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V
You
shall hear how Hiawatha
Prayed 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 fasting
Through 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 fasting
By 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 fasting
By 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 fasting
In his lodge he lay
exhausted;
From his couch of leaves and branches
Gazing 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 compassion
On his
wasted form and features,
And, in accents like the
sighing
Of 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 labor
You shall gain what you
have prayed for.
Rise up from your bed of branches,
Rise, O youth, and wrestle with me!"
Faint with
famine, Hiawatha
Started from his bed of branches,
From the twilight of his wigwam
Forth into the
flush of sunset
Came, and wrestled with Mondamin;
At his touch he felt new courage
Throbbing in
his brain and bosom,
Felt new life and hope and
vigor
Run through every nerve and fibre.
So they
wrestled there together
In the glory of the sunset,
And the more they strove and struggled,
Stronger
still grew Hiawatha;
Till the darkness fell around
them,
And the heron, the Shuh-shuh-gah,
From her
nest among the pine-trees,
Gave a cry of
lamentation,
Gave a scream of pain and famine.
"'T Is enough!" then said Mondamin,
Smiling upon
Hiawatha,
"But tomorrow, when the sun sets,
I
will come again to try you."
And he vanished, and
was seen not;
Whether sinking as the rain sinks,
Whether rising as the mists rise,
Hiawatha saw not,
knew not,
Only saw that he had vanished,
Leaving
him alone and fainting,
With the misty lake below
him,
And the reeling stars above him.
On the
morrow and the next day,
When the sun through heaven
descending,
Like a red and burning cinder
From
the hearth of the Great Spirit,
Fell into the
western waters,
Came Mondamin for the trial,
For
the strife with Hiawatha;
Came as silent as the dew
comes,
From the empty air appearing,
Into empty
air returning,
Taking shape when earth it touches,
But invisible to all men
In its coming and its
going.
Thrice they wrestled there together
In the
glory of the sunset,
Till the darkness fell around
them,
Till the heron, the Shuh-shuh-gah,
From
her nest among the pine-trees,
Uttered her loud cry
of famine,
And Mondamin paused to listen.
Tall
and beautiful he stood there,
In his garments green
and yellow;
To and fro his plumes above him,
Waved and nodded with his breathing,
And the sweat
of the encounter
Stood like drops of dew upon him.
And he cried, "O Hiawatha!
Bravely have you wrestled
with me,
Thrice have wrestled stoutly with me,
And the Master of Life, who sees us,
He will give to
you the triumph!"
Then he smiled, and said:
"To-morrow
Is the last day of your conflict,
Is
the last day of your fasting.
You will conquer and
o'ercome me;
Make a bed for me to lie in,
Where
the rain may fall upon me,
Where the sun may come
and warm me;
Strip these garments, green and yellow,
Strip this nodding plumage from me,
Lay me in
the earth, and make it
Soft and loose and light
above me.
"Let no hand disturb my slumber,
Let no
weed nor worm molest me,
Let not Kahgahgee, the
raven,
Come to haunt me and molest me,
Only come
yourself to watch me,
Till I wake, and start, and
quicken,
Till I leap into the sunshine"
And thus
saying, he departed;
Peacefully slept Hiawatha,
But he heard the Wawonaissa,
Heard the whippoorwill
complaining,
Perched upon his lonely wigwam;
Heard the rushing Sebowisha,
Heard the rivulet
rippling near him,
Talking to the darksome forest;
Heard the sighing of the branches,
As they lifted
and subsided
At the passing of the night-wind,
Heard them, as one hears in slumber
Far-off murmurs,
dreamy whispers:
Peacefully slept Hiawatha.
On
the morrow came Nokomis,
On the seventh day of his
fasting,
Came with food for Hiawatha,
Came
imploring and bewailing,
Lest his hunger should
o'ercome him,
Lest his fasting should be fatal.
But he tasted not, and touched not,
Only said to
her, "Nokomis,
Wait until the sun is setting,
Till the darkness falls around us,
Till the heron,
the Shuh-shuh-gah,
Crying from the desolate marshes,
Tells us that the day is ended."
Homeward weeping
went Nokomis,
Sorrowing for her Hiawatha,
Fearing lest his strength should fail him,
Lest his
fasting should be fatal.
He meanwhile sat weary
waiting
For the coming of Mondamin,
Till the
shadows, pointing eastward,
Lengthened over field
and forest,
Till the sun dropped from the heaven,
Floating on the waters westward,
As a red leaf in the
Autumn
Falls and floats upon the water,
Falls and
sinks into its bosom.
And behold! the young Mondamin,
With his soft and shining tresses,
With his garments
green and yellow,
With his long and glossy plumage,
Stood and beckoned at the doorway.
And as one in
slumber walking,
Pale and haggard, but undaunted,
From the wigwam Hiawatha
Came and wrestled with
Mondamin.
Round about him spun the landscape,
Sky
and forest reeled together,
And his strong heart
leaped within him,
As the sturgeon leaps and
struggles
In a net to break its meshes.
Like a
ring of fire around him
Blazed and flared the red
horizon,
And a hundred suns seemed looking
At the
combat of the wrestlers.
Suddenly upon the greensward
All alone stood Hiawatha,
Panting with his wild
exertion,
Palpitating with the struggle;
And
before him breathless, lifeless,
Lay the youth, with
hair dishevelled,
Plumage torn, and garments
tattered,
Dead he lay there in the sunset.
And
victorious Hiawatha
Made the grave as he commanded,
Stripped the garments from Mondamin,
Stripped his
tattered plumage from him,
Laid him in the earth, and
made it
Soft and loose and light above him;
And
the heron, the Shuh-shuh-gah,
From the melancholy
moorlands,
Gave a cry of lamentation,
Gave a cry
of pain and anguish!
Homeward then went Hiawatha
To the lodge of old Nokomis,
And the seven days of
his fasting
Were accomplished and completed.
But
the place was not forgotten
Where he wrestled with
Mondamin;
Nor forgotten nor neglected
Was the
grave where lay Mondamin,
Sleeping in the rain and
sunshine,
Where his scattered plumes and garments
Faded in the rain and sunshine.
Day by day did
Hiawatha
Go to wait and watch beside it;
Kept the
dark mould soft above it,
Kept it clean from weeds
and insects,
Drove away, with scoffs and shoutings,
Kahgahgee, the king of ravens.
Till at length a
small green feather
From the earth shot slowly
upward,
Then another and another,
And before the
Summer ended
Stood the maize in all its beauty,
With its shining robes about it,
And its long, soft,
yellow tresses;
And in rapture Hiawatha
Cried
aloud, "It is Mondamin!
Yes, the friend of man,
Mondamin!"
Then he called to old Nokomis
And
Iagoo, the great boaster,
Showed them where the
maize was growing,
Told them of his wondrous vision,
Of his wrestling and his triumph,
Of this new
gift to the nations,
Which should be their food
forever.
And still later, when the Autumn
Changed
the long, green leaves to yellow,
And the soft and
juicy kernels
Grew like wampum hard and yellow,
Then the ripened ears he gathered,
Stripped the
withered husks from off them,
As he once had
stripped the wrestler,
Gave the first Feast of
Mondamin,
And made known unto the people
This
new gift of the Great Spirit.
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