body. Patiently sat Hiawatha,Listening to his father's boasting; With a smile he sat and listened, Uttered neither threat nor menace, Neither word nor look betrayed him, But his heart was hot within him, Like a living coal his heart was.
Then he said, "O Mudjekeewis,
Is there nothing that can harm you? Nothing that you are afraid of ?" And the mighty Mudjekeewis, Grand and gracious in his boasting,
Answered, saying, "There is nothing, Nothing but the black rock yonder, Nothing but the fatal Wawbeek!" And he looked at Hiawatha
With a wise look and benignant, With a countenance paternal, Looked with pride upon the beauty Of his tall and graceful figure, Saying, "O my Hiawatha!
Is there anything can harm you? Anything you are afraid of ?"
But the wary Hiawatha Paused awhile, as if uncertain, Held his peace, as if resolving,
And then answered, "There is nothing, Nothing but the bulrush yonder, Nothing but the great Apukwa!"
And as Mudjekeewis, rising,
Stretched his hand to pluck the bulrush, Hiawatha cried in terror,
Cried in well-dissembled terror, "Kago! kago! do not touch it!" "Ah, kaween!" said Mudjekeewis, "No indeed, I will not touch it!"
Then they talked of other matters; First of Hiawatha's brothers,
First of Wabun, of the East-Wind, Of the South-Wind, Shawondasee, Of the North, Kabibonokka;
Then of Hiawatha's mother, Of the beautiful Wenonah,
Of her birth upon the meadow, Of her death, as old Nokomis Had remembered and related. And he cried, "O Mudjekeewis,
It was you who killed Wenonah, Took her young life and her beauty,
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Broke the Lily of the Prairie, Trampled it beneath your footsteps; You confess it! you confess it!"
And the mighty Mudjekeewis Tossed upon the wind his tresses, Bowed his hoary head in anguish, With a silent nod assented.
Then up started Hiawatha,
And with threatening look and gesture
Laid his hand upon the black rock, On the fatal Wawbeek laid it,
With his mittens, Minjekahwun, Rent the jutting crag asunder,
Smote and crushed it into fragments, Hurled them madly at his father,
The remorseful Mudjekeewis,
For his heart was hot within him, Like a living coal his heart was. But the ruler of the WestWind
Blew the fragments backward from him, With the breathing of his nostrils,
With the tempest of his anger, Blew them back at his assailant; Seized the bulrush, the Apukwa, Dragged it with its roots and fibres From the margin of the meadow, From its ooze the giant bulrush; Long and loud laughed Hiawatha! Then began the deadly conflict,
Hand to hand among the mountains; From his eyry screamed the eagle, The Keneu, the great war-eagle,
Sat upon the crags around them, Wheeling flapped his wings above them. Like a tall tree in the tempest
Bent and lashed the giant bulrush; And in masses huge and heavy Crashing fell the fatal Wawbeek;
Till the earth shook with the tumult
And confusion of the battle,
And the air was full of shoutings, And the thunder of the mountains, Starting, answered, "Baim-wawa!" Back retreated Mudjekeewis,
Rushing westward o'er the mountains, Stumbling westward down the mountains, Three whole days retreated fighting,
Still pursued by Hiawatha
To the doorways of the WestWind, To the portals of the Sunset,
To the earth's remotest border, Where into the empty spaces Sinks the sun, as a flamingo Drops into her nest at nightfall, In the melancholy marshes.
"Hold!" at length cried Mudjekeewis, "Hold, my son, my Hiawatha!
'T is impossible to kill me,
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For you cannot kill the immortal. I have put you to this trial,
But to know and prove your courage; Now receive the prize of valor!
"Go back to your home and people, Live among them, toil among them, Cleanse the earth from all that harms it, Clear the fishing-grounds and rivers, Slay all monsters and magicians,
All the Wendigoes, the giants,
All the serpents, the Kenabeeks, As I slew the Mishe-Mokwa,
Slew the Great Bear of the mountains. "And at last when Death draws near you, When the awful eyes of Pauguk
Glare upon you in the darkness,
I will share my kingdom with you, Ruler shall you be thenceforward
Of the Northwest-Wind, Keewaydin, Of the home-wind, the Keewaydin." Thus was fought that famous battle
In the dreadful days of Shah-shah, In the days long since departed,
In the kingdom of the WestWind. Still the hunter sees its traces Scattered far o'er hill and valley; Sees the giant bulrush growing
By the ponds and water-courses, Sees the masses of the Wawbeek Lying still in every valley. Homeward now went Hiawatha;
Pleasant was the landscape round him, Pleasant was the air above him,
For the bitterness of anger
Had departed wholly from him,
From his brain the thought of vengeance, From his heart the burning fever.
Only once his pace he slackened, Only once he paused or halted, Paused to purchase heads of arrows Of the ancient Arrow-maker,
In the land of the Dacotahs, Where the Falls of Minnehaha
Flash and gleam among the oak-trees, Laugh and leap into the valley.
There the ancient Arrow-maker Made his arrow-heads of sandstone, Arrow-heads of chalcedony,
Arrow-heads of flint and jasper, Smoothed and sharpened at the edges, Hard and polished, keen and costly.
With him dwelt his dark-eyed daughter, Wayward as the Minnehaha,
With her moods of shade and sunshine, Eyes that smiled and frowned alternate, Feet as rapid as the river,
Tresses flowing like the water,
And as musical a laughter;
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And he named her from the river, From the waterfall he named her,
