Part XV: Hiawatha's Lamentation
- In those days the Evil Spirits,
- All the Manitos of mischief,
- Fearing Hiawatha's wisdom,
- And his love for Chibiabos,
- Jealous of their faithful friendship,
- And their noble words and actions,
- Made at length a league against them,
- To molest them and destroy them.
- Hiawatha, wise and wary,
- Often said to Chibiabos,
- "O my brother! do not leave me,
- Lest the Evil Spirits harm you!"
- Chibiabos, young and heedless,
- Laughing shook his coal-black tresses,
- Answered ever sweet and childlike,
- "Do not fear for me, O brother!
- Harm and evil come not near me!"
- Once when Peboan, the Winter,
- Roofed with ice the Big-Sea-Water,
- When the snow-flakes, whirling downward,
- Hissed among the withered oak-leaves,
- Changed the pine-trees into wigwams,
- Covered all the earth with silence,
- Armed with arrows, shod with snow-shoes,
- Heeding not his brother's warning,
- Fearing not the Evil Spirits,
- Forth to hunt the deer with antlers
- All alone went Chibiabos.
- Right across the Big-Sea-Water
- Sprang with speed the deer before him.
- With the wind and snow he followed,
- O'er the treacherous ice he followed,
- Wild with all the fierce commotion
- And the rapture of the hunting.
- But beneath, the Evil Spirits
- Lay in ambush, waiting for him,
- Broke the treacherous ice beneath him,
- Dragged him downward to the bottom,
- Buried in the sand his body.
- Unktahee, the god of water,
- He the god of the Dacotahs,
- Drowned him in the deep abysses
- Of the lake of Gitche Gumee.
- From the headlands Hiawatha
- Sent forth such a wail of anguish,
- Such a fearful lamentation,
- That the bison paused to listen,
- And the wolves howled from the prairies,
- And the thunder in the distance
- Starting answered "Baim-wawa!"
- Then his face with black he painted,
- With his robe his head he covered,
- In his wigwam sat lamenting,
- Seven long weeks he sat lamenting,
- Uttering still this moan of sorrow:
- "He is dead, the sweet musician!
- He the sweetest of all singers!
- He has gone from us forever,
- He has moved a little nearer
- To the Master of all music,
- To the Master of all singing!
- O my brother, Chibiabos!"
- And the melancholy fir-trees
- Waved their dark green fans above him,
- Waved their purple cones above him,
- Sighing with him to console him,
- Mingling with his lamentation
- Their complaining, their lamenting.
- Came the Spring, and all the forest
- Looked in vain for Chibiabos;
- Sighed the rivulet, Sebowisha,
- Sighed the rushes in the meadow.
- From the tree-tops sang the bluebird,
- Sang the bluebird, the Owaissa,
- "Chibiabos! Chibiabos!
- He is dead, the sweet musician!"
- From the wigwam sang the robin,
- Sang the robin, the Opechee,
- "Chibiabos! Chibiabos!
- He is dead, the sweetest singer!"
- And at night through all the forest
- Went the whippoorwill complaining,
- Wailing went the Wawonaissa,
- "Chibiabos! Chibiabos!
- He is dead, the sweet musician!
- He the sweetest of all singers!"
- Then the Medicine-men, the Medas,
- The magicians, the Wabenos,
- And the Jossakeeds, the Prophets,
- Came to visit Hiawatha;
- Built a Sacred Lodge beside him,
- To appease him, to console him,
- Walked in silent, grave procession,
- Bearing each a pouch of healing,
- Skin of beaver, lynx, or otter,
- Filled with magic roots and simples,
- Filled with very potent medicines.
- When he heard their steps approaching~,
- Hiawatha ceased lamenting,
- Called no more on Chibiabos;
- Naught he questioned, naught he answered,
- But his mournful head uncovered,
- From his face the mourning colors
- Washed he slowly and in silence,
- Slowly and in silence followed
- Onward to the Sacred Wigwam.
