| |
|
XXI
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 tempest
As 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 blossoms
Filling 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 branches
Fall 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 forest
Hide 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
marshes
Come 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 me
Gheezis, the great
sun, behold me!"
Then the old man's tongue was
speechless
And the air grew warm and pleasant,
And
upon the wigwam sweetly
Sang the bluebird and the
robin,
And the stream began to murmur,
And a scent
of growing grasses
Through the lodge was gently
wafted.
And Segwun, the youthful stranger,
More
distinctly in the daylight
Saw 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 dwindled
As
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-land
After
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, bending
Like 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.
In the thickets and the
meadows
Piped the bluebird, the Owaissa,
On the
summit of the lodges
Sang the robin, the Opechee,
In the covert of the pine-trees
Cooed the pigeon, the
Omemee;
And the sorrowing Hiawatha,
Speechless in
his infinite sorrow,
Heard their voices calling to
him,
Went forth from his gloomy doorway,
Stood and
gazed into the heaven,
Gazed upon the earth and
waters.
From his wanderings far to eastward,
From
the regions of the morning,
From the shining land of
Wabun,
Homeward now returned Iagoo,
The great
traveller, the great boaster,
Full of new and strange
adventures,
Marvels many and many wonders.
And the
people of the village
Listened to him as he told them
Of his marvellous adventures,
Laughing answered him
in this wise:
"Ugh! it is indeed Iagoo!
No one
else beholds such wonders!"
He had seen, he said, a
water
Bigger than the Big-Sea-Water,
Broader than
the Gitche Gumee,
Bitter so that none could drink it!
At each other looked the warriors,
Looked the women
at each other,
Smiled, and said, "It cannot be so!"
Kaw!" they said, it cannot be so!"
O'er it, said he,
o'er this water
Came a great canoe with pinions,
A
canoe with wings came flying,
Bigger than a grove of
pine-trees,
Taller than the tallest tree-tops!
And
the old men and the women
Looked and tittered at each
other;
"Kaw!" they said, "we don't believe it!"
From its mouth, he said, to greet him,
Came
Waywassimo, the lightning,
Came the thunder,
Annemeekee!
And the warriors and the women
Laughed
aloud at poor Iagoo;
"Kaw!" they said, "what tales
you tell us!"
In it, said he, came a people,
In
the great canoe with pinions
Came, he said, a hundred
warriors;
Painted white were all their faces
And
with hair their chins were covered!
And the warriors
and the women
Laughed and shouted in derision,
Like the ravens on the tree-tops,
Like the crows upon
the hemlocks.
"Kaw!" they said, "what lies you tell
us!
Do not think that we believe them!"
Only
Hiawatha laughed not,
But he gravely spake and
answered
To their jeering and their jesting:
"True
is all Iagoo tells us;
I have seen it in a vision,
Seen the great canoe with pinions,
Seen the people
with white faces,
Seen the coming of this bearded
People of the wooden vessel
From the regions of the
morning,
From the shining land of Wabun.
"Gitche
Manito, the Mighty,
The Great Spirit, the Creator,
Sends them hither on his errand.
Sends them to us
with his message.
Wheresoe'er they move, before them
Swarms the stinging fly, the Ahmo,
Swarms the bee,
the honey-maker;
Wheresoe'er they tread, beneath them
Springs a flower unknown among us,
Springs the
White-man's Foot in blossom.
"Let us welcome, then,
the strangers,
Hail them as our friends and brothers,
And the heart's right hand of friendship
Give them
when they come to see us.
Gitche Manito, the Mighty,
Said this to me in my vision.
"I beheld, too, in that
vision
All the secrets of the future,
Of the
distant days that shall be.
I beheld the westward
marches
Of the unknown, crowded nations.
All the
land was full of people,
Restless, struggling,
toiling, striving,
Speaking many tongues, yet feeling
But one heart-beat in their bosoms.
In the woodlands
rang their axes,
Smoked their towns in all the
valleys,
Over all the lakes and rivers
Rushed
their great canoes of thunder.
"Then a darker,
drearier vision
Passed before me, vague and
cloud-like;
I beheld our nation scattered,
All
forgetful of my counsels,
Weakened, warring with each
other:
Saw the remnants of our people
Sweeping
westward, wild and woful,
Like the cloud-rack of a
tempest,
Like the withered leaves of Autumn!"
|
|
|
