The Song of Hiawatha

by Генри Лонгфелло

  On the morrow as they journeyed,

  Buoyed and lifted by the South-wind, Wafted onward by the South-wind, Blowing fresh and strong behind them, Rose a sound of human voices, Rose a clamor from beneath them, From the lodges of a village, From the people miles beneath them.

  For the people of the village -•

  Saw the flock of brant with wonder, Saw the wings of Pau-Puk-Keewis Flapping far up in the ether, Broader than two doorway curtains.

  Pau-Puk-Keewis heard the shouting, Knew the voice of Hiawatha, Knew the outcry of Iagoo, And forgetful of the warning, Drew his neck in, and looked downward, And the wind that blew behind him Caught his mighty fan of feathers, Sent him wheeling, whirling downward!

  All in vain did Pau-Puk-Keewis Struggle to regain his balance! Whirling round and round and downward, He beheld in turn the village And in turn the flock above him, Saw the village coming nearer, And the flock receding farther,

  Heard the voices growing louder, Heard the shouting and the laughter; Saw no more the flock above him, Only saw the earth beneath himj Dead out of the empty heaven, Dead among the shouting people, With a heavy sound and sullen, Fell the brant with broken pinions.

  But his soul, his ghost, his shadow, Still survived as Pau-Puk-Keewis, Took again the form and features Of the handsome Yenadizze, And again went rushing onward, Followed fast by Hiawatha, Crying: " Not so wide the world is, Not so long and rough the way is, But my wrath shall overtake you, But my vengeance shall attain you ! "

  And so near he came, so near him, That his hand was stretched to seize him, His right hand to seize and hold him, When the cunning Pau-Puk-Keewis Whirled and spun about in circles, Fanned the air into a whirlwind, Danced the dust and leaves about him, And amid the whirling eddies Sprang into a hollow oak-tree,

  Changed himself into a serpent, Gliding out through root and rubbish.

  With his right hand Hiawatha Smote amain the hollow oak-tree, Rent it into shreds and splinters, Left it lying there in fragments. But in vain ; for Pau-Puk-Keewis, Onee again in human figure, Full in sight ran on before him, Sped away in gust and whirlwind, On the shores of Gitche Gumee, Westward by the Big-Sea-Water, Came unto the rocky headlands, To the Pictured Rocks of sandstone, Looking over lake and landscape.

  And the Old Man of the Mountain, He the Manito of Mountains, Opened wide his rocky doorways, Opened wide his deep abysses, Giving Pau-Puk-Keewis shelter In his caverns dark and dreary, Bidding Pau-Puk-Keewis welcome To his gloomy lodge of sandstone.

  There without stood Hiawatha, Found the doorways closed against him, With his mittens, Minjekahwun, Smote great caverns in the sandstone,

  Cried aloud in tones of thunder, " Open ! I am Hiawatha! " But the Old Man of the Mountain Opened not, and made no answer From the silent crags of sandstone, From the gloomy rock abysses.

  Then he raised his hands to heaven, Called imploring on the tempest, Called Waywassimo, the lightning, And the thunder, Annemeekee; And they came with night and darkness, Sweeping down the Big-Sea-Water From the distant Thunder Mountains; And the trembling Pau-Puk-Keewis Heard the footsteps of the thunder, Saw the red eyes of the lightning, Was afraid, and crouched and trembled.

  Then Waywassimo, the lightning, Smote the doorways of the caverns, With his war-club smote the doorways, Smote the jutting crags of sandstone, And the thunder, Annemeekee, Shouted down into the caverns, Saying, " Where is Pau-Puk-Keewis ! " And the crags fell, and beneath them Dead among the rocky ruins Lay the cunning Pau-Puk-Keewis,

  Lay the handsome Yenadizze, Slain in his own human figure.

  Ended were his wild adventures, Ended were* his tricks and gambols, Ended all his craft and cunning, Ended all his mischief-making, All his gambling and his dancing, All his wooing of the maidens.

  Then the noble Hiawatha Took his soul, his ghost, his shadow, Spake and said : " 0 Pau-Puk-Keewis, Never more in human figure Shall you search for new adventures; Never more with jest and laughter Dance the dust and leaves in whirlwinds; But above there in the heavens You shall soar and sail in circles; I will change you to an eagle, To Keneu, the great war-eagle, Chief of all the fowls with feathers, Chief of Hiawatha's chickens."

