LITMIR.BIZ

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      With his palm its sides he patted,

      Said with glee, "Cheemaun, my darling,

      O my Birch-canoe! leap forward,

      Where you see the fiery serpents,

      Where you see the black pitch-water!"

       Forward leaped Cheemaun exulting,

      And the noble Hiawatha

      Sang his war-song wild and woful,

      And above him the war-eagle,

      The Keneu, the great war-eagle,

      Master of all fowls with feathers,

      Screamed and hurtled through the heavens.

       Soon he reached the fiery serpents,

      The Kenabeek, the great serpents,

      Lying huge upon the water,

      Sparkling, rippling in the water,

      Lying coiled across the passage,

      With their blazing crests uplifted,

      Breathing fiery fogs and vapors,

      So that none could pass beyond them.

       But the fearless Hiawatha

      Cried aloud, and spake in this wise:

      "Let me pass my way, Kenabeek,

      Let me go upon my journey!"

      And they answered, hissing fiercely,

      With their fiery breath made answer:

      "Back, go back! O Shaugodaya!

      Back to old Nokomis, Faint-heart!"

       Then the angry Hiawatha

      Raised his mighty bow of ash-tree,

      Seized his arrows, jasper-headed,

      Shot them fast among the serpents;

      Every twanging of the bow-string

      Was a war-cry and a death-cry,

      Every whizzing of an arrow

      Was a death-song of Kenabeek.

       Weltering in the bloody water,

      Dead lay all the fiery serpents,

      And among them Hiawatha

      Harmless sailed, and cried exulting:

      "Onward, O Cheemaun, my darling!

      Onward to the black pitch-water!"

       Then he took the oil of Nahma,

      And the bows and sides anointed,

      Smeared them well with oil, that swiftly

      He might pass the black pitch-water.

       All night long he sailed upon it,

      Sailed upon that sluggish water,

      Covered with its mould of ages,

      Black with rotting water-rushes,

      Rank with flags and leaves of lilies,

      Stagnant, lifeless, dreary, dismal,

      Lighted by the shimmering moonlight,

      And by will-o'-the-wisps illumined,

      Fires by ghosts of dead men kindled,

      In their weary night-encampments.

       All the air was white with moonlight,

      All the water black with shadow,

      And around him the Suggema,

      The mosquito, sang his war-song,

      And the fire-flies, Wah-wah-taysee,

      Waved their torches to mislead him;

      And the bull-frog, the Dahinda,

      Thrust his head into the moonlight,

      Fixed his yellow eyes upon him,

      Sobbed and sank beneath the surface;

      And anon a thousand whistles,

      Answered over all the fen-lands,

      And the heron, the Shuh-shuh-gah,

      Far off on the reedy margin,

      Heralded the hero's coming.

       Westward thus fared Hiawatha,

      Toward the realm of Megissogwon,

      Toward the land of the Pearl-Feather,

      Till the level moon stared at him,

      In his face stared pale and haggard,

      Till the sun was hot behind him,

      Till it burned upon his shoulders,

      And before him on the upland

      He could see the Shining Wigwam

      Of the Manito of Wampum,

      Of the mightiest of Magicians.

       Then once more Cheemaun he patted,

      To his birch-canoe said, "Onward!"

      And it stirred in all its fibres,

      And with one great bound of triumph

      Leaped across the water-lilies,

      Leaped through tangled flags and rushes,

      And upon the beach beyond them

      Dry-shod landed Hiawatha.

       Straight he took his bow of ash-tree,

      On the sand one end he rested,

      With his knee he pressed the middle,

      Stretched the faithful bow-string tighter,

      Took an arrow, jasper-headed,

      Shot it at the Shining Wigwam,

      Sent it singing as a herald,

      As a bearer of his message,

      Of his challenge loud and lofty:

      "Come forth from your lodge, Pearl-Feather!

      Hiawatha waits your coming!"

       Straightway from the Shining Wigwam

      Came the mighty Megissogwon,

      Tall of stature, broad of shoulder,

      Dark and terrible in aspect,

      Clad from head to foot in wampum,

      Armed with all his warlike weapons,

      Painted like the sky of morning,

      Streaked with crimson, blue, and yellow,

      Crested with great eagle-feathers,

      Streaming upward, streaming outward.

       "Well I know you, Hiawatha!"

      Cried he in a voice of thunder,

      In a tone of loud derision.

      "Hasten back, O Shaugodaya!

      Hasten back among the women,

      Back to old Nokomis, Faint-heart!

      I will slay you as you stand there,

      As of old I slew her father!"

       But my Hiawatha answered,

      Nothing daunted, fearing nothing:

      "Big words do not smite like war-clubs,

      Boastful breath is not a bow-string,

      Taunts are not so sharp as arrows,

      Deeds are better things than words are,

      Actions mightier than boastings!"

       Then began the greatest battle

      That the sun had ever looked on,

      That the war-birds ever witnessed.

      All a Summer's day it lasted,

      From the sunrise to the sunset;

      For

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