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Sing, O Song of Hiawatha,
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Of the happy days that followed,
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In the land of the Ojibways,
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In the pleasant land and peaceful!
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Sing the mysteries of Mondamin,
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Sing the Blessing of the Cornfields!
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Buried was the bloody hatchet,
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Buried was the dreadful war-club,
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Buried were all warlike weapons,
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And the war-cry was forgotten.
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There was peace among the nations;
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Unmolested roved the hunters,
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Built the birch canoe for sailing,
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Caught the fish in lake and river,
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Shot the deer and trapped the beaver;
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Unmolested worked the women,
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Made their sugar from the maple,
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Gathered wild rice in the meadows,
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Dressed the skins of deer and beaver.
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All around the happy village
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Stood the maize-fields, green and shining,
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Waved the green plumes of Mondamin,
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Waved his soft and sunny tresses,
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Filling all the land with plenty.
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'T was the women who in Spring-time
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Planted the broad fields and fruitful,
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Buried in the earth Mondamin;
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'T was the women who in Autumn
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Stripped the yellow husks of harvest,
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Stripped the garments from Mondamin,
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Even as Hiawatha taught them.
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Once, when all the maize was planted,
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Hiawatha, wise and thoughtful,
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Spake and said to Minnehaha,
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To his wife, the Laughing Water:
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"You shall bless to-night the cornfields,
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Draw a magic circle round them,
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To protect them from destruction,
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Blast of mildew, blight of insect,
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Wagemin, the thief of cornfields,
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Paimosaid, who steals the maize-ear!
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"In the night, when all is silence,
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In the night, when all is darkness,
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When the Spirit of Sleep, Nepahwin,
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Shuts the doors of all the wigwams,
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So that not an ear can hear you,
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So that not an eye can see you,
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Rise up from your bed in silence,
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Lay aside your garments wholly,
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Walk around the fields you planted,
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Round the borders of the cornfields,
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Covered by your tresses only,
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Robed with darkness as a garment.
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"Thus the fields shall be more fruitful,
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And the passing of your footsteps
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Draw a magic circle round them,
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So that neither blight nor mildew,
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Neither burrowing worm nor insect,
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Shall pass o'er the magic circle;
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Not the dragon-fly, Kwo-ne-she,
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Nor the spider, Subbekashe,
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Nor the grasshopper, Pah-puk-keena;
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Nor the mighty caterpillar,
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Way-muk-kwana, with the bear-skin,
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King of all the caterpillars!"
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On the tree-tops near the cornfields
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Sat the hungry crows and ravens,
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Kahgahgee, the King of Ravens,
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With his band of black marauders.
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And they laughed at Hiawatha,
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Till the tree-tops shook with laughter,
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With their melancholy laughter,
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At the words of Hiawatha.
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"Hear him!" said they; "hear the Wise Man,
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Hear the plots of Hiawatha!"
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When the noiseless night descended
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Broad and dark o'er field and forest,
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When the mournful Wawonaissa
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Sorrowing sang among the hemlocks,
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And the Spirit of Sleep, Nepahwin,
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Shut the doors of all the wigwams,
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From her bed rose Laughing Water,
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Laid aside her garments wholly,
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And with darkness clothed and guarded,
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Unashamed and unaffrighted,
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Walked securely round the cornfields,
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Drew the sacred, magic circle
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Of her footprints round the cornfields.
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No one but the Midnight only
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Saw her beauty in the darkness,
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No one but the Wawonaissa
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Heard the panting of her bosom;
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Guskewau, the darkness, wrapped her
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Closely in his sacred mantle,
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So that none might see her beauty,
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So that none might boast, "I saw her!"
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On the morrow, as the day dawned,
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Kahgahgee, the King of Ravens,
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Gathered all his black marauders,
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Crows and blackbirds, jays and ravens,
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Clamorous on the dusky tree-tops,
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And descended, fast and fearless,
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On the fields of Hiawatha,
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On the grave of the Mondamin.
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"We will drag Mondamin," said they,
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"From the grave where he is buried,
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Spite of all the magic circles
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Laughing Water draws around it,
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Spite of all the sacred footprints
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Minnehaha stamps upon it!"
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But the wary Hiawatha,
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Ever thoughtful, careful, watchful,
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Had o'erheard the scornful laughter
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When they mocked him from the tree-tops.
