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 treetop 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,1

In this manner, and with such salutations, was Father Marquette received by the Illinois. See his Voyage et Découvertes, Section V.

Both the palms spread out against it,
And between the parted fingers
Fell the sunshine on his features,
Flecked with light his naked shoul-
ders,

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?
Was it 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,
O'er the water floating, flying,
Neither pelican nor heron,
Through the shining mist of morn-
But a birch canoe with paddles,
ing,
Rising, sinking on the water,
Dripping, flashing in the sunshine;
And within it came a people
From the distant land of Wabun,
From the farthest realms of morning
Came the Black-Robe chief, the
Prophet,

He the Priest of Prayer, the Paleface,

With his guides and his companions.
And the noble Hiawatha,
With his hands aloft extended,
Held aloft in sign of welcome,
Waited, full of exultation,
Till the birch canoe with paddles
Grated on the shining pebbles,
Stranded on the sandy margin,
Till the Black-Robe chief, the Pale-

face,

With the cross upon his bosom,
Landed on the sandy margin.

Then the joyous Hiawatha
Cried aloud and spake in this wise:
Beautiful is the sun, O strangers,
When you come so far to see us!
All our town in peace awaits you,
All our doors stand open for you;

answer,

Stammered in his speech a little,
Speaking words yet unfamiliar :
Peace be with you, Hiawatha,
Peace be with you and your people,
Peace of prayer, and peace of par-
don,

Peace of Christ, and joy of Mary !"
Then the generous Hiawatha
Led the strangers to his wigwam,
Seated them on skins of bison,
Seated them on skins of ermine,
And the careful, old Nokomis
Brought them food in bowls of bass-
wood,

Water brought in birchen dippers,
And the calumet, the peace-pipe,
Filled and lighted for their smoking.
All the old men of the village,
All the warriors of the nation,
All the Jossakeeds, the prophets,
The magicians, the Wabenos,
And the medicine-men, the Medas,
Came to bid the strangers welcome;
"It is well," they said, O brothers,
That you come so far to see us !"

In a circle round the doorway, With their pipes they sat in silence, Waiting to behold the strangers, Waiting to receive their message; Till the Black-Robe chief, the Paleface,

From the wigwam came to greet them,

Stammering in his speech a little,
Speaking words yet unfamiliar;
"It is well," they said, "O brother,
That you come so far to see us!"
Then the Black-Robe chief, the
prophet,

Told his message to the people,
Told the purport of his mission,
Told them of the Virgin Mary,
And her blessed Son, the Saviour,
How in distant lands and ages
He had lived on earth as we do;
How he fasted, prayed, and labored;
How the Jews, the tribe accursed,
Mocked him, scourged him, cruci-
fied him;

How he rose from where they laid him,

Walked again with his disciples,
And ascended into heaven.

And the chiefs made answer, say

ing:

"We have listened to your message, We have heard your words of wisdom,

We will think on what you tell us.
It is well for us, O brothers,
That you come so far to see us!"

Then they rose up and departed Each one homeward to his wigwam, To the young men and the women Told the story of the strangers Whom the Master of Life had sent them

From the shining land of Wabun.

Heavy with the heat and silence Grew the afternoon of Summer; With a drowsy sound the forest Whispered round the sultry wig

shadow,

Rushed into each secret ambush, Searched each thicket, dingle, hollow;

Still the guests of Hiawatha Slumbered in the silent wigwam. From his place rose Hiawatha, Bade farewell to old Nokomis, Spake in whispers, spake in this wise,

Did not wake the guests, that slumbered :

"I am going, O Nokomis, On a long and distant journey, To the portals of the Sunset, To the regions of the home-wind, Of the Northwest wind, Keewaydin. But these guests I leave behind me, In your watch and ward I leave them;

See that never harm comes near them,

See that never fear molests them,
Never danger nor suspicion,
Never want of food or shelter,
In the lodge of Hiawatha !

Forth into the village went he, Bade farewell to all the warriors, Bade farewell to all the young men,

Spake persuading, spake in this wise :

"I am going, O my people, On a long and distant journey; Many moons and many winters Will have come, and will have vanished,

Ere I come again to see you.
But my guests I leave behind me ;
Listen to their words of wisdom,
Listen to the truth they tell you,
For the Master of Life has sent
them

From the land of light and morning!"

On the shore stood Hiawatha,

ing,

From the pebbles of the margin Shoved it forth into the water; Whispered to it, "Westward ! westward!'

And with speed it darted forward.

And the evening sun descending Set the clouds on fire with redness, Burned the broad sky, like a prairie, Left upon the level water

One long track and trail of splendor, Down whose stream, as down a river,

Westward, westward Hiawatha
Sailed into the fiery sunset,
Sailed into the purple vapors,
Sailed into the dusk of evening.
And the people from the margin
Watched him floating, rising, sink-
ing,

Till the birch canoe seemed lifted
High into that sea of splendor,
Till it sank into the vapors

Like the new moon slowly, slowly
Sinking in the purple distance.
And they said, Farewell for-
ever!"

parting;

On the clear and luminous water

To the Kingdom of Ponemah, To the land of the Hereafter !

THE VILLAGE BLACKSMITH.

UNDER a spreading chestnut tree
The village smithy stands ;
The smith, a mighty man is he,
With large and sinewy hands;
And the muscles of his brawny arms
Are strong as iron bands.

His hair is crisp, and black, and long,

His face is like the tan;

His brow is wet with honest sweat, He earns whate'er he can,

It sounds to him like her mother's voice,

Singing in Paradise!

He needs must think of her once more,

How in the grave she lies: And with his hard, rough hand he wipes

A tear out of his eyes.

Toiling, rejoicing,-sorrowing, Onward through life he goes; Each morning sees some task begin, Each evening sees it close;

face,

done,

Has earned a night's repose.

Thanks, thanks to thee, my worthy friend,

For the lesson thou hast taught ! | Thus at the flaming forge of life Our fortunes must be wrought; Thus on its sounding anvil shaped Each burning deed and thought!

ENDYMION.

THE rising moon has hid the stars; Her level rays, like golden bars, Lie on the landscape green, With shadows brown between.

And silver white the river gleams,
As if Diana, in her dreams,
Had dropt her silver bow
Upon the meadows low.

On such a tranquil night as this, She woke Endymion with a kiss, When, sleeping in the grove, He dreamed not of her love.

223

Like Dian's kiss, unaskt, unsought,
Love gives itself, but is not bought !
Nor voice, nor sound betrays
Its deep, impassioned gaze.

It comes, the beautiful, the free,
The crown of all humanity,

In silence and alone

To seek the elected one.

It lifts the boughs, whose shadows deep,

Are Life's oblivion, the soul's sleep, And kisses the closed eyes

Of him, who slumbering lies.

O, weary hearts! O, slumbering eyes!

O, drooping souls, whose destinies
Are fraught with fear and pain,
Ye shall be loved again!

No one is so accurst by fate,
No one so utterly desolate,

But some heart, though un-
known,

Responds unto his own.

Responds, -as if with unseen wings, An angel touched its quivering strings:

And whispers in its song,

46

Where hast thou stayed so long !"

Too long did it remain!

It ever comes again.

The fulness of their first delight!