"Give me of your bark, O Birch-tree!

Of your yellow bark, O Birch-tree!

Growing by the rushing river,

Tall and stately in the valley!

I a light canoe will build me,

Build a swift Cheemaun for sailing,

That shall float on the river,

Like a yellow leaf in Autumn,

Like a yellow water-lily!

"Lay aside your cloak, O Birch-tree!

Lay aside your white-skin wrapper,

For the Summer-time is coming,

And the sun is warm in heaven,

And you need no white-skin wrapper!"

Thus aloud cried Hiawatha

In the solitary forest,

By the rushing Taquamenaw,

When the birds were singing gayly,

In the Moon of Leaves were singing,

And the sun, from sleep awaking,

Started up and said, "Behold me!

Gheezis, the great Sun, behold me!"

And the tree with all its branches

Rustled in the breeze of morning,

Saying, with a sigh of patience,

"Take my cloak, O Hiawatha!"

With his knife the tree he girdled;

Just beneath its lowest branches,

Just above the roots, he cut it,

Till the sap came oozing outward;

Down the trunk, from top to bottom,

Sheer he cleft the bark asunder,

With a wooden wedge he raised it,

Stripped it from the trunk unbroken.

"Give me of your boughs, O Cedar!

Of your strong and pliant branches,

My canoe to make more steady,

Make more strong and firm beneath me!"

Through the summit of the Cedar

Went a sound, a cry of horror,

Went a murmur of resistance;

But it whispered, bending downward,

"Take my boughs, O Hiawatha!"

Down he hewed the boughs of cedar,

Shaped them straightway to a frame-work,

Like two bows he formed and shaped them,

Like two bended bows together.

"Give me of your roots, O Tamarack!

Of your fibrous roots, O Larch-tree!

My canoe to bind together,

So to bind the ends together

That the water may not enter,

That the river may not wet me!"

And the Larch, with all its fibres,

Shivered in the air of morning,

Touched his forehead with its tassels,

Slid, with one long sigh of sorrow.

"Take them all, O Hiawatha!"

From the earth he tore the fibres,

Tore the tough roots of the Larch-tree,

Closely sewed the hark together,

Bound it closely to the frame-work.

"Give me of your balm, O Fir-tree!

Of your balsam and your resin,

So to close the seams together

That the water may not enter,

That the river may not wet me!"

And the Fir-tree, tall and sombre,

Sobbed through all its robes of darkness,

Rattled like a shore with pebbles,

Answered wailing, answered weeping,

"Take my balm, O Hiawatha!"

And he took the tears of balsam,

Took the resin of the Fir-tree,

Smeared therewith each seam and fissure,

Made each crevice safe from water.

"Give me of your quills, O Hedgehog!

All your quills, O Kagh, the Hedgehog!

I will make a necklace of them,

Make a girdle for my beauty,

And two stars to deck her bosom!"

From a hollow tree the Hedgehog

With his sleepy eyes looked at him,

Shot his shining quills, like arrows,

Saying with a drowsy murmur,

Through the tangle of his whiskers,

"Take my quills, O Hiawatha!"

From the ground the quills he gathered,

All the little shining arrows,

Stained them red and blue and yellow,

With the juice of roots and berries;

Into his canoe he wrought them,

Round its waist a shining girdle,

Round its bows a gleaming necklace,

On its breast two stars resplendent.

Thus the Birch Canoe was builded

In the valley, by the river,

In the bosom of the forest;

And the forest's life was in it,

All its mystery and its magic,

All the lightness of the birch-tree,

All the toughness of the cedar,

All the larch's supple sinews;

And it floated on the river

Like a yellow leaf in Autumn,

Like a yellow water-lily.

Paddles none had Hiawatha,

Paddles none he had or needed,

For his thoughts as paddles served him,

And his wishes served to guide him;

Swift or slow at will he glided,

Veered to right or left at pleasure.

