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 Pale-face, 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, crucified him;How he rose from where they laid him, Walked again with his disciples, And ascended into heaven.
And the chiefs made answer, saying:
"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 wigwam, With a sound of sleep the water Rippled on the beach below it;From the cornfields shrill and ceaseless Sang the grasshopper, Pah-puk-keena;And the guests of Hiawatha, Weary with the heat of Summer, Slumbered in the sultry wigwam.
Slowly o'er the simmering landscape Fell the evening's dusk and coolness, And the long and level sunbeams Shot their spears into the forest, Breaking through its shields of 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, Turned and waved his hand at parting;On the clear and luminous water Launched his birch canoe for sailing, 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, sinking, 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 forever!"
Said, "Farewell, O Hiawatha!"
And the forests, dark and lonely, Moved through all their depths of darkness, Sighed, "Farewell, O Hiawatha!"And the waves upon the margin Rising, rippling on the pebbles, Sobbed, "Farewell, O Hiawatha!"And the heron, the Shuh-shuh-gah, From her haunts among the fen-lands, Screamed, "Farewell, O Hiawatha!"Thus departed Hiawatha, Hiawatha the Beloved, In the glory of the sunset,.
In the purple mists of evening, To the regions of the home-wind, Of the Northwest-Wind, Keewaydin, To the Islands of the Blessed, To the Kingdom of Ponemah, To the Land of the Hereafter!
