All these things did HiawathaShow unto his wondering people,And interpreted their meaning,And he said: "Behold, your grave-postsHave no mark, no sign, nor symbol,Go and paint them all with figures;Each one with its household symbol,With its own ancestral Totem;So that those who follow afterMay distinguish them and know them."
And they painted on the grave-postsOn the graves yet unforgotten,Each his own ancestral Totem,Each the symbol of his household;Figures of the Bear and Reindeer,Of the Turtle, Crane, and Beaver,Each inverted as a tokenThat the owner was departed,That the chief who bore the symbolLay beneath in dust and ashes.
And the Jossakeeds, the Prophets,The Wabenos, the Magicians,And the Medicine-men, the Medas,Painted upon bark and deer-skinFigures for the songs they chanted,For each song a separate symbol,Figures mystical and awful,Figures strange and brightly colored;And each figure had its meaning,Each some magic song suggested.
The Great Spirit, the Creator,Flashing light through all the heaven;The Great Serpent, the Kenabeek,With his bloody crest erected,Creeping, looking into heaven;In the sky the sun, that listens,And the moon eclipsed and dying;Owl and eagle, crane and hen-hawk,And the cormorant, bird of magic;Headless men, that walk the heavens,Bodies lying pierced with arrows,Bloody hands of death uplifted,Flags on graves, and great war-captainsGrasping both the earth and heaven!
Such as these the shapes they paintedOn the birch-bark and the deer-skin;Songs of war and songs of hunting,Songs of medicine and of magic,All were written in these figures,For each figure had its meaning,Each its separate song recorded.
Nor forgotten was the Love-Song,The most subtle of all medicines,The most potent spell of magic,Dangerous more than war or hunting!Thus the Love-Song was recorded,Symbol and interpretation.
First a human figure standing,Painted in the brightest scarlet;`T Is the lover, the musician,And the meaning is, "My paintingMakes me powerful over others."
Then the figure seated, singing,Playing on a drum of magic,And the interpretation, "Listen!`T Is my voice you hear, my singing!"
Then the same red figure seatedIn the shelter of a wigwam,And the meaning of the symbol,"I will come and sit beside youIn the mystery of my passion!"
Then two figures, man and woman,Standing hand in hand togetherWith their hands so clasped togetherThat they seemed in one united,And the words thus representedAre, "I see your heart within you,And your cheeks are red with blushes!"
Next the maiden on an island,In the centre of an Island;And the song this shape suggestedWas, "Though you were at a distance,Were upon some far-off island,Such the spell I cast upon you,Such the magic power of passion,I could straightway draw you to me!"
Then the figure of the maidenSleeping, and the lover near her,Whispering to her in her slumbers,Saying, "Though you were far from meIn the land of Sleep and Silence,Still the voice of love would reach you!"
And the last of all the figuresWas a heart within a circle,Drawn within a magic circle;And the image had this meaning:"Naked lies your heart before me,To your naked heart I whisper!"
Thus it was that Hiawatha,In his wisdom, taught the peopleAll the mysteries of painting,All the art of Picture-Writing,On the smooth bark of the birch-tree,On the white skin of the reindeer,On the grave-posts of the village.
XV
Hiawatha's Lamentation
In those days the Evil Spirits,All the Manitos of mischief,Fearing Hiawatha's wisdom,And his love for Chibiabos,Jealous of their faithful friendship,And their noble words and actions,Made at length a league against them,To molest them and destroy them.
Hiawatha, wise and wary,Often said to Chibiabos,"O my brother! do not leave me,Lest the Evil Spirits harm you!"Chibiabos, young and heedless,Laughing shook his coal-black tresses,Answered ever sweet and childlike,"Do not fear for me, O brother!Harm and evil come not near me!"
Once when Peboan, the Winter,Roofed with ice the Big-Sea-Water,When the snow-flakes, whirling downward,Hissed among the withered oak-leaves,Changed the pine-trees into wigwams,Covered all the earth with silence,Armed with arrows, shod with snow-shoes,Heeding not his brother's warning,Fearing not the Evil Spirits,Forth to hunt the deer with antlersAll alone went Chibiabos.
Right across the Big-Sea-WaterSprang with speed the deer before him.With the wind and snow he followed,O'er the treacherous ice he followed,Wild with all the fierce commotionAnd the rapture of the hunting.
But beneath, the Evil SpiritsLay in ambush, waiting for him,Broke the treacherous ice beneath him,Dragged him downward to the bottom,Buried in the sand his body.Unktahee, the god of water,He the god of the Dacotahs,Drowned him in the deep abyssesOf the lake of Gitche Gumee.
From the headlands HiawathaSent forth such a wail of anguish,Such a fearful lamentation,That the bison paused to listen,And the wolves howled from the prairies,And the thunder in the distanceStarting answered "Baim-wawa!"
Then his face with black he painted,With his robe his head he covered,In his wigwam sat lamenting,Seven long weeks he sat lamenting,Uttering still this moan of sorrow:
"He is dead, the sweet musician!He the sweetest of all singers!He has gone from us forever,He has moved a little nearerTo the Master of all music,To the Master of all singing!O my brother, Chibiabos!"
And the melancholy fir-treesWaved their dark green fans above him,Waved their purple cones above him,Sighing with him to console him,Mingling with his lamentationTheir complaining, their lamenting.
Came the Spring, and all the forestLooked in vain for Chibiabos;Sighed the rivulet, Sebowisha,Sighed the rushes in the meadow.
From the tree-tops sang the bluebird,Sang the bluebird, the Owaissa,"Chibiabos! Chibiabos!He is dead, the sweet musician!"
From the wigwam sang the robin,Sang the robin, the Opechee,"Chibiabos! Chibiabos!He is dead, the sweetest singer!"
And at night through all the forestWent the whippoorwill complaining,Wailing went the Wawonaissa,"Chibiabos! Chibiabos!He is dead, the sweet musician!He the sweetest of all singers!"
Then the Medicine-men, the Medas,The magicians, the Wabenos,And the Jossakeeds, the Prophets,Came to visit Hiawatha;Built a Sacred Lodge beside him,To appease him, to console him,Walked in silent, grave procession,Bearing each a pouch of healing,Skin of beaver, lynx, or otter,Filled with magic roots and simples,Filled with very potent medicines.
When he heard their steps approaching,Hiawatha ceased lamenting,Called no more on Chibiabos;Naught he questioned, naught he answered,But his mournful head uncovered,From his face the mourning colorsWashed he slowly and in silence,Slowly and in silence followedOnward to the Sacred Wigwam.
There a magic drink they gave him,Made of Nahma-wusk, the spearmint,And Wabeno-wusk, the yarrow,Roots of power, and herbs of healing;Beat their drums, and shook their rattles;Chanted singly and in chorus,Mystic songs like these, they chanted.
"I myself, myself! behold me!`T Is the great Gray Eagle talking;Come, ye white crows, come and hear him!The loud-speaking thunder helps me;All the unseen spirits help me;I can hear their voices calling,All around the sky I hear them!I can blow you strong, my brother,I can heal you, Hiawatha!"