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"Kaw!" he said, "my friends the ravens!
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Kahgahgee, my King of Ravens!
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I will teach you all a lesson
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That shall not be soon forgotten!"
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He had risen before the daybreak,
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He had spread o'er all the cornfields
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Snares to catch the black marauders,
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And was lying now in ambush
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In the neighboring grove of pine-trees,
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Waiting for the crows and blackbirds,
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Waiting for the jays and ravens.
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Soon they came with caw and clamor,
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Rush of wings and cry of voices,
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To their work of devastation,
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Settling down upon the cornfields,
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Delving deep with beak and talon,
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For the body of Mondamin.
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And with all their craft and cunning,
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All their skill in wiles of warfare,
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They perceived no danger near them,
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Till their claws became entangled,
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Till they found themselves imprisoned
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In the snares of Hiawatha.
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From his place of ambush came he,
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Striding terrible among them,
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And so awful was his aspect
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That the bravest quailed with terror.
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Without mercy he destroyed them
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Right and left, by tens and twenties,
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And their wretched, lifeless bodies
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Hung aloft on poles for scarecrows
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Round the consecrated cornfields,
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As a signal of his vengeance,
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As a warning to marauders.
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Only Kahgahgee, the leader,
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Kahgahgee, the King of Ravens,
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He alone was spared among them
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As a hostage for his people.
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With his prisoner-string he bound him,
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Led him captive to his wigwam,
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Tied him fast with cords of elm-bark
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To the ridge-pole of his wigwam.
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"Kahgahgee, my raven!" said he,
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"You the leader of the robbers,
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You the plotter of this mischief,
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The contriver of this outrage,
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I will keep you, I will hold you,
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As a hostage for your people,
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As a pledge of good behavior!"
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And he left him, grim and sulky,
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Sitting in the morning sunshine
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On the summit of the wigwam,
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Croaking fiercely his displeasure,
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Flapping his great sable pinions,
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Vainly struggling for his freedom,
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Vainly calling on his people!
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Summer passed, and Shawondasee
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Breathed his sighs o'er all the landscape,
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From the South-land sent his ardor,
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Wafted kisses warm and tender;
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And the maize-field grew and ripened,
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Till it stood in all the splendor
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Of its garments green and yellow,
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Of its tassels and its plumage,
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And the maize-ears full and shining
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Gleamed from bursting sheaths of verdure.
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Then Nokomis, the old woman,
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Spake, and said to Minnehaha:
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"'T is the Moon when leaves are falling;
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All the wild-rice has been gathered,
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And the maize is ripe and ready;
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Let us gather in the harvest,
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Let us wrestle with Mondamin,
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Strip him of his plumes and tassels,
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Of his garments green and yellow!"
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And the merry Laughing Water
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Went rejoicing from the wigwam,
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With Nokomis, old and wrinkled,
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And they called the women round them,
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Called the young men and the maidens,
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To the harvest of the cornfields,
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To the husking of the maize-ear.
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On the border of the forest,
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Underneath the fragrant pine-trees,
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Sat the old men and the warriors
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Smoking in the pleasant shadow.
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In uninterrupted silence
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Looked they at the gamesome labor
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Of the young men and the women;
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Listened to their noisy talking,
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To their laughter and their singing,
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Heard them chattering like the magpies,
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Heard them laughing like the blue-jays,
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Heard them singing like the robins.
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And whene'er some lucky maiden
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Found a red ear in the husking,
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Found a maize-ear red as blood is,
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"Nushka!" cried they all together,
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"Nushka! you shall have a sweetheart,
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You shall have a handsome husband!"
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"Ugh!" the old men all responded
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From their seats beneath the pine-trees.
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And whene'er a youth or maiden
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Found a crooked ear in husking,
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Found a maize-ear in the husking
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Blighted, mildewed, or misshapen,
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Then they laughed and sang together,
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Crept and limped about the cornfields,
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Mimicked in their gait and gestures
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Some old man, bent almost double,
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Singing singly or together:
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"Wagemin, the thief of cornfields!
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Paimosaid, who steals the maize-ear!"
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Till the cornfields rang with laughter,
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Till from Hiawatha's wigwam
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Kahgahgee, the King of Ravens,
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Screamed and quivered in his anger,
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And from all the neighboring tree-tops
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Cawed and croaked the black marauders.
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"Ugh!" the old men all responded,
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