  And the name of Pau-Puk-Keewis Lingers still among the people, Lingers still among the singers, And among the story-tellers; And in Winter, when the snow-flakes Whirl in eddies round the lodges,

  When the wind in gusty tumult O'er the smoke-flue pipes and whistles, " There," they cry, " comes Pau-Puk-Keewis, He is dancing through the village, He is gathering in his harvest! "

  Fab and wide among the nations Spread the name and fame of Kwasind; No man dared to strive with Kwasind, No man could compete with Kwasind. But the mischievous Puk-Wudjies, They the envious Little People, They the fairies and the pygmies, Plotted and conspired against him.

  " If this hateful Kwasind," said they, " If this great, outrageous fellow Goes on thus a little longer, Tearing everything he touches, Rending everything to pieces, Filling all the world with wonder, What becomes of the Puk-Wudjies ? Who will care for the Puk-Wudjies ? He will tread us down like mushrooms, Drive us all into the water, Give our bodies to be eaten By the wicked Nee-ba-naw-baigs, By the Spirits of the water! " So the angry Little People All conspired against the Strong Man, All conspired to murder Kwasind, Yes, to rid the world of Kwasind, The audacious, overbearing, Heartless, haughty, dangerous Kwasind!

  Now this wondrous strength of Kwasind In his crown alone was seated; In his crown too was his weakness There alone could he be wounded, Nowhere else could weapon pierce him, Nowhere else could weapon harm him.

  Even there the only weapon That could wound him, that could slay him,

  THE DEATH OF KWASIND

  Was the seed-cone of the pine-tree, Was the blue cone of the fir-tree. This was Kwasind's fatal secret, Known to no man among mortals; But the cunning Little People, The Puk-Wudjies, knew the secret, Knew the only way to kill him.

  So they gathered cones together, Gathered seed-cones of the pine-tree, Gathered blue cones of the fir-tree, In the woods by Taquamenaw, Brought them to the river's margin, Heaped them in great piles together, Where the red rocks from the margin Jutting overhang the river. There they lay in wait for Kwasind, The malicious Little People.

  'T was an afternoon in Summer ; ? Very hot and still the air was, Very smooth the gliding river, Motionless the sleeping shadows: Insects glistened in the sunshine, Insects skated on the water, Filled the drowsy air with buzzing, With a far resounding war-cry.

  Down the river came the Strong Man, In his birch canoe came Kwasind,

  Reeled the landscape into darkness, Very sound asleep was Kwasind.

  So he floated down the river, Like a blind man seated upright, Floated down the Taquamenaw, Underneath the trembling birch-trees, Underneath the wooded headlands, Underneath the war encampment Of the pygmies, the Puk-Wudjies.

  There they stood, all armed and waiting, Hurled the pine-cones down upon him, Struck him on his brawny shoulders, On his crown defenceless struck him. " Death to Kwasind !" was the sudden War-cry of the Little People.

  And he sideways swayed and tumbled, Sideways fell into the river, Plunged beneath the sluggish water Headlong, as an otter plunges; And the birch canoe, abandoned, Drifted empty down the river, Bottom upward swerved and drifted: Nothing more was seen of Kwasind.

  But the memory of the Strong Man Lingered long among the people, And whenever through the forest Raged and roared the wintry tempest,

  And the branches, tossed and troubled, Creaked and groaned and split asunder, " Ewasind!" cried they; "that is Kwasind! He is gathering in his fire-wood I "

  Never stoops the soaring vulture

  On his quarry in the desert,

  On the sick or wounded bison,

  But another vulture, watching

  From his high aerial look-out,

  Sees the downward plunge, and foDows ;

  And a third pursues the second,

  Coming from the invisible ether,

  First a speck, and then a vu
lture, Till the air is dark with pinions.

  So disasters come not singlyj But as if they watched and waited, Scanning one another's motions, When the first descends, the others Follow, follow, gathering flock-wise Round their victim, sick and wounded, First a shadow, then a sorrow, Till the air is dark with anguish.

  Now, o'er all the dreary North-land, Mighty Peboan, the Winter, Breathing on the lakes and rivers, Into stone had changed their waters. From his hair he shook the snow-flakes, Till the plains were strewn with whiteness, One uninterrupted level, As if, stooping, the Creator With his hand had smoothed them over.

  Through the forest, wide and wailing, Roamed the hunter on his snow-shoes; In the village worked the women, Pounded maize, or dressed the deer-skin; And the young men played together On the ice the noisy ball-play, On the plain the dance of snow-shoes.

