Back retreated Mudjekeewis,Rushing westward o'er the mountains,Stumbling westward down the mountains,Three whole days retreated fighting,Still pursued by HiawathaTo the doorways of the West-Wind,To the portals of the Sunset,To the earth's remotest border,Where into the empty spacesSinks the sun, as a flamingoDrops into her nest at nightfallIn the melancholy marshes.
"Hold!" at length cried Mudjekeewis,"Hold, my son, my Hiawatha!'T is impossible to kill me,For you cannot kill the immortalI have put you to this trial,But to know and prove your courage;Now receive the prize of valor!
"Go back to your home and people,Live among them, toil among them,Cleanse the earth from all that harms it,Clear the fishing-grounds and rivers,Slay all monsters and magicians,All the Wendigoes, the giants,All the serpents, the Kenabeeks,As I slew the Mishe-Mokwa,Slew the Great Bear of the mountains.
"And at last when Death draws near you,When the awful eyes of PaugukGlare upon you in the darkness,I will share my kingdom with you,Ruler shall you be thenceforwardOf the Northwest-Wind, Keewaydin,Of the home-wind, the Keewaydin."
Thus was fought that famous battleIn the dreadful days of Shah-shah,In the days long since departed,In the kingdom of the West-Wind.Still the hunter sees its tracesScattered far o'er hill and valley;Sees the giant bulrush growingBy the ponds and water-courses,Sees the masses of the WawbeekLying still in every valley.
Homeward now went Hiawatha;Pleasant was the landscape round him,Pleasant was the air above him,For the bitterness of angerHad departed wholly from him,From his brain the thought of vengeance,From his heart the burning fever.
Only once his pace he slackened,Only once he paused or halted,Paused to purchase heads of arrowsOf the ancient Arrow-maker,In the land of the Dacotahs,Where the Falls of MinnehahaFlash and gleam among the oak-trees,Laugh and leap into the valley.
There the ancient Arrow-makerMade his arrow-heads of sandstone,Arrow-heads of chalcedony,Arrow-heads of flint and jasper,Smoothed and sharpened at the edges,Hard and polished, keen and costly.
With him dwelt his dark-eyed daughter,Wayward as the Minnehaha,With her moods of shade and sunshine,Eyes that smiled and frowned alternate,Feet as rapid as the river,Tresses flowing like the water,And as musical a laughter:And he named her from the river,From the water-fall he named her,Minnehaha, Laughing Water.
Was it then for heads of arrows,Arrow-heads of chalcedony,Arrow-heads of flint and jasper,That my Hiawatha haltedIn the land of the Dacotahs?
Was it not to see the maiden,See the face of Laughing WaterPeeping from behind the curtain,Hear the rustling of her garmentsFrom behind the waving curtain,As one sees the MinnehahaGleaming, glancing through the branches,As one hears the Laughing WaterFrom behind its screen of branches?
Who shall say what thoughts and visionsFill the fiery brains of young men?Who shall say what dreams of beautyFilled the heart of Hiawatha?All he told to old Nokomis,When he reached the lodge at sunset,Was the meeting with his father,Was his fight with Mudjekeewis;Not a word he said of arrows,Not a word of Laughing Water.
V
Hiawatha's Fasting
You shall hear how HiawathaPrayed and fasted in the forest,Not for greater skill in hunting,Not for greater craft in fishing,Not for triumphs in the battle,And renown among the warriors,But for profit of the people,For advantage of the nations.
First he built a lodge for fasting,Built a wigwam in the forest,By the shining Big-Sea-Water,In the blithe and pleasant Spring-time,In the Moon of Leaves he built it,And, with dreams and visions many,Seven whole days and nights he fasted.
On the first day of his fastingThrough the leafy woods he wandered;Saw the deer start from the thicket,Saw the rabbit in his burrow,Heard the pheasant, Bena, drumming,Heard the squirrel, Adjidaumo,Rattling in his hoard of acorns,Saw the pigeon, the Omeme,Building nests among the pinetrees,And in flocks the wild-goose, Wawa,Flying to the fen-lands northward,Whirring, wailing far above him."Master of Life!" he cried, desponding,"Must our lives depend on these things?"
On the next day of his fastingBy the river's brink he wandered,Through the Muskoday, the meadow,Saw the wild rice, Mahnomonee,Saw the blueberry, Meenahga,And the strawberry, Odahmin,And the gooseberry, Shahbomin,And the grape-vine, the Bemahgut,Trailing o'er the alder-branches,Filling all the air with fragrance!"Master of Life!" he cried, desponding,"Must our lives depend on these things?"
On the third day of his fastingBy the lake he sat and pondered,By the still, transparent water;Saw the sturgeon, Nahma, leaping,Scattering drops like beads of wampum,Saw the yellow perch, the Sahwa,Like a sunbeam in the water,Saw the pike, the Maskenozha,And the herring, Okahahwis,And the Shawgashee, the crawfish!"Master of Life!" he cried, desponding,"Must our lives depend on these things?"
On the fourth day of his fastingIn his lodge he lay exhausted;From his couch of leaves and branchesGazing with half-open eyelids,Full of shadowy dreams and visions,On the dizzy, swimming landscape,On the gleaming of the water,On the splendor of the sunset.
And he saw a youth approaching,Dressed in garments green and yellow,Coming through the purple twilight,Through the splendor of the sunset;Plumes of green bent o'er his forehead,And his hair was soft and golden.
Standing at the open doorway,Long he looked at Hiawatha,Looked with pity and compassionOn his wasted form and features,And, in accents like the sighingOf the South-Wind in the tree-tops,Said he, "O my Hiawatha!All your prayers are heard in heaven,For you pray not like the others;Not for greater skill in hunting,Not for greater craft in fishing,Not for triumph in the battle,Nor renown among the warriors,But for profit of the people,For advantage of the nations.
"From the Master of Life descending,I, the friend of man, Mondamin,Come to warn you and instruct you,How by struggle and by laborYou shall gain what you have prayed for.Rise up from your bed of branches,Rise, O youth, and wrestle with me!"
Faint with famine, HiawathaStarted from his bed of branches,From the twilight of his wigwamForth into the flush of sunsetCame, and wrestled with Mondamin;At his touch he felt new courageThrobbing in his brain and bosom,Felt new life and hope and vigorRun through every nerve and fibre.