

Taller than the tallest tree-tops!

And the old men and the women

Looked and tittered at each other;

"Kaw!" they said, we don't believe it!"

From its mouth, he said, to greet him,

Came Waywassimo, the lightning,

Came the thunder, Annemeekee!

And the warriors and the women

Laughed aloud at poor Iagoo;

"Kaw!" they said, "what tales you tell us!"

In it, said he, came a people,

In the great canoe with pinions

Came, he said, a hundred warriors;

Painted white were all their faces,

And with hair their chins were covered!

And the warriors and the women

Laughed and shouted in derision,

Like the ravens on the tree-tops,

Like the crows upon the hemlocks.

"Kaw!" they said, "what lies you tell us!

Do not think that we believe them!"

Only Hiawatha laughed not,

But he gravely spake and answered

To their jeering and their jesting:

"True is all Iagoo tells us;

I have seen it in a vision,

Seen the great canoe with pinions,

Seen the people with white faces,

Seen the coming of this bearded

People of the wooden vessel

From the regions of the morning,

From the shining land of Wabun.

"Gitche Manito the Mighty,

The Great Spirit, the Creator,

Sends them hither on his errand,

Sends them to us with his message.

Wheresoe'er they move, before them

Swarms the stinging fly, the Ahmo,

Swarms the bee, the honey-maker;

Wheresoe'er they tread, beneath them

Springs a flower unknown among us,

Springs the White-man's Foot in blossom.

"Let us welcome, then, the strangers,

Hail them as our friends and brothers,

And the heart's right hand of friendship

Give them when they come to see us.

Gitche Manito, the Mighty,

Said this to me in my vision.

"I beheld, too, in that vision

All the secrets of the future,

Of the distant days that shall be.

I beheld the westward marches

Of the unknown, crowded nations.

All the land was full of people,

Restless, struggling, toiling, striving,

Speaking many tongues, yet feeling

But one heart-beat in their bosoms.

In the woodlands rang their axes,

Smoked their towns in all the valleys,

Over all the lakes and rivers

Rushed their great canoes of thunder.

"Then a darker, drearier vision

Passed before me, vague and cloud-like;

I beheld our nations scattered,

All forgetful of my counsels,

Weakened, warring with each other;

Saw the remnants of our people

Sweeping westward, wild and woful,

Like the cloud-rack of a tempest,

Like the withered leaves of autumn!"