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You shall hear how Hiawatha
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Prayed and fasted in the forest,
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Not for greater skill in hunting,
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Not for greater craft in fishing,
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Not for triumphs in the battle,
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And renown among the warriors,
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But for profit of the people,
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For advantage of the nations.
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First he built a lodge for fasting,
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Built a wigwam in the forest,
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By the shining Big-Sea-Water,
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In the blithe and pleasant Spring-time,
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In the Moon of Leaves he built it,
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And, with dreams and visions many,
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Seven whole days and nights he fasted.
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On the first day of his fasting
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Through the leafy woods he wandered;
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Saw the deer start from the thicket,
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Saw the rabbit in his burrow,
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Heard the pheasant, Bena, drumming,
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Heard the squirrel, Adjidaumo,
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Rattling in his hoard of acorns,
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Saw the pigeon, the Omeme,
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Building nests among the pine-trees,
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And in flocks the wild-goose, Wawa,
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Flying to the fen-lands northward,
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Whirring, wailing far above him.
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"Master of Life!" he cried, desponding,
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"Must our lives depend on these things?"
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On the next day of his fasting
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By the river's brink he wandered,
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Through the Muskoday, the meadow,
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Saw the wild rice, Mahnomonee,
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Saw the blueberry, Meenahga,
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And the strawberry, Odahmin,
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And the gooseberry, Shahbomin,
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And the grape-vine, the Bemahgut,
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Trailing o'er the alder-branches,
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Filling all the air with fragrance!
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"Master of Life!" he cried, desponding,
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"Must our lives depend on these things?"
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On the third day of his fasting
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By the lake he sat and pondered,
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By the still, transparent water;
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Saw the sturgeon, Nahma, leaping,
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Scattering drops like beads of wampum,
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Saw the yellow perch, the Sahwa,
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Like a sunbeam in the water,
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Saw the pike, the Maskenozha,
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And the herring, Okahahwis,
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And the Shawgashee, the crawfish!
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"Master of Life!" he cried, desponding,
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"Must our lives depend on these things?"
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On the fourth day of his fasting
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In his lodge he lay exhausted;
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From his couch of leaves and branches
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Gazing with half-open eyelids,
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Full of shadowy dreams and visions,
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On the dizzy, swimming landscape,
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On the gleaming of the water,
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On the splendor of the sunset.
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And he saw a youth approaching,
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Dressed in garments green and yellow,
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Coming through the purple twilight,
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Through the splendor of the sunset;
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Plumes of green bent o'er his forehead,
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And his hair was soft and golden.
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Standing at the open doorway,
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Long he looked at Hiawatha,
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Looked with pity and compassion
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On his wasted form and features,
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And, in accents like the sighing
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Of the South-Wind in the tree-tops,
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Said he, "O my Hiawatha!
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All your prayers are heard in heaven,
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For you pray not like the others;
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Not for greater skill in hunting,
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Not for greater craft in fishing,
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Not for triumph in the battle,
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Nor renown among the warriors,
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But for profit of the people,
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For advantage of the nations.
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"From the Master of Life descending,
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I, the friend of man, Mondamin,
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Come to warn you and instruct you,
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How by struggle and by labor
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You shall gain what you have prayed for.
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Rise up from your bed of branches,
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Rise, O youth, and wrestle with me!"
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Faint with famine, Hiawatha
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Started from his bed of branches,
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From the twilight of his wigwam
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Forth into the flush of sunset
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Came, and wrestled with Mondamin;
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At his touch he felt new courage
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Throbbing in his brain and bosom,
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Felt new life and hope and vigor
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Run through every nerve and fibre.
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So they wrestled there together
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In the glory of the sunset,
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And the more they strove and struggled,
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Stronger still grew Hiawatha;
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Till the darkness fell around them,
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And the heron, the Shuh-shuh-gah,
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From her nest among the pine-trees,
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Gave a cry of lamentation,
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Gave a scream of pain and famine.
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"'T is enough!" then said Mondamin,
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Smiling upon Hiawatha,
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"But to-morrow, when the sun sets,
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I will come again to try you."
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And he vanished, and was seen not;
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Whether sinking as the rain sinks,
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Whether rising as the mists rise,
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Hiawatha saw not, knew not,
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Only saw that he had vanished,
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Leaving him alone and fainting,
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With the misty lake below him,
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And the reeling stars above him.
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On the morrow and the next day,
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When the sun through heaven descending,
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Like a red and burning cinder
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From the hearth of the Great Spirit,
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Fell into the western waters,
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Came Mondamin for the trial,
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For the strife with Hiawatha;
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Came as silent as the dew comes,
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From the empty air appearing,
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Into empty air returning,
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Taking shape when earth it touches,
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But invisible to all men
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In its coming and its going.
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Thrice they wrestled there together
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In the glory of the sunset,
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Till the darkness fell around them,
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Till the heron, the Shuh-shuh-gah,
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From her nest among the pine-trees,
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Uttered her loud cry of famine,
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And Mondamin paused to listen.
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Tall and beautiful he stood there,
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In his garments green and yellow;
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To and fro his plumes above him,
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Waved and nodded with his breathing,
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And the sweat of the encounter
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Stood like drops of dew upon him.
