| Lyrics: | Part 2)
XXII Hiawatha's Departure
By the shore of Gitche Gumee,
By the
shining Big-Sea-Water,
At the doorway of his wigwam,
In the pleasant Summer
morning,
Hiawatha stood and waited.
All the air was full of freshness,
All the earth
was bright and joyous,
And before him, through the sunshine,
Westward toward the
neighboring forest
Passed in golden swarms the Ahmo,
Passed the bees, the
honey-makers,
Burning, singing In the sunshine.
Bright above him shone the
heavens,
Level spread the lake before him;
>From its bosom leaped the
sturgeon,
Sparkling, flashing in the sunshine;
On its margin the great forest
Stood
reflected in the water,
Every tree-top had its shadow,
Motionless beneath the water.
From the brow of Hiawatha
Gone was every trace of sorrow,
As the fog from off the
water,
As the mist from off the meadow.
With a smile of joy and triumph,
With a look
of exultation,
As of one who in a vision
Sees what is to be, but is not,
Stood and
waited Hiawatha.
Toward the sun his hands were lifted,
Both the palms spread out
against it,
And between the parted fingers
Fell the sunshine on his features,
Flecked
with light his naked shoulders,
As it falls and flecks an oak-tree
Through the rifted
leaves and branches.
O'er the water floating, flying,
Something in the hazy
distance,
Something in the mists of morning,
Loomed and lifted from the water,
Now
seemed floating, now seemed flying,
Coming nearer, nearer, nearer.
Was it Shingebis
the diver?
Or the pelican, the Shada?
Or the heron, the Shuh-shuh-gah?
Or the white
goose, Waw-be-wawa,
With the water dripping, flashing,
>From its glossy neck and
feathers?
It was neither goose nor diver,
Neither pelican nor heron,
O'er the
water floating, flying,
Through the shining mist of morning,
But a birch canoe with
paddles,
Rising, sinking on the water,
Dripping, flashing in the sunshine;
And within
it came a people
XII The Son of the Evening Star
Can it be the
sun descending
O'er the level plain of water?
Or the Red Swan floating, flying,
Wounded by the magic arrow,
Staining all the waves with crimson,
With the crimson
of its life-blood,
Filling all the air with splendor,
With the splendor of its
plumage?
Yes; it is the sun descending,
Sinking down into the water;
All the
sky is stained with purple,
All the water flushed with crimson!
No; it is the Red Swan
floating,
Diving down beneath the water;
To the sky its wings are lifted,
With its
blood the waves are reddened!
Over it the Star of Evening
Melts and trembles through
the purple,
Hangs suspended in the twilight.
/*No; it is a bead of wampum
On the
robes of the Great Spirit
As he passes through the twilight,*/
Walks in silence through
the heavens |
