The Song Of Hiawatha - XXI - The White Mans Foot


    In his lodge beside a river,
    Close beside a frozen river,
    Sat an old man, sad and lonely.
    White his hair was as a snow-drift;
    Dull and low his fire was burning,
    And the old man shook and trembled,
    Folded in his Waubewyon,
    In his tattered white-skin-wrapper,
    Hearing nothing but the tempest
    As it roared along the forest,
    Seeing nothing but the snow-storm,
    As it whirled and hissed and drifted.
        All the coals were white with ashes,
    And the fire was slowly dying,
    As a young man, walking lightly,
    At the open doorway entered.
    Red with blood of youth his cheeks were,
    Soft his eyes, as stars in Spring-time,
    Bound his forehead was with grasses;
    Bound and plumed with scented grasses,
    On his lips a smile of beauty,
    Filling all the lodge with sunshine,
    In his hand a bunch of blossoms
    Filling all the lodge with sweetness.
        "Ah, my son!" exclaimed the old man,
    "Happy are my eyes to see you.
    Sit here on the mat beside me,
    Sit here by the dying embers,
    Let us pass the night together,
    Tell me of your strange adventures,
    Of the lands where you have travelled;
    I will tell you of my prowess,
    Of my many deeds of wonder."
        From his pouch he drew his peace-pipe,
    Very old and strangely fashioned;
    Made of red stone was the pipe-head,
    And the stem a reed with feathers;
    Filled the pipe with bark of willow,
    Placed a burning coal upon it,
    Gave it to his guest, the stranger,
    And began to speak in this wise:
    "When I blow my breath about me,
    When I breathe upon the landscape,
    Motionless are all the rivers,
    Hard as stone becomes the water!"
        And the young man answered, smiling:
    "When I blow my breath about me,
    When I breathe upon the landscape,
    Flowers spring up o'er all the meadows,
    Singing, onward rush the rivers!"
        "When I shake my hoary tresses,"
    Said the old man darkly frowning,
    "All the land with snow is covered;
    All the leaves from all the branches
    Fall and fade and die and wither,
    For I breathe, and lo! they are not.
    From the waters and the marshes,
    Rise the wild goose and the heron,
    Fly away to distant regions,
    For I speak, and lo! they are not.
    And where'er my footsteps wander,
    All the wild beasts of the forest
    Hide themselves in holes and caverns,
    And the earth becomes as flintstone!"
        "When I shake my flowing ringlets,"
    Said the young man, softly laughing,
    "Showers of rain fall warm and welcome,
    Plants lift up their heads rejoicing,
    Back into their lakes and marshes
    Come the wild goose and the heron,
    Homeward shoots the arrowy swallow,
    Sing the bluebird and the robin,
    And where'er my footsteps wander,
    All the meadows wave with blossoms,
    All the woodlands ring with music,
    All the trees are dark with foliage!"
        While they spake, the night departed:
    From the distant realms of Wabun,
    From his shining lodge of silver,
    Like a warrior robed and painted,
    Came the sun, and said, "Behold me
    Gheezis, the great sun, behold me!"
        Then the old man's tongue was speechless
    And the air grew warm and pleasant,
    And upon the wigwam sweetly
    Sang the bluebird and the robin,
    And the stream began to murmur,
    And a scent of growing grasses
    Through the lodge was gently wafted.
        And Segwun, the youthful stranger,
    More distinctly in the daylight
    Saw the icy face before him;
    It was Peboan, the Winter!
        From his eyes the tears were flowing,
    As from melting lakes the streamlets,
    And his body shrunk and dwindled
    As the shouting sun ascended,
    Till into the air it faded,
    Till into the ground it vanished,
    And the young man saw before him,
    On the hearth-stone of the wigwam,
    Where the fire had smoked and smouldered,
    Saw the earliest flower of Spring-time,
    Saw the Beauty of the Spring-time,
    Saw the Miskodeed in blossom.
        Thus it was that in the North-land
    After that unheard-of coldness,
    That intolerable Winter,
    Came the Spring with all its splendor,
    All its birds and all its blossoms,
    All its flowers and leaves and grasses.