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And he cried, "O Hiawatha!
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Bravely have you wrestled with me,
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Thrice have wrestled stoutly with me,
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And the Master of Life, who sees us,
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He will give to you the triumph!"
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Then he smiled, and said: "To-morrow
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Is the last day of your conflict,
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Is the last day of your fasting.
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You will conquer and o'ercome me;
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Make a bed for me to lie in,
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Where the rain may fall upon me,
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Where the sun may come and warm me;
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Strip these garments, green and yellow,
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Strip this nodding plumage from me,
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Lay me in the earth, and make it
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Soft and loose and light above me.
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"Let no hand disturb my slumber,
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Let no weed nor worm molest me,
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Let not Kahgahgee, the raven,
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Come to haunt me and molest me,
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Only come yourself to watch me,
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Till I wake, and start, and quicken,
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Till I leap into the sunshine."
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And thus saying, he departed;
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Peacefully slept Hiawatha,
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But he heard the Wawonaissa,
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Heard the whippoorwill complaining,
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Perched upon his lonely wigwam;
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Heard the rushing Sebowisha,
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Heard the rivulet rippling near him,
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Talking to the darksome forest;
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Heard the sighing of the branches,
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As they lifted and subsided
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At the passing of the night-wind,
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Heard them, as one hears in slumber
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Far-off murmurs, dreamy whispers:
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Peacefully slept Hiawatha.
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On the morrow came Nokomis,
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On the seventh day of his fasting,
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Came with food for Hiawatha,
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Came imploring and bewailing,
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Lest his hunger should o'ercome him,
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Lest his fasting should be fatal.
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But he tasted not, and touched not,
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Only said to her, "Nokomis,
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Wait until the sun is setting,
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Till the darkness falls around us,
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Till the heron, the Shuh-shuh-gah,
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Crying from the desolate marshes,
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Tells us that the day is ended."
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Homeward weeping went Nokomis,
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Sorrowing for her Hiawatha,
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Fearing lest his strength should fail him,
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Lest his fasting should be fatal.
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He meanwhile sat weary waiting
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For the coming of Mondamin,
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Till the shadows, pointing eastward,
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Lengthened over field and forest,
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Till the sun dropped from the heaven,
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Floating on the waters westward,
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As a red leaf in the Autumn
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Falls and floats upon the water,
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Falls and sinks into its bosom.
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And behold! the young Mondamin,
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With his soft and shining tresses,
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With his garments green and yellow,
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With his long and glossy plumage,
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Stood and beckoned at the doorway.
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And as one in slumber walking,
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Pale and haggard, but undaunted,
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From the wigwam Hiawatha
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Came and wrestled with Mondamin.
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Round about him spun the landscape,
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Sky and forest reeled together,
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And his strong heart leaped within him,
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As the sturgeon leaps and struggles
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In a net to break its meshes.
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Like a ring of fire around him
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Blazed and flared the red horizon,
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And a hundred suns seemed looking
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At the combat of the wrestlers.
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Suddenly upon the greensward
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All alone stood Hiawatha,
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Panting with his wild exertion,
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Palpitating with the struggle;
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And before him breathless, lifeless,
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Lay the youth, with hair dishevelled,
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Plumage torn, and garments tattered,
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Dead he lay there in the sunset.
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And victorious Hiawatha
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Made the grave as he commanded,
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Stripped the garments from Mondamin,
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Stripped his tattered plumage from him,
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Laid him in the earth, and made it
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Soft and loose and light above him;
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And the heron, the Shuh-shuh-gah,
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From the melancholy moorlands,
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Gave a cry of lamentation,
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Gave a cry of pain and anguish!
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Homeward then went Hiawatha
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To the lodge of old Nokomis,
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And the seven days of his fasting
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Were accomplished and completed.
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But the place was not forgotten
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Where he wrestled with Mondamin;
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Nor forgotten nor neglected
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Was the grave where lay Mondamin,
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Sleeping in the rain and sunshine,
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Where his scattered plumes and garments
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Faded in the rain and sunshine.
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Day by day did Hiawatha
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Go to wait and watch beside it;
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Kept the dark mould soft above it,
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Kept it clean from weeds and insects,
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Drove away, with scoffs and shoutings,
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Kahgahgee, the king of ravens.
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Till at length a small green feather
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From the earth shot slowly upward,
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Then another and another,
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And before the Summer ended
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Stood the maize in all its beauty,
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With its shining robes about it,
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And its long, soft, yellow tresses;
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And in rapture Hiawatha
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Cried aloud, "It is Mondamin!
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Yes, the friend of man, Mondamin!"
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Then he called to old Nokomis
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And Iagoo, the great boaster,
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Showed them where the maize was growing,
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Told them of his wondrous vision,
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Of his wrestling and his triumph,
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Of this new gift to the nations,
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Which should be their food forever.
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And still later, when the Autumn
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Changed the long, green leaves to yellow,
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And the soft and juicy kernels
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Grew like wampum hard and yellow,
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Then the ripened ears he gathered,
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Stripped the withered husks from off them,
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As he once had stripped the wrestler,
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Gave the first Feast of Mondamin,
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And made known unto the people
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