The Complete Poetical Works of Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. Генри Уодсуорт Лонгфелло

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.

IX

       Table of Contents

HIAWATHA AND THE PEARL-FEATHER

       Table of Contents

      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