Fab and wide among the nations Spread the name and fame of Kwasind; No man dared to strive with Kwasind, No man could compete with Kwasind. But the mischievous Puk-Wudjies, They the envious Little People, They the fairies and the pygmies, Plotted and conspired against him.
' If this hateful Kwasind,' said they, ' If this great, outrageous fellow Goes on thus a little longer, Tearing everything he touches, Rending everything to pieces, Filling all the world with wonder, What becomes of the Puk- Wudjies ? Who will care for the Puk-Wudjies ? He will tread us down like mushrooms, Drive us all into the water, Give our bodies to be eaten By the wicked Nee-ba-naw-baigs, By the Spirits of the water! ' So the angry Little People All conspired against the Strong Man, All conspired to murder Kwasind, Yes, to rid the world of Kwasind, The audacious, overbearing, Heartless, haughty, dangerous Kwasind!
Now this wondrous strength of Kwasind In his crown alone was seated; In his crown too was his weakness There alone could he be wounded, Nowhere else could weapon pierce him, Nowhere else could weapon harm him.
Even there the only weapon That could wound him, that could slay him,
THE DEATH OF KWASIND
Was the seed-cone of the pine-tree, Was the blue cone of the fir-tree. This was Kwasind's fatal secret, Known to no man among mortals; But the cunning Little People, The Puk-Wudjies, knew the secret, Knew the only way to kill him.
So they gathered cones together, Gathered seed-cones of the pine-tree, Gathered blue cones of the fir-tree, In the woods by Taquamenaw, Brought them to the river's margin, Heaped them in great piles together, Where the red rocks from the margin Jutting overhang the river. There they lay in wait for Kwasind, The malicious Little People.
'T was an afternoon in Summer ; ? Very hot and still the air was, Very smooth the gliding river, Motionless the sleeping shadows: Insects glistened in the sunshine, Insects skated on the water, Filled the drowsy air with buzzing, With a far resounding war-cry.
Down the river came the Strong Man, In his birch canoe came Kwasind,
Reeled the landscape into darkness, Very sound asleep was Kwasind.
So he floated down the river, Like a blind man seated upright, Floated down the Taquamenaw, Underneath the trembling birch-trees, Underneath the wooded headlands, Underneath the war encampment Of the pygmies, the Puk-Wudjies.
There they stood, all armed and waiting, Hurled the pine-cones down upon him, Struck him on his brawny shoulders, On his crown defenceless struck him. ' Death to Kwasind !' was the sudden War-cry of the Little People.
And he sideways swayed and tumbled, Sideways fell into the river, Plunged beneath the sluggish water Headlong, as an otter plunges; And the birch canoe, abandoned, Drifted empty down the river, Bottom upward swerved and drifted: Nothing more was seen of Kwasind.
But the memory of the Strong Man Lingered long among the people, And whenever through the forest Raged and roared the wintry tempest,
And the branches, tossed and troubled, Creaked and groaned and split asunder, ' Ewasind!' cried they; 'that is Kwasind! He is gathering in his fire-wood I '
Never stoops the soaring vulture
On his quarry in the desert,
On the sick or wounded bison,
But another vulture, watching
From his high aerial look-out,
Sees the downward plunge, and foDows ;
And a third pursues the second,
Coming from the invisible ether,
First a speck, and then a vulture, Till the air is dark with pinions.
So disasters come not singlyj But as if they watched and waited, Scanning one another's motions, When the first descends, the others Follow, follow, gathering flock-wise Round their victim, sick and wounded, First a shadow, then a sorrow, Till the air is dark with anguish.
Now, o'er all the dreary North-land, Mighty Peboan, the Winter, Breathing on the lakes and rivers, Into stone had changed their waters. From his hair he shook the snow-flakes, Till the plains were strewn with whiteness, One uninterrupted level, As if, stooping, the Creator With his hand had smoothed them over.
Through the forest, wide and wailing, Roamed the hunter on his snow-shoes; In the village worked the women, Pounded maize, or dressed the deer-skin; And the young men played together On the ice the noisy ball-play, On the plain the dance of snow-shoes.
One dark evening, after sundown,
In her wigwam Laughing Water Sat with old Nokomis, waiting For the steps of Hiawatha Homeward from the hunt returning.
On their faces gleamed the fire-light, Painting them with streaks of crimson, In the eyes of old Nokomis Glimmered like the watery moonlight, In the eyes of Laughing Water Glistened like the sun in water; And behind them crouched their shadows In the corners of the wigwam, And the smoke in wreaths above them Climbed and crowded through the smoke-flue
Then the curtain of the doorway From without was slowly lifted; ]
Brighter glowed the fire a moment, And a moment swerved the smoke-wreath, As two women entered softly, Passed the doorway uninvited, Without word of salutation, Without sign of recognition, Sat down in the farthest corner, Crouching low among the shadows.
From their aspect and their garments, Strangers seemed they in the village; Very pale and haggard were they,
As they sat there sad and silent, Trembling, cowering with the shadows.
Was it the wind above the smoke-flue, Muttering down into the wigwam ? Was it the owl, the Koko-koho, Hooting from the dismal forest ? Sure a voice said in the silence: ' These are corpses clad in garments, These are ghosts that come to haunt you, From the kingdom of Ponemah, From the land of the Hereafter! '
Homeward now came Hiawatha From his hunting in the forest, With the snow upon his tresses, And the red