Then he called aloud to Kwasind,

To his friend, the strong man, Kwasind,

Saying, "Help me clear this river

Of its sunken logs and sand-bars."

Straight into the river Kwasind

Plunged as if he were an otter,

Dived as if he were a beaver,

Stood up to his waist in water,

To his arm-pits in the river,

Swam and scouted in the river,

Tugged at sunken logs and branches,

With his hands he scooped the sand-bars,

With his feet the ooze and tangle.

And thus sailed my Hiawatha

Down the rushing Taquamenaw,

Sailed through all its bends and windings,

Sailed through all its deeps and shallows,

While his friend, the strong man, Kwasind,

Swam the deeps, the shallows waded.

Up and down the river went they,

In and out among its islands,

Cleared its bed of root and sand-bar,

Dragged the dead trees from its channel,

Made its passage safe and certain,

Made a pathway for the people,

From its springs among the mountains,

To the waters of Pauwating,

To the bay of Taquamenaw.

Forth upon the Gitche Gumee,

On the shining Big-Sea-Water,

With his fishing-line of cedar,

Of the twisted bark of cedar,

Forth to catch the sturgeon Nahma,

Mishe-Nahma, King of Fishes,

In his birch canoe exulting

All alone went Hiawatha.

Through the clear, transparent water

He could see the fishes swimming

Far down in the depths below him;

See the yellow perch, the Sahwa,

Like a sunbeam in the water,

See the Shawgashee, the craw-fish,

Like a spider on the bottom,

On the white and sandy bottom.

At the stern sat Hiawatha,

With his fishing-line of cedar;

In his plumes the breeze of morning

Played as in the hemlock branches;

On the bows, with tail erected,

Sat the squirrel, Adjidaumo;

In his fur the breeze of morning

Played as in the prairie grasses.

On the white sand of the bottom

Lay the monster Mishe-Nahma,

Lay the sturgeon, King of Fishes;

Through his gills he breathed the water,

With his fins he fanned and winnowed,

With his tail he swept the sand-floor.

There he lay in all his armor;

On each side a shield to guard him,

Plates of bone upon his forehead,

Down his sides and back and shoulders

Plates of bone with spines projecting

Painted was he with his war-paints,

Stripes of yellow, red, and azure,

Spots of brown and spots of sable;

And he lay there on the bottom,

Fanning with his fins of purple,

As above him Hiawatha

In his birch canoe came sailing,

With his fishing-line of cedar.

"Take my bait," cried Hiawatha,

Dawn into the depths beneath him,

"Take my bait, O Sturgeon, Nahma!

Come up from below the water,

Let us see which is the stronger!"

And he dropped his line of cedar

Through the clear, transparent water,

Waited vainly for an answer,

Long sat waiting for an answer,

And repeating loud and louder,

"Take my bait, O King of Fishes!"

Quiet lay the sturgeon, Nahma,

Fanning slowly in the water,

Looking up at Hiawatha,

Listening to his call and clamor,

His unnecessary tumult,

Till he wearied of the shouting;

And he said to the Kenozha,

To the pike, the Maskenozha,

"Take the bait of this rude fellow,

Break the line of Hiawatha!"

In his fingers Hiawatha

Felt the loose line jerk and tighten,

As he drew it in, it tugged so

That the birch canoe stood endwise,

Like a birch log in the water,

With the squirrel, Adjidaumo,

Perched and frisking on the summit.

Full of scorn was Hiawatha

When he saw the fish rise upward,

Saw the pike, the Maskenozha,

Coming nearer, nearer to him,

And he shouted through the water,

"Esa! esa! shame upon you!

You are but the pike, Kenozha,

You are not the fish I wanted,

You are not the King of Fishes!"

Reeling downward to the bottom

Sank the pike in great confusion,

And the mighty sturgeon, Nahma,

Said to Ugudwash, the sun-fish,

To the bream, with scales of crimson,

"Take the bait of this great boaster,

Break the line of Hiawatha!"