- There a magic drink they gave him,
- Made of Nahma-wusk, the spearmint,
- And Wabeno-wusk, the yarrow,
- Roots of power, and herbs of healing;
- Beat their drums, and shook their rattles;
- Chanted singly and in chorus,
- Mystic songs like these, they chanted.
- "I myself, myself! behold me!
- `T Is the great Gray Eagle talking;
- Come, ye white crows, come and hear him!
- The loud-speaking thunder helps me;
- All the unseen spirits help me;
- I can hear their voices calling,
- All around the sky I hear them!
- I can blow you strong, my brother,
- I can heal you, Hiawatha!"
- "Hi-au-ha!" replied the chorus,
- "Wayha-way!" the mystic chorus.
- Friends of mine are all the serpents!
- Hear me shake my skin of hen-hawk!
- Mahng, the white loon, I can kill him;
- I can shoot your heart and kill it!
- I can blow you strong, my brother,
- I can heal you, Hiawatha !"
- "Hi-au-ha!" replied the chorus,
- "Wayhaway!" the mystic chorus.
- "I myself, myself! the prophet!
- When I speak the wigwam trembles,
- Shakes the Sacred Lodge with terror,
- Hands unseen begin to shake it!
- When I walk, the sky I tread on
- Bends and makes a noise beneath me!
- I can blow you strong, my brother!
- Rise and speak, O Hiawatha!"
- "Hi-au-ha!" replied the chorus,
- "Way-ha-way!" the mystic chorus.
- Then they shook their medicine-pouches
- O'er the head of Hiawatha,
- Danced their medicine-dance around him;
- And upstarting wild and haggard,
- Like a man from dreams awakened,
- He was healed of all his madness.
- As the clouds are swept from heaven,
- Straightway from his brain departed
- All his moody melancholy;
- As the ice is swept from rivers,
- Straightway from his heart departed
- All his sorrow and affliction.
- Then they summoned Chibiabos
- From his grave beneath the waters,
- From the sands of Gitche Gumee
- Summoned Hiawatha's brother.
- And so mighty was the magic
- Of that cry and invocation,
- That he heard it as he lay there
- Underneath the Big-Sea-Water;
- From the sand he rose and listened,
- Heard the music and the singing,
- Came, obedient to the summons,
- To the doorway of the wigwam,
- But to enter they forbade him.
- Through a chink a coal they gave him,
- Through the door a burning fire-brand;
- Ruler in the Land of Spirits,
- Ruler o'er the dead, they made him,
- Telling him a fire to kindle
- For all those that died thereafter,
- Camp-fires for their night encampments
- On their solitary journey
- To the kingdom of Ponemah,
- To the land of the Hereafter.
- From the village of his childhood,
- From the homes of those who knew him,
- Passing silent through the forest,
- Like a smoke-wreath wafted sideways,
- Slowly vanished Chibiabos!
- Where he passed, the branches moved not,
- Where he trod, the grasses bent not,
- And the fallen leaves of last year
- Made no sound beneath his footstep.
- Four whole days he journeyed onward
- Down the pathway of the dead men;
- On the dead-man's strawberry feasted,
- Crossed the melancholy river,
- On the swinging log he crossed it,
- Came unto the Lake of Silver,
- In the Stone Canoe was carried
- To the Islands of the Blessed,
- To the land of ghosts and shadows.
- On that journey, moving slowly,
- Many weary spirits saw he,
- Panting under heavy burdens,
- Laden with war-clubs, bows and arrows,
- Robes of fur, and pots and kettles,
- And with food that friends had given
- For that solitary journey.
- "Ay! why do the living," said they,
- "Lay such heavy burdens on us!
- Better were it to go naked,
- Better were it to go fasting,
- Than to bear such heavy burdens
- On our long and weary journey!"
- Forth then issued Hiawatha,
- Wandered eastward, wandered westward,
- Teaching men the use of simples
- And the antidotes for poisons,
- And the cure of all diseases.
- Thus was first made known to mortals
- All the mystery of Medamin,
- All the sacred art of healing.
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