        Sailing on the wind to northward,
    Flying in great flocks, like arrows,
    Like huge arrows shot through heaven,
    Passed the swan, the Mahnahbezee,
    Speaking almost as a man speaks;
    And in long lines waving, bending
    Like a bow-string snapped asunder,
    Came the white goose, Waw-be-wawa;
    And in pairs, or singly flying,
    Mahng the loon, with clangorous pinions,
    The blue heron, the Shuh-shuh-gah,
    And the grouse, the Mushkodasa.
        In the thickets and the meadows
    Piped the bluebird, the Owaissa,
    On the summit of the lodges
    Sang the robin, the Opechee,
    In the covert of the pine-trees
    Cooed the pigeon, the Omemee;
    And the sorrowing Hiawatha,
    Speechless in his infinite sorrow,
    Heard their voices calling to him,
    Went forth from his gloomy doorway,
    Stood and gazed into the heaven,
    Gazed upon the earth and waters.
        From his wanderings far to eastward,
    From the regions of the morning,
    From the shining land of Wabun,
    Homeward now returned Iagoo,
    The great traveller, the great boaster,
    Full of new and strange adventures,
    Marvels many and many wonders.
        And the people of the village
    Listened to him as he told them
    Of his marvellous adventures,
    Laughing answered him in this wise:
    "Ugh! it is indeed Iagoo!
    No one else beholds such wonders!"
        He had seen, he said, a water
    Bigger than the Big-Sea-Water,
    Broader than the Gitche Gumee,
    Bitter so that none could drink it!
    At each other looked the warriors,
    Looked the women at each other,
    Smiled, and said, "It cannot be so!"
    Kaw!" they said, it cannot be so!"
        O'er it, said he, o'er this water
    Came a great canoe with pinions,
    A canoe with wings came flying,
    Bigger than a grove of pine-trees,
    Taller than the tallest tree-tops!
    And the old men and the women
    Looked and tittered at each other;
    "Kaw!" they said, "we don't believe it!"
        From its mouth, he said, to greet him,
    Came Waywassimo, the lightning,
    Came the thunder, Annemeekee!
    And the warriors and the women
    Laughed aloud at poor Iagoo;
    "Kaw!" they said, "what tales you tell us!"
        In it, said he, came a people,
    In the great canoe with pinions
    Came, he said, a hundred warriors;
    Painted white were all their faces
    And with hair their chins were covered!
    And the warriors and the women
    Laughed and shouted in derision,
    Like the ravens on the tree-tops,
    Like the crows upon the hemlocks.
    "Kaw!" they said, "what lies you tell us!
    Do not think that we believe them!"
        Only Hiawatha laughed not,
    But he gravely spake and answered
    To their jeering and their jesting:
    "True is all Iagoo tells us;
    I have seen it in a vision,
    Seen the great canoe with pinions,
    Seen the people with white faces,
    Seen the coming of this bearded
    People of the wooden vessel
    From the regions of the morning,
    From the shining land of Wabun.
        "Gitche Manito, the Mighty,
    The Great Spirit, the Creator,
    Sends them hither on his errand.
    Sends them to us with his message.
    Wheresoe'er they move, before them
    Swarms the stinging fly, the Ahmo,
    Swarms the bee, the honey-maker;
    Wheresoe'er they tread, beneath them
    Springs a flower unknown among us,
    Springs the White-man's Foot in blossom.
        "Let us welcome, then, the strangers,
    Hail them as our friends and brothers,
    And the heart's right hand of friendship
    Give them when they come to see us.
    Gitche Manito, the Mighty,
    Said this to me in my vision.
        "I beheld, too, in that vision
    All the secrets of the future,
    Of the distant days that shall be.
    I beheld the westward marches
    Of the unknown, crowded nations.
    All the land was full of people,
    Restless, struggling, toiling, striving,
    Speaking many tongues, yet feeling
    But one heart-beat in their bosoms.
    In the woodlands rang their axes,
    Smoked their towns in all the valleys,
    Over all the lakes and rivers
    Rushed their great canoes of thunder.
        "Then a darker, drearier vision
    Passed before me, vague and cloud-like;
    I beheld our nation scattered,
    All forgetful of my counsels,
    Weakened, warring with each other;
    Saw the remnants of our people
    Sweeping westward, wild and woful,
    Like the cloud-rack of a tempest,
    Like the withered leaves of Autumn!"


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