Slowly upward, wavering, gleaming,

Rose the Ugudwash, the sun-fish,

Seized the line of Hiawatha,

Swung with all his weight upon it,

Made a whirlpool in the water,

Whirled the birch canoe in circles,

Round and round in gurgling eddies,

Till the circles in the water

Reached the far-off sandy beaches,

Till the water-flags and rushes

Nodded on the distant margins.

But when Hiawatha saw him

Slowly rising through the water,

Lifting up his disk refulgent,

Loud he shouted in derision,

"Esa! esa! shame upon you!

You are Ugudwash, the sun-fish,

You are not the fish I wanted,

You are not the King of Fishes!"

Slowly downward, wavering, gleaming,

Sank the Ugudwash, the sun-fish,

And again the sturgeon, Nahma,

Heard the shout of Hiawatha,

Heard his challenge of defiance,

The unnecessary tumult,

Ringing far across the water.

From the white sand of the bottom

Up he rose with angry gesture,

Quivering in each nerve and fibre,

Clashing all his plates of armor,

Gleaming bright with all his war-paint;

In his wrath he darted upward,

Flashing leaped into the sunshine,

Opened his great jaws, and swallowed

Both canoe and Hiawatha.

Down into that darksome cavern

Plunged the headlong Hiawatha,

As a log on some black river

Shoots and plunges down the rapids,

Found himself in utter darkness,

Groped about in helpless wonder,

Till he felt a great heart beating,

Throbbing in that utter darkness.

And he smote it in his anger,

With his fist, the heart of Nahma,

Felt the mighty King of Fishes

Shudder through each nerve and fibre,

Heard the water gurgle round him

As he leaped and staggered through it,

Sick at heart, and faint and weary.

Crosswise then did Hiawatha

Drag his birch-canoe for safety,

Lest from out the jaws of Nahma,

In the turmoil and confusion,

Forth he might be hurled and perish.

And the squirrel, Adjidaumo,

Frisked and chatted very gayly,

Toiled and tugged with Hiawatha

Till the labor was completed.

Then said Hiawatha to him,

"O my little friend, the squirrel,

Bravely have you toiled to help me;

Take the thanks of Hiawatha,

And the name which now he gives you;

For hereafter and forever

Boys shall call you Adjidaumo,

Tail-in-air the boys shall call you!"

And again the sturgeon, Nahma,

Gasped and quivered in the water,

Then was still, and drifted landward

Till he grated on the pebbles,

Till the listening Hiawatha

Heard him grate upon the margin,

Felt him strand upon the pebbles,

Knew that Nahma, King of Fishes,

Lay there dead upon the margin.

Then he heard a clang and flapping,

As of many wings assembling,

Heard a screaming and confusion,

As of birds of prey contending,

Saw a gleam of light above him,

Shining through the ribs of Nahma,

Saw the glittering eyes of sea-gulls,

Of Kayoshk, the sea-gulls, peering,

Gazing at him through the opening,

Heard them saying to each other,

"'T is our brother, Hiawatha!"

And he shouted from below them,

Cried exulting from the caverns:

"O ye sea-gulls! O my brothers!

I have slain the sturgeon, Nahma;

Make the rifts a little larger,

With your claws the openings widen,

Set me free from this dark prison,

And henceforward and forever

Men shall speak of your achievements,

Calling you Kayoshk, the sea-gulls,

Yes, Kayoshk, the Noble Scratchers!"

And the wild and clamorous sea-gulls

Toiled with beak and claws together,

Made the rifts and openings wider

In the mighty ribs of Nahma,

And from peril and from prison,

From the body of the sturgeon,

From the peril of the water,

They released my Hiawatha.

He was standing near his wigwam,

On the margin of the water,

And he called to old Nokomis,

Called and beckoned to Nokomis,

Pointed to the sturgeon, Nahma,

Lying lifeless on the pebbles,

With the sea-gulls feeding on him.

