You shall bring the hunting homeward."
Down a narrow pass they wandered,
Where a brooklet led them onward,
Where the trail of deer and bison
Marked the soft mud on the margin,
Till they found all further passage
Shut against them, barred securely
By the trunks of trees uprooted,
Lying lengthwise, lying crosswise,
And forbidding further passage.

"We must go back," said the old man,
"O'er these logs we cannot clamber;
Not a woodchuck could get through them,
Not a squirrel clamber o'er them!”
And straightway his pipe he lighted,
And sat down to smoke and ponder.
But before his pipe was finished,
Lo! the path was cleared before him ;
All the trunks had Kwasind lifted,
To the right hand, to the left hand,

Shot the pine-trees swift as arrows,
Hurled the cedars light as lances.

66

Lazy Kwasind!" said the young men,

As they sported in the meadow;

66

Why stand idly looking at us, Leaning on the rock behind you ? Come and wrestle with the others, Let us pitch the quoit together!"

Lazy Kwasind made no answer,
To their challenge made no answer,
Only rose, and, slowly turning,
Seized the huge rock in his fingers,
Tore it from its deep foundation,

Poised it in the air a moment,
Pitched it sheer into the river,

Sheer into the swift Pauwating,

Where it still is seen in Summer.

Once as down that foaming river, Down the rapids of Pauwating,

Kwasind sailed with his companions,

In the stream he saw a beaver,

Saw Ahmeek, the King of Beavers,

Struggling with the rushing currents,
Rising, sinking in the water.

Without speaking, without pausing,

Kwasind leaped into the river,

Plunged beneath the bubbling surface,
Through the whirlpools chased the beaver,
Followed him among the islands,

Stayed so long beneath the water,
That his terrified companions

Cried, "Alas! good bye to Kwasind!
We shall never more see Kwasind!"

But he reappeared triumphant,

And upon his shining shoulders

Brought the beaver, dead and dripping,
Brought the King of all the Beavers.

And these two, as I have told you,

Were the friends of Hiawatha,

Chibiabos, the musician,

And the very strong man, Kwasind. Long they lived in peace together, Spake with naked hearts together, Pondering much and much contriving How the tribes of men might prosper.

90

VII.

HIAWATHA'S SAILING.

"GIVE me of your bark, O Birch-Tree ! Of your yellow bark, O Birch-Tree! Growing by the rushing river,

Tall and stately in the valley!

I a light canoe will build me,
Build a swift Cheemaun for sailing,
That shall float upon the river,

Like a yellow leaf in Autumn,

Like a yellow water-lily!

(6

'Lay aside your cloak, O Birch-Tree!

Lay aside your white-skin wrapper,

For the Summer-time is coming,