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XIII
Sing,
O Song of Hiawatha,
Of the happy days that followed,
In the land of the Ojibways,
In the pleasant land and
peaceful!
Sing the mysteries of Mondamin,
Sing the
Blessing of the Cornfields!
Buried was the bloody
hatchet,
Buried was the dreadful war-club,
Buried
were all warlike weapons,
And the war-cry was
forgotten.
There was peace among the nations;
Unmolested roved the hunters,
Built the birch canoe
for sailing,
Caught the fish in lake and river,
Shot the deer and trapped the beaver;
Unmolested
worked the women,
Made their sugar from the maple,
Gathered wild rice in the meadows,
Dressed the skins
of deer and beaver.
All around the happy village
Stood the maize-fields, green and shining,
Waved the
green plumes of Mondamin,
Waved his soft and sunny
tresses,
Filling all the land with plenty.
`T was
the women who in Spring-time
Planted the broad fields
and fruitful,
Buried in the earth Mondamin;
`T was
the women who in Autumn
Stripped the yellow husks of
harvest,
Stripped the garments from Mondamin,
Even
as Hiawatha taught them.
Once, when all the maize was
planted,
Hiawatha, wise and thoughtful,
Spake and
said to Minnehaha,
To his wife, the Laughing Water:
"You shall bless to-night the cornfields,
Draw a
magic circle round them,
To protect them from
destruction,
Blast of mildew, blight of insect,
Wagemin, the thief of cornfields,
Paimosaid, who
steals the maize-ear
"In the night, when all Is
silence,'
In the night, when all Is darkness,
When
the Spirit of Sleep, Nepahwin,
Shuts the doors of all
the wigwams,
So that not an ear can hear you,
So
that not an eye can see you,
Rise up from your bed in
silence,
Lay aside your garments wholly,
Walk
around the fields you planted,
Round the borders of
the cornfields,
Covered by your tresses only,
Robed with darkness as a garment.
"Thus the fields
shall be more fruitful,
And the passing of your
footsteps
Draw a magic circle round them,
So that
neither blight nor mildew,
Neither burrowing worm nor
insect,
Shall pass o'er the magic circle;
Not the
dragon-fly, Kwo-ne-she,
Nor the spider, Subbekashe,
Nor the grasshopper, Pah-puk-keena;
Nor the mighty
caterpillar,
Way-muk-kwana, with the bear-skin,
King of all the caterpillars!"
On the tree-tops near
the cornfields
Sat the hungry crows and ravens,
Kahgahgee, the King of Ravens,
With his band of black
marauders.
And they laughed at Hiawatha,
Till the
tree-tops shook with laughter,
With their melancholy
laughter,
At the words of Hiawatha.
"Hear him!"
said they; "hear the Wise Man,
Hear the plots of
Hiawatha!"
When the noiseless night descended
Broad and dark o'er field and forest,
When the
mournful Wawonaissa
Sorrowing sang among the
hemlocks,
And the Spirit of Sleep, Nepahwin,
Shut
the doors of all the wigwams,
From her bed rose
Laughing Water,
Laid aside her garments wholly,
And with darkness clothed and guarded,
Unashamed and
unaffrighted,
Walked securely round the cornfields,
Drew the sacred, magic circle
Of her footprints round
the cornfields.
No one but the Midnight only
Saw
her beauty in the darkness,
No one but the Wawonaissa
Heard the panting of her bosom
Guskewau, the
darkness, wrapped her
Closely 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 circles
Laughing Water draws around it,
Spite of all the sacred footprints
Minnehaha stamps
upon it!"
But the wary Hiawatha,
Ever thoughtful,
careful, watchful,
Had o'erheard the scornful
laughter
When 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 lesson
That
shall not be soon forgotten!"
He had risen before the
daybreak,
He had spread o'er all the cornfields
Snares to catch the black marauders,
And was lying
now in ambush
In 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 imprisoned
In the snares of Hiawatha.
From his place of ambush
came he,
Striding terrible among them,
And so
awful was his aspect
That the bravest quailed with
terror.
Without mercy he destroyed them
Right and
left, by tens and twenties,
And their wretched,
lifeless bodies
Hung aloft on poles for scarecrows
Round 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 them
As 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-bark
To 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 sunshine
On 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 Shawondasee
Breathed 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 splendor
Of its garments green and yellow,
Of
its tassels and its plumage,
And the maize-ears full
and shining
Gleamed 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 Water
Went 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 warriors
Smoking in the pleasant
shadow.
In uninterrupted silence
Looked they at
the gamesome labor
Of 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 maiden
Found 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 responded
From their seats beneath the
pine-trees.
And whene'er a youth or maiden
Found a
crooked ear in husking,
Found a maize-ear in the
husking
Blighted, mildewed, or misshapen,
Then
they laughed and sang together,
Crept and limped
about the cornfields,
Mimicked in their gait and
gestures
Some 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 wigwam
Kahgahgee, the King of Ravens,
Screamed and quivered in his anger,
And from all the
neighboring tree-tops
Cawed and croaked the black
marauders.
"Ugh!" the old men all responded,
From
their seats beneath the pine-trees!
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