"I have slain the Mishe-Nahma,

Slain the King of Fishes!" said he'

"Look! the sea-gulls feed upon him,

Yes, my friends Kayoshk, the sea-gulls;

Drive them not away, Nokomis,

They have saved me from great peril

In the body of the sturgeon,

Wait until their meal is ended,

Till their craws are full with feasting,

Till they homeward fly, at sunset,

To their nests among the marshes;

Then bring all your pots and kettles,

And make oil for us in Winter."

And she waited till the sun set,

Till the pallid moon, the Night-sun,

Rose above the tranquil water,

Till Kayoshk, the sated sea-gulls,

From their banquet rose with clamor,

And across the fiery sunset

Winged their way to far-off islands,

To their nests among the rushes.

To his sleep went Hiawatha,

And Nokomis to her labor,

Toiling patient in the moonlight,

Till the sun and moon changed places,

Till the sky was red with sunrise,

And Kayoshk, the hungry sea-gulls,

Came back from the reedy islands,

Clamorous for their morning banquet.

Three whole days and nights alternate

Old Nokomis and the sea-gulls

Stripped the oily flesh of Nahma,

Till the waves washed through the rib-bones,

Till the sea-gulls came no longer,

And upon the sands lay nothing

But the skeleton of Nahma.

On the shores of Gitche Gumee,

Of the shining Big-Sea-Water,

Stood Nokomis, the old woman,

Pointing with her finger westward,

O'er the water pointing westward,

To the purple clouds of sunset.

Fiercely the red sun descending

Burned his way along the heavens,

Set the sky on fire behind him,

As war-parties, when retreating,

Burn the prairies on their war-trail;

And the moon, the Night-sun, eastward,

Suddenly starting from his ambush,

Followed fast those bloody footprints,

Followed in that fiery war-trail,

With its glare upon his features.

And Nokomis, the old woman,

Pointing with her finger westward,

Spake these words to Hiawatha:

"Yonder dwells the great Pearl-Feather,

Megissogwon, the Magician,

Manito of Wealth and Wampum,

Guarded by his fiery serpents,

Guarded by the black pitch-water.

You can see his fiery serpents,

The Kenabeek, the great serpents,

Coiling, playing in the water;

You can see the black pitch-water

Stretching far away beyond them,

To the purple clouds of sunset!

"He it was who slew my father,

By his wicked wiles and cunning,

When he from the moon descended,

When he came on earth to seek me.

He, the mightiest of Magicians,

Sends the fever from the marshes,

Sends the pestilential vapors,

Sends the poisonous exhalations,

Sends the white fog from the fen-lands,

Sends disease and death among us!

"Take your bow, O Hiawatha,

Take your arrows, jasper-headed,

Take your war-club, Puggawaugun,

And your mittens, Minjekahwun,

And your birch-canoe for sailing,

And the oil of Mishe-Nahma,

So to smear its sides, that swiftly

You may pass the black pitch-water;

Slay this merciless magician,

Save the people from the fever

That he breathes across the fen-lands,

And avenge my father's murder!"

Straightway then my Hiawatha

Armed himself with all his war-gear,

Launched his birch-canoe for sailing;

With his palm its sides he patted,

Said with glee, "Cheemaun, my darling,

O my Birch-canoe! leap forward,

Where you see the fiery serpents,

Where you see the black pitch-water!"

Forward leaped Cheemaun exulting,

And the noble Hiawatha

Sang his war-song wild and woful,

And above him the war-eagle,

The Keneu, the great war-eagle,

Master of all fowls with feathers,

Screamed and hurtled through the heavens.

Soon he reached the fiery serpents,

The Kenabeek, the great serpents,

Lying huge upon the water,

Sparkling, rippling in the water,

Lying coiled across the passage,

With their blazing crests uplifted,

Breathing fiery fogs and vapors,

So that none could pass beyond them.

But the fearless Hiawatha

Cried aloud, and spake in this wise,

"Let me pass my way, Kenabeek,

Let me go upon my journey!"

And they answered, hissing fiercely,

With their fiery breath made answer:

"Back, go back! O Shaugodaya!

