"Hark!" she said; "I hear a rushing,Hear a roaring and a rushing,Hear the Falls of MinnehahaCalling to me from a distance!""No, my child!" said old Nokomis,"`T is the night-wind in the pine-trees!""Look!" she said; "I see my fatherStanding lonely at his doorway,Beckoning to me from his wigwamIn the land of the Dacotahs!""No, my child!" said old Nokomis."`T is the smoke, that waves and beckons!""Ah!" said she, "the eyes of PaugukGlare upon me in the darkness,I can feel his icy fingersClasping mine amid the darkness!Hiawatha! Hiawatha!"
And the desolate Hiawatha,Far away amid the forest,Miles away among the mountains,Heard that sudden cry of anguish,Heard the voice of MinnehahaCalling to him in the darkness,"Hiawatha! Hiawatha!"
Over snow-fields waste and pathless,Under snow-encumbered branches,Homeward hurried Hiawatha,Empty-handed, heavy-hearted,Heard Nokomis moaning, wailing:"Wahonowin! Wahonowin!Would that I had perished for you,Would that I were dead as you are!Wahonowin! Wahonowin!"
And he rushed into the wigwam,Saw the old Nokomis slowlyRocking to and fro and moaning,Saw his lovely MinnehahaLying dead and cold before him,And his bursting heart within himUttered such a cry of anguish,That the forest moaned and shuddered,That the very stars in heavenShook and trembled with his anguish.
Then he sat down, still and speechless,On the bed of Minnehaha,At the feet of Laughing Water,At those willing feet, that neverMore would lightly run to meet him,Never more would lightly follow.
With both hands his face he covered,Seven long days and nights he sat there,As if in a swoon he sat there,Speechless, motionless, unconsciousOf the daylight or the darkness.
Then they buried Minnehaha;In the snow a grave they made herIn the forest deep and darksomeUnderneath the moaning hemlocks;Clothed her in her richest garmentsWrapped her in her robes of ermine,Covered her with snow, like ermine;Thus they buried Minnehaha.
And at night a fire was lighted,On her grave four times was kindled,For her soul upon its journeyTo the Islands of the Blessed.From his doorway HiawathaSaw it burning In the forest,Lighting up the gloomy hemlocks;From his sleepless bed uprising,From the bed of Minnehaha,Stood and watched it at the doorway,That it might not be extinguished,
Might not leave her in the darkness."Farewell!" said he, "Minnehaha!Farewell, O my Laughing Water!All my heart is buried with you,All my thoughts go onward with you!Come not back again to labor,Come not back again to suffer,Where the Famine and the FeverWear the heart and waste the body.Soon my task will be completed,Soon your footsteps I shall followTo the Islands of the Blessed,To the Kingdom of Ponemah,To the Land of the Hereafter!"
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 tempestAs 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 blossomsFilling 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 branchesFall 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 forestHide 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 Into their lakes and marshesCome the wild goose and the heron,Homeward shoots the arrowy swallow,Sing the bluebird 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 meGheezis, the great sun, behold me!"
Then the old man's tongue was speechlessAnd the air grew warm and pleasant,And upon the wigwam sweetlySang the bluebird and the robin,And the stream began to murmur,And a scent of growing grassesThrough the lodge was gently wafted.
And Segwun, the youthful stranger,More distinctly in the daylightSaw 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 dwindledAs 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 North-landAfter 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, bendingLike a bow-string snapped asunder,Came the white goose, Waw-be-wawa;And in pairs, or singly flying,Mahng the loon, with clangorous pinions,The blue heron, the Shuh-shuh-gah,And the grouse, the Mushkodasa.