Part VI: Hiawatha's Friends
- Two good friends had Hiawatha,
- Singled out from all the others,
- Bound to him in closest union,
- And to whom he gave the right hand
- Of his heart, in joy and sorrow;
- Chibiabos, the musician,
- And the very strong man, Kwasind.
- Straight between them ran the pathway,
- Never grew the grass upon it;
- Singing birds, that utter falsehoods,
- Story-tellers, mischief-makers,
- Found no eager ear to listen,
- Could not breed ill-will between them,
- For they kept each other's counsel,
- Spake with naked hearts together,
- Pondering much and much contriving
- How the tribes of men might prosper.
- Most beloved by Hiawatha
- Was the gentle Chibiabos,
- He the best of all musicians,
- He the sweetest of all singers.
- Beautiful and childlike was he,
- Brave as man is, soft as woman,
- Pliant as a wand of willow,
- Stately as a deer with antlers.
- When he sang, the village listened;
- All the warriors gathered round him,
- All the women came to hear him;
- Now he stirred their souls to passion,
- Now he melted them to pity.
- From the hollow reeds he fashioned
- Flutes so musical and mellow,
- That the brook, the Sebowisha,
- Ceased to murmur in the woodland,
- That the wood-birds ceased from singing,
- And the squirrel, Adjidaumo,
- Ceased his chatter in the oak-tree,
- And the rabbit, the Wabasso,
- Sat upright to look and listen.
- Yes, the brook, the Sebowisha,
- Pausing, said, "O Chibiabos,
- Teach my waves to flow in music,
- Softly as your words in singing!"
- Yes, the bluebird, the Owaissa,
- Envious, said, "O Chibiabos,
- Teach me tones as wild and wayward,
- Teach me songs as full of frenzy!"
- Yes, the robin, the Opechee,
- Joyous, said, "O Chibiabos,
- Teach me tones as sweet and tender,
- Teach me songs as full of gladness!"
- And the whippoorwill, Wawonaissa,
- Sobbing, said, "O Chibiabos,
- Teach me tones as melancholy,
- Teach me songs as full of sadness!"
- All the many sounds of nature
- Borrowed sweetness from his singing;
- All the hearts of men were softened
- By the pathos of his music;
- For he sang of peace and freedom,
- Sang of beauty, love, and longing;
- Sang of death, and life undying
- In the Islands of the Blessed,
- In the kingdom of Ponemah,
- In the land of the Hereafter.
- Very dear to Hiawatha
- Was the gentle Chibiabos,
- He the best of all musicians,
- He the sweetest of all singers;
- For his gentleness he loved him,
- And the magic of his singing.
- Dear, too, unto Hiawatha
- Was the very strong man, Kwasind,
- He the strongest of all mortals,
- He the mightiest among many;
- For his very strength he loved him,
- For his strength allied to goodness.
- Idle in his youth was Kwasind,
- Very listless, dull, and dreamy,
- Never played with other children,
- Never fished and never hunted,
- Not like other children was he;
- But they saw that much he fasted,
- Much his Manito entreated,
- Much besought his Guardian Spirit.
- "Lazy Kwasind!" said his mother,
- "In my work you never help me!
- In the Summer you are roaming
- Idly in the fields and forests;
- In the Winter you are cowering
- O'er the firebrands in the wigwam!
- In the coldest days of Winter
- I must break the ice for fishing;
- With my nets you never help me!
- At the door my nets are hanging,
- Dripping, freezing with the water;
- Go and wring them, Yenadizze!
- Go and dry them in the sunshine!"
- Slowly, from the ashes, Kwasind
- Rose, but made no angry answer;
- From the lodge went forth in silence,
- Took the nets, that hung together,
- Dripping, freezing at the doorway;
- Like a wisp of straw he wrung them,
- Like a wisp of straw he broke them,
- Could not wring them without breaking,
- Such the strength was in his fingers.
- "Lazy Kwasind!" said his father,
- "In the hunt you never help me;
- Every bow you touch is broken,
- Snapped asunder every arrow;
- Yet come with me to the forest,
- You shall bring the hunting homeward."
- Down a narrow pass they wandered,
- Where a brooklet led them onward,
- Where the trail of deer and bison
- Marked the soft mud on the margin,
- Till they found all further passage
- Shut against them, barred securely
- By the trunks of trees uprooted,
- Lying lengthwise, lying crosswise,
- And forbidding further passage.
- "We must go back," said the old man,
- "O'er these logs we cannot clamber;
- Not a woodchuck could get through them,
- Not a squirrel clamber o'er them!"
- And straightway his pipe he lighted,
- And sat down to smoke and ponder.
- But before his pipe was finished,
- Lo! the path was cleared before him;
- All the trunks had Kwasind lifted,
- To the right hand, to the left hand,
- Shot the pine-trees swift as arrows,
- Hurled the cedars light as lances.
- "Lazy Kwasind!" said the young men,
- As they sported in the meadow:
- "Why stand idly looking at us,
- Leaning on the rock behind you?
- Come and wrestle with the others,
- Let us pitch the quoit together!"
- Lazy Kwasind made no answer,
- To their challenge made no answer,
- Only rose, and slowly turning,
- Seized the huge rock in his fingers,
- Tore it from its deep foundation,
- Poised it in the air a moment,
- Pitched it sheer into the river,
- Sheer into the swift Pauwating,
- Where it still is seen in Summer.
- Once as down that foaming river,
- Down the rapids of Pauwating,
- Kwasind sailed with his companions,
- In the stream he saw a beaver,
- Saw Ahmeek, the King of Beavers,
- Struggling with the rushing currents,
- Rising, sinking in the water.
- Without speaking, without pausing,
- Kwasind leaped into the river,
- Plunged beneath the bubbling surface,
- Through the whirlpools chased the beaver,
- Followed him among the islands,
- Stayed so long beneath the water,
- That his terrified companions
- Cried, "Alas! good-by to Kwasind!
- We shall never more see Kwasind!"
- But he reappeared triumphant,
- And upon his shining shoulders
- Brought the beaver, dead and dripping,
- Brought the King of all the Beavers.
- And these two, as I have told you,
- Were the friends of Hiawatha,
- Chibiabos, the musician,
- And the very strong man, Kwasind.
- Long they lived in peace together,
- Spake with naked hearts together,
- Pondering much and much contriving
- How the tribes of men might prosper.
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