Back to old Nokomis, Faint-heart!"

Then the angry Hiawatha

Raised his mighty bow of ash-tree,

Seized his arrows, jasper-headed,

Shot them fast among the serpents;

Every twanging of the bow-string

Was a war-cry and a death-cry,

Every whizzing of an arrow

Was a death-song of Kenabeek.

Weltering in the bloody water,

Dead lay all the fiery serpents,

And among them Hiawatha

Harmless sailed, and cried exulting:

"Onward, O Cheemaun, my darling!

Onward to the black pitch-water!"

Then he took the oil of Nahma,

And the bows and sides anointed,

Smeared them well with oil, that swiftly

He might pass the black pitch-water.

All night long he sailed upon it,

Sailed upon that sluggish water,

Covered with its mould of ages,

Black with rotting water-rushes,

Rank with flags and leaves of lilies,

Stagnant, lifeless, dreary, dismal,

Lighted by the shimmering moonlight,

And by will-o'-the-wisps illumined,

Fires by ghosts of dead men kindled,

In their weary night-encampments.

All the air was white with moonlight,

All the water black with shadow,

And around him the Suggema,

The mosquito, sang his war-song,

And the fire-flies, Wah-wah-taysee,

Waved their torches to mislead him;

And the bull-frog, the Dahinda,

Thrust his head into the moonlight,

Fixed his yellow eyes upon him,

Sobbed and sank beneath the surface;

And anon a thousand whistles,

Answered over all the fen-lands,

And the heron, the Shuh-shuh-gah,

Far off on the reedy margin,

Heralded the hero's coming.

Westward thus fared Hiawatha,

Toward the realm of Megissogwon,

Toward the land of the Pearl-Feather,

Till the level moon stared at him

In his face stared pale and haggard,

Till the sun was hot behind him,

Till it burned upon his shoulders,

And before him on the upland

He could see the Shining Wigwam

Of the Manito of Wampum,

Of the mightiest of Magicians.

Then once more Cheemaun he patted,

To his birch-canoe said, "Onward!"

And it stirred in all its fibres,

And with one great bound of triumph

Leaped across the water-lilies,

Leaped through tangled flags and rushes,

And upon the beach beyond them

Dry-shod landed Hiawatha.

Straight he took his bow of ash-tree,

On the sand one end he rested,

With his knee he pressed the middle,

Stretched the faithful bow-string tighter,

Took an arrow, jasperheaded,

Shot it at the Shining Wigwam,

Sent it singing as a herald,

As a bearer of his message,

Of his challenge loud and lofty:

"Come forth from your lodge, Pearl-Feather!

Hiawatha waits your coming!"

Straightway from the Shining Wigwam

Came the mighty Megissogwon,

Tall of stature, broad of shoulder,

Dark and terrible in aspect,

Clad from head to foot in wampum,

Armed with all his warlike weapons,

Painted like the sky of morning,

Streaked with crimson, blue, and yellow,

Crested with great eagle-feathers,

Streaming upward, streaming outward.

"Well I know you, Hiawatha!"

Cried he in a voice of thunder,

In a tone of loud derision.

"Hasten back, O Shaugodaya!

Hasten back among the women,

Back to old Nokomis, Faint-heart!

I will slay you as you stand there,

As of old I slew her father!"

But my Hiawatha answered,

Nothing daunted, fearing nothing:

"Big words do not smite like war-clubs,

Boastful breath is not a bow-string,

Taunts are not so sharp as arrows,

Deeds are better things than words are,

Actions mightier than boastings!"

Then began the greatest battle

That the sun had ever looked on,

That the war-birds ever witnessed.

All a Summer's day it lasted,

From the sunrise to the sunset;

For the shafts of Hiawatha

Harmless hit the shirt of wampum,

Harmless fell the blows he dealt it

With his mittens, Minjekahwun,

Harmless fell the heavy war-club;

It could dash the rocks asunder,