  One dark evening, after sundown,

  In her wigwam Laughing Water Sat with old Nokomis, waiting For the steps of Hiawatha Homeward from the hunt returning.

  On their faces gleamed the fire-light, Painting them with streaks of crimson, In the eyes of old Nokomis Glimmered like the watery moonlight, In the eyes of Laughing Water Glistened like the sun in water; And behind them crouched their shadows In the corners of the wigwam, And the smoke in wreaths above them Climbed and crowded through the smoke-flue

  Then the curtain of the doorway From without was slowly lifted; ]

  Brighter glowed the fire a moment, And a moment swerved the smoke-wreath, As two women entered softly, Passed the doorway uninvited, Without word of salutation, Without sign of recognition, Sat down in the farthest corner, Crouching low among the shadows.

  From their aspect and their garments, Strangers seemed they in the village; Very pale and haggard were they,

  As they sat there sad and silent, Trembling, cowering with the shadows.

  Was it the wind above the smoke-flue, Muttering down into the wigwam ? Was it the owl, the Koko-koho, Hooting from the dismal forest ? Sure a voice said in the silence: " These are corpses clad in garments, These are ghosts that come to haunt you, From the kingdom of Ponemah, From the land of the Hereafter! "

  Homeward now came Hiawatha From his hunting in the forest, With the snow upon his tresses, And the red deer on his shoulders. At the feet of Laughing Water Down he threw his lifeless burden ; Nobler, handsomer she thought him, Than when first he came to woo her, First threw down the deer before her, As a token of his wishes, As a promise of the future.

  Then he turned and saw the strangers, Cowering, crouching with the shadows; Said within himself, " Who are they ? What strange guests has Minnehaha?" But he questioned not the strangers,

  Only spake to bid them welcome To his lodge, his food, his fireside.

  When the evening meal was ready, And the deer had been divided, Both the pallid guests, the strangers, Springing from among the shadows, Seized upon the choicest portions, Seized the white fat of the roebuck, Set apart for Laughing Water, For the wife of Hiawatha ; Without asking, without thanking, Eagerly devoured the morsels, Flitted back among the shadows In the corner of the wigwam.

  Not a word spake Hiawatha, Not a motion made Nokomis, Not a gesture Laughing Water; Not a change came o'er their features; Only Minnehaha softly Whispered, saying, " They are famished; Let them do what best delights them ; Let them eat, for they are famished."

  Many a daylight dawned and darkened, Many a night shook off the daylight As the pine shakes off the snow-flakes From the midnight of its branches ; Day by day the guests unmoving

  Sat there silent in the wigwam ; But by night, in storm or starlight, Forth they went into the forest, Bringing fire-wood to the wigwam, Bringing pine-cones for the burning, Always sad and always silent.

  And whenever Hiawatha Came from fishing or from hunting, When the evening meal was ready, And the food had been divided, Gliding from their darksome corner, Came the pallid guests, the strangers, Seized upon the choicest portions Set aside for Laughing Water, And without rebuke or question Flitted back among the shadows.

  Never once had Hiawatha By a word or look reproved them j Never once had old Nokomis Made a gesture of impatience ; Never once had Laughing Water Shown resentment at the outrage. All had they endured in silence, That the rights of guest and stranger, That the virtue of free-giving, By a look might not be lessened, By a word might not be broken.

  Once at midnight Hiawatha,

  THE GHOSTS

  Ever wakeful, ever watchful,

  In the wigwam, dimly lighted

  By the brands that still were burning,

  By the glimmering, flickering fire-light,

  Heard a sighing, oft repeated,

  Heard a sobbing, as of sorrow.

  From his couch rose Hiawatha, From his shaggy hides of bison, Pushed aside the deer-skin curtain, Saw the pallid guests, the shadows, Sitting upright on their couches, Weeping in the silent midnight.

  And he said: " 0 guests ! why is it That your hearts are so afflicted, That you sob so in the midnight ? Has perchance the old Nokomis, Has my wife, my Minnehaha, Wronged or grieved you by unkindness, Failed in hospitable duties ? "

  Then the shadows ceased from weeping, Ceased from sobbing and lamenting, And they said, with gentle voices: " We are ghosts of the departed, Souls of those who once were with you. From the realms of Chibiabos Hither have we come to try you, Hither have we come to warn you.

