Now the men were all like women,
Only used their tongues for weapons!

She was thinking of a hunter,
From another tribe and country,
Young and tall and very handsome,
Who, one morning, in the Spring-time,
Came to buy her father's arrows,
Sat and rested in the wigwam,
Lingered long about the doorway,
Looking back as he departed.
She had heard her father praise him,
Praise his courage and his wisdom;
Would he come again for arrows
To the Falls of Minnehaha?
On the mat her hands lay idle,

And her eyes were very dreamy.

Through their thoughts they heard a footstep,

Heard a rustling in the branches,

And with glowing cheek and forehead,

With the deer upon his shoulders,
Suddenly from out the woodlands
Hiawatha stood before them.

Straight the ancient Arrow-maker
Looked up gravely from his labor,
Laid aside the unfinished arrow,
Bade him enter at the doorway,
Saying, as he rose to meet him,
"Hiawatha, you are welcome !"

At the feet of Laughing Water
Hiawatha laid his burden,
Threw the red deer from his shoulders;
And the maiden looked up at him,
Looked up from her mat of rushes,
Said with gentle look and accent,
"You are welcome, Hiawatha !"

Very spacious was the wigwam,

Made of deer-skin dressed and whitened,
With the Gods of the Dacotahs

HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW.

Drawn and painted on its curtains,
And so tall the doorway, hardly
Hiawatha stooped to enter,

Hardly touched his eagle-feathers
As he entered at the doorway.
Then uprose the Laughing Water,
From the ground fair Minnehaha,
Laid aside her mat unfinished,

Brought forth food and set before them,
Water brought them from the brooklet,
Gave them food in earthen vessels,
Gave them drink in bowls of bass-wood,
Listened while the guest was speaking,
Listened while her father answered,
But not once her lips she opened,
Not a single word she uttered.

Yes, as in a dream she listened

To the words of Hiawatha,

As he talked of old Nokomis,

Who had nursed him in his childhood,
As he told of his companions,

Chibiabos, the musician,

And the very strong man, Kwasind,

And of happiness and plenty

In the land of the Ojibways,

In the pleasant land and peaceful.
"After many years of warfare,
Many years of strife and bloodshed,
There is peace between the Ojibways
And the tribe of the Dacotahs."

Thus continued Hiawatha,

And then added, speaking slowly,

"That this peace may last for ever,

And our hands be clasped more closely,

And our hearts be more united,
Give me as my wife this maiden,

Minnehaha, Laughing Water,

Loveliest of Dacotah women!"

465

And the ancient Arrow-maker Paused a moment ere he answered, Smoked a little while in silence, Looked at Hiawatha proudly, Fondly looked at Laughing Water, And made answer very gravely: "Yes, if Minnehaha wishes; Let your heart speak, Minnehaha !" And the lovely Laughing Water Seemed more lovely, as she stood there, Neither willing nor reluctant,

As she went to Hiawatha,

Softly took the seat beside him,

While she said, and blushed to say it,

"I will follow you, my husband!”
This was Hiawatha's wooing!
Thus it was he won the daughter
Of the ancient Arrow-maker,

In the land of the Dacotahs!

From the wigwam he departed, Leading with him Laughing Water; Hand in hand they went together, Through the woodland and the meadow, Left the old man standing lonely At the doorway of his wigwam, Heard the Falls of Minnehaha Calling to them from the distance, Crying to them from afar off,

"Fare thee well, O Minnehaha !"

BAYARD TAYLOR.

1825.

["Poems of the Orient." 1855.]

THE MYSTERY.

THOU art not dead; thou art not gone to dust;
No line of all thy loveliness shall fall
To formless ruin, smote by Time, and. thrust
Into the solemn gulf that covers all.

Thou canst not wholly perish, though the sod
Sink with its violets closer to thy breast;

Though by the feet of generations trod,

The head-stone crumbles from thy place of rest.

The marvel of thy beauty cannot die;

The sweetness of thy presence shall not fade; Earth gave not all the glory of thine eye;

Death may not keep what Death has never made.

It was not thine, that forehead strange and cold,
Nor those dumb lips, they hid beneath the snow;
Thy heart would throb beneath that passive fold,
Thy hands for me that stony clasp forego.

But thou hadst gone-gone from the dreary land,
Gone from the storms let loose on every hill,

Lured by the sweet persuasion of a hand

Which leads thee somewhere in the distance still.

Where'er thou art, I know thou wearest yet

The same bewildering beauty, sanctified By calmer joy, and touched with soft regret For him who seeks, but cannot reach thy side.

I keep for thee the living love of old,

And seek thy place in Nature, as a child Whose hand is parted from his playmate's hold, Wanders and cries along a lonesome wild.

When, in the watches of my heart, I hear
The messages of purer life, and know
The footsteps of thy spirit lingering near,
The darkness hides the way that I should go.

Canst thou not bid the empty realms restore
That form, the symbol of thy heavenly part?
Or on the fields of barren silence pour

That voice, the perfect music of thy heart?

O once, once bending to these widowed lips,

Take back the tender warmth of life from me; Or let thy kisses cloud with swift eclipse

The light of mine, and give me death with thee!