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"Give me of your bark, O Birch-tree!
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Of your yellow bark, O Birch-tree!
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Growing by the rushing river,
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Tall and stately in the valley!
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I a light canoe will build me,
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Build a swift Cheemaun for sailing,
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That shall float upon the river,
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Like a yellow leaf in Autumn,
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Like a yellow water-lily!
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"Lay aside your cloak, O Birch-tree!
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Lay aside your white-skin wrapper,
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For the Summer-time is coming,
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And the sun is warm in heaven,
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And you need no white-skin wrapper!"
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Thus aloud cried Hiawatha
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In the solitary forest,
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By the rushing Taquamenaw,
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When the birds were singing gayly,
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In the Moon of Leaves were singing,
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And the sun, from sleep awaking,
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Started up and said, "Behold me!
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Gheezis, the great Sun, behold me!"
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And the tree with all its branches
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Rustled in the breeze of morning,
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Saying, with a sigh of patience,
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"Take my cloak, O Hiawatha!"
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With his knife the tree he girdled;
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Just beneath its lowest branches,
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Just above the roots, he cut it,
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Till the sap came oozing outward;
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Down the trunk, from top to bottom,
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Sheer he cleft the bark asunder,
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With a wooden wedge he raised it,
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Stripped it from the trunk unbroken.
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"Give me of your boughs, O Cedar!
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Of your strong and pliant branches,
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My canoe to make more steady,
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Make more strong and firm beneath me!"
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Through the summit of the Cedar
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Went a sound, a cry of horror,
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Went a murmur of resistance;
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But it whispered, bending downward,
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'Take my boughs, O Hiawatha!"
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Down he hewed the boughs of cedar,
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Shaped them straightway to a frame-work,
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Like two bows he formed and shaped them,
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Like two bended bows together.
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"Give me of your roots, O Tamarack!
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Of your fibrous roots, O Larch-tree!
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My canoe to bind together,
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So to bind the ends together
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That the water may not enter,
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That the river may not wet me!"
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And the Larch, with all its fibres,
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Shivered in the air of morning,
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Touched his forehead with its tassels,
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Said, with one long sigh of sorrow.
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"Take them all, O Hiawatha!"
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From the earth he tore the fibres,
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Tore the tough roots of the Larch-tree,
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Closely sewed the bark together,
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Bound it closely to the frame-work.
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"Give me of your balm, O Fir-tree!
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Of your balsam and your resin,
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So to close the seams together
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That the water may not enter,
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That the river may not wet me!"
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And the Fir-tree, tall and sombre,
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Sobbed through all its robes of darkness,
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Rattled like a shore with pebbles,
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Answered wailing, answered weeping,
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"Take my balm, O Hiawatha!"
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And he took the tears of balsam,
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Took the resin of the Fir-tree,
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Smeared therewith each seam and fissure,
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Made each crevice safe from water.
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"Give me of your quills, O Hedgehog!
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All your quills, O Kagh, the Hedgehog!
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I will make a necklace of them,
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Make a girdle for my beauty,
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And two stars to deck her bosom!"
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From a hollow tree the Hedgehog
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With his sleepy eyes looked at him,
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Shot his shining quills, like arrows,
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Saying with a drowsy murmur,
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Through the tangle of his whiskers,
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"Take my quills, O Hiawatha!"
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From the ground the quills he gathered,
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All the little shining arrows,
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Stained them red and blue and yellow,
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With the juice of roots and berries;
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Into his canoe he wrought them,
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Round its waist a shining girdle,
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Round its bows a gleaming necklace,
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On its breast two stars resplendent.
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Thus the Birch Canoe was builded
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In the valley, by the river,
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In the bosom of the forest;
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And the forest's life was in it,
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All its mystery and its magic,
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All the lightness of the birch-tree,
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All the toughness of the cedar,
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All the larch's supple sinews;
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And it floated on the river
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Like a yellow leaf in Autumn,
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Like a yellow water-lily.
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Paddles none had Hiawatha,
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Paddles none he had or needed,
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For his thoughts as paddles served him,
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And his wishes served to guide him;
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Swift or slow at will he glided,
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Veered to right or left at pleasure.
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Then he called aloud to Kwasind,
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To his friend, the strong man, Kwasind,
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Saying, "Help me clear this river
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Of its sunken logs and sand-bars."
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Straight into the river Kwasind
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Plunged as if he were an otter,
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Dived as if he were a beaver,
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Stood up to his waist in water,
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To his arm-pits in the river,
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Swam and shouted in the river,
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Tugged at sunken logs and branches,
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With his hands he scooped the sand-bars,
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With his feet the ooze and tangle.
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And thus sailed my Hiawatha
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Down the rushing Taquamenaw,
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Sailed through all its bends and windings,
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Sailed through all its deeps and shallows,
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While his friend, the strong man, Kwasind,
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Swam the deeps, the shallows waded.
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Up and down the river went they,
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In and out among its islands,
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Cleared its bed of root and sand-bar,
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Dragged the dead trees from its channel,
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Made its passage safe and certain,
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Made a pathway for the people,
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From its springs among the mountains,
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To the waters of Pauwating,
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