  " Cries of grief and lamentation

  Reach us in the Blessed Islands; Cries of anguish from the living, Calling back their friends departed, Sadden us with useless sorrow. Therefore have we come to try you; No one knows us, no one heeds us. We are but a burden to you, And we see that the departed Have no place among the living.

  " Think of this, 0 Hiawatha! Speak of it to all the people, That henceforward and forever They no more with lamentations Sadden the souls of the departed In the Islands of the Blessed.

  " Do not lay such heavy burdens In the graves of those you bury, Not such weight of furs and wampum, Not such weight of pots and kettles, For the spirits faint beneath them. Only give them food to carry, Only give them fire to light them.

  " Four days is the spirit's journey To the land of ghosts and shadows, Four its lonely night encampments; Four times must their fires be lighted. Therefore, when the dead are buried,

  Let a fire, as night approaches, Four times on the grave be kindled, That the soul upon its journey May not lack the cheerful fire-light, May not grope about in darkness.

  " Farewell, noble Hiawatha ! We have put you to the trial, To the proof have put your patience, By the insult of our presence, By the outrage of our actions. We have found you great and noble. Fail not in the greater trial, Faint not in the harder struggle."

  When they ceased, a sudden darkness Fell and filled the silent wigwam. Hiawatha heard a rustle As of garments trailing by him, Heard the curtain of the doorway Lifted by a hand he saw not, Felt the cold breath of the night air, For a moment saw the star-light; But he saw the ghosts no longer, Saw no more the wandering spirits From the kingdom of Ponemah, From the land of the Hereafter.

  Oh the long and dreary Winter! Oh the cold and cruel Winter! Ever thicker, thicker, thicker Froze the ice on lake and river, Ever deeper, deeper, deeper Fell the snow o'er all the landscape, Fell the covering snow, and drifted Through the forest, round the village.

  Hardly from his buried wigwam Could the hunter force a passage; With his mittens and his snow-shoes Vainly walked he through the forest,

  Sought for bird or beast and found none,

  Saw no track of deer or rabbit,

  In the snow beheld no footprints,

  In the ghastly, gleaming forest

  Fell, and could not rise from weakness,

  Perished there from cold and hunger.

  Oh the famine and the fever! Oh the wasting of the famine! Oh the blasting of the fever ! Oh the wailing of the children! Oh the anguish of the women !

  All the earth was sick and famished; Hungry was the air around them, Hungry was the s
ky above them, And the hungry stars in heaven Like the eyes of wolves glared at them !

  Into Hiawatha's wigwam Came two other guests, as silent As the ghosts were, and as gloomy, Waited not to be invited, Did not parley at the doorway. Sat there without word of welcome In the seat of Laughing Water; Looked with haggard eyes and hollow At the face of Laughing Water.

  And the foremost said: " Behold me! I am Famine, Bukadawin ! "

  And the other said: " Behold me I I am Fever, Ahkosewin!"

  And the lovely Minnehaha Shuddered as they looked upon her, Shuddered at the words they uttered, Lay down on her bed in silence, Hid her face, but made no answer; Lay there trembling, freezing, burning At the looks they cast upon her, At the fearful words they uttered.

  Forth into the empty forest Rushed the maddened Hiawatha; In his heart was deadly sorrow, In his face a stony firmness; On his brow the sweat of anguish Started, but it froze and fell not

  Wrapped in furs and armed for huntings With his mighty bow of ash-tree, With his quiver full of arrows, With his mittens, Minjekahwun, Into the vast and vacant forest On his snow-shoes strode he forward.

  " Gitche Manito, the Mighty! " Cried he with his face uplifted In that bitter hour of anguish, " Give your children food, 0 father I Give us food, or we must perish I

  Give me food for Minnehaha, For my dying Minnehaha!"

  Through the far-resounding forest, Through the forest vast and vacant Rang that cry of desolation, But there came no other answer Than the echo of his crying, Than the echo of the woodlands, 4 Minnehaha ! Minnehaha! "

  All day long roved Hiawatha In that melancholy forest, Through the shadow of whose thickets In the pleasant days of Summer, Of that ne'er forgotten Summer, He had brought his young wife homeward From the land of the Dacotahs; When the birds sang in the thickets, And the streamlets laughed and glistened, And the air was full of fragrance, And the lovely Laughing Water Said with voice that did not tremble, u I will follow you, my husband! "