No one but the Midnight onlySaw her beauty in the darkness,No one but the WawonaissaHeard the panting of her bosomGuskewau, the darkness, wrapped herClosely in his sacred mantle,So that none might see her beauty,So that none might boast, "I saw her!"
On the morrow, as the day dawned,Kahgahgee, the King of Ravens,Gathered all his black marauders,Crows and blackbirds, jays and ravens,Clamorous on the dusky tree-tops,And descended, fast and fearless,On the fields of Hiawatha,On the grave of the Mondamin.
"We will drag Mondamin," said they,"From the grave where he is buried,Spite of all the magic circlesLaughing Water draws around it,Spite of all the sacred footprintsMinnehaha stamps upon it!"
But the wary Hiawatha,Ever thoughtful, careful, watchful,Had o'erheard the scornful laughterWhen they mocked him from the tree-tops."Kaw!" he said, "my friends the ravens!Kahgahgee, my King of Ravens!I will teach you all a lessonThat shall not be soon forgotten!"
He had risen before the daybreak,He had spread o'er all the cornfieldsSnares to catch the black marauders,And was lying now in ambushIn the neighboring grove of pine-trees,Waiting for the crows and blackbirds,Waiting for the jays and ravens.
Soon they came with caw and clamor,Rush of wings and cry of voices,To their work of devastation,Settling down upon the cornfields,Delving deep with beak and talon,For the body of Mondamin.And with all their craft and cunning,All their skill in wiles of warfare,They perceived no danger near them,Till their claws became entangled,Till they found themselves imprisonedIn the snares of Hiawatha.
From his place of ambush came he,Striding terrible among them,And so awful was his aspectThat the bravest quailed with terror.Without mercy he destroyed themRight and left, by tens and twenties,And their wretched, lifeless bodiesHung aloft on poles for scarecrowsRound the consecrated cornfields,As a signal of his vengeance,As a warning to marauders.
Only Kahgahgee, the leader,Kahgahgee, the King of Ravens,He alone was spared among themAs a hostage for his people.With his prisoner-string he bound him,Led him captive to his wigwam,Tied him fast with cords of elm-barkTo the ridge-pole of his wigwam.
"Kahgahgee, my raven!" said he,"You the leader of the robbers,You the plotter of this mischief,The contriver of this outrage,I will keep you, I will hold you,As a hostage for your people,As a pledge of good behavior!"
And he left him, grim and sulky,Sitting in the morning sunshineOn the summit of the wigwam,Croaking fiercely his displeasure,Flapping his great sable pinions,Vainly struggling for his freedom,Vainly calling on his people!
Summer passed, and ShawondaseeBreathed his sighs o'er all the landscape,From the South-land sent his ardor,Wafted kisses warm and tender;And the maize-field grew and ripened,Till it stood in all the splendorOf its garments green and yellow,Of its tassels and its plumage,And the maize-ears full and shiningGleamed from bursting sheaths of verdure.
Then Nokomis, the old woman,Spake, and said to Minnehaha:
"`T is the Moon when, leaves are falling;All the wild rice has been gathered,And the maize is ripe and ready;Let us gather in the harvest,Let us wrestle with Mondamin,Strip him of his plumes and tassels,Of his garments green and yellow!"
And the merry Laughing WaterWent rejoicing from the wigwam,With Nokomis, old and wrinkled,And they called the women round them,Called the young men and the maidens,To the harvest of the cornfields,To the husking of the maize-ear.
On the border of the forest,Underneath the fragrant pine-trees,Sat the old men and the warriorsSmoking in the pleasant shadow.In uninterrupted silenceLooked they at the gamesome laborOf the young men and the women;Listened to their noisy talking,To their laughter and their singing,Heard them chattering like the magpies,Heard them laughing like the blue-jays,Heard them singing like the robins.
And whene'er some lucky maidenFound a red ear in the husking,Found a maize-ear red as blood is,"Nushka!" cried they all together,"Nushka! you shall have a sweetheart,You shall have a handsome husband!""Ugh!" the old men all respondedFrom their seats beneath the pine-trees.
And whene'er a youth or maidenFound a crooked ear in husking,Found a maize-ear in the huskingBlighted, mildewed, or misshapen,Then they laughed and sang together,Crept and limped about the cornfields,Mimicked in their gait and gesturesSome old man, bent almost double,Singing singly or together:"Wagemin, the thief of cornfields!Paimosaid, who steals the maize-ear!"
Till the cornfields rang with laughter,Till from Hiawatha's wigwamKahgahgee, the King of Ravens,Screamed and quivered in his anger,And from all the neighboring tree-topsCawed and croaked the black marauders."Ugh!" the old men all responded,From their seats beneath the pine-trees!
XIV
Picture-Writing
In those days said Hiawatha,"Lo! how all things fade and perish!From the memory of the old menPass away the great traditions,The achievements of the warriors,The adventures of the hunters,All the wisdom of the Medas,All the craft of the Wabenos,All the marvellous dreams and visionsOf the Jossakeeds, the Prophets!
"Great men die and are forgotten,Wise men speak; their words of wisdomPerish in the ears that hear them,Do not reach the generationsThat, as yet unborn, are waitingIn the great, mysterious darknessOf the speechless days that shall be!
"On the grave-posts of our fathersAre no signs, no figures painted;Who are in those graves we know not,Only know they are our fathers.Of what kith they are and kindred,From what old, ancestral Totem,Be it Eagle, Bear, or Beaver,They descended, this we know not,Only know they are our fathers.
"Face to face we speak together,But we cannot speak when absent,Cannot send our voices from usTo the friends that dwell afar off;Cannot send a secret message,But the bearer learns our secret,May pervert it, may betray it,May reveal it unto others."Thus said Hiawatha, walkingIn the solitary forest,Pondering, musing in the forest,On the welfare of his people.
From his pouch he took his colors,Took his paints of different colors,On the smooth bark of a birch-treePainted many shapes and figures,Wonderful and mystic figures,And each figure had a meaning,Each some word or thought suggested.
Gitche Manito the Mighty,He, the Master of Life, was paintedAs an egg, with points projectingTo the four winds of the heavens.Everywhere is the Great Spirit,Was the meaning of this symbol.