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

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      Till the sun was hot behind him,

      Till it burned upon his shoulders,

      And before him on the upland

      He could see the Shining Wigwam

      Of the Manito of Wampum,

      Of the mightiest of Magicians.

       Then once more Cheemaun he patted,

      To his birch-canoe said, "Onward!"

      And it stirred in all its fibres,

      And with one great bound of triumph

      Leaped across the water-lilies,

      Leaped through tangled flags and rushes,

      And upon the beach beyond them

      Dry-shod landed Hiawatha.

       Straight he took his bow of ash-tree,

      On the sand one end he rested,

      With his knee he pressed the middle,

      Stretched the faithful bow-string tighter,

      Took an arrow, jasper-headed,

      Shot it at the Shining Wigwam,

      Sent it singing as a herald,

      As a bearer of his message,

      Of his challenge loud and lofty:

      "Come forth from your lodge, Pearl-Feather!

      Hiawatha waits your coming!"

       Straightway from the Shining Wigwam

      Came the mighty Megissogwon,

      Tall of stature, broad of shoulder,

      Dark and terrible in aspect,

      Clad from head to foot in wampum,

      Armed with all his warlike weapons,

      Painted like the sky of morning,

      Streaked with crimson, blue, and yellow,

      Crested with great eagle-feathers,

      Streaming upward, streaming outward.

       "Well I know you, Hiawatha!"

      Cried he in a voice of thunder,

      In a tone of loud derision.

      "Hasten back, O Shaugodaya!

      Hasten back among the women,

      Back to old Nokomis, Faint-heart!

      I will slay you as you stand there,

      As of old I slew her father!"

       But my Hiawatha answered,

      Nothing daunted, fearing nothing:

      "Big words do not smite like war-clubs,

      Boastful breath is not a bow-string,

      Taunts are not so sharp as arrows,

      Deeds are better things than words are,

      Actions mightier than boastings!"

       Then began the greatest battle

      That the sun had ever looked on,

      That the war-birds ever witnessed.

      All a Summer's day it lasted,

      From the sunrise to the sunset;

      For the shafts of Hiawatha

      Harmless hit the shirt of wampum,

      Harmless fell the blows he dealt it

      With his mittens, Minjekahwun,

      Harmless fell the heavy war-club;

      It could dash the rocks asunder,

      But it could not break the meshes

      Of that magic shirt of wampum.

       Till at sunset Hiawatha,

      Leaning on his bow of ash-tree,

      Wounded, weary, and desponding,

      With his mighty war-club broken,

      With his mittens torn and tattered,

      And three useless arrows only,

      Paused to rest beneath a pine-tree,

      From whose branches trailed the mosses,

      And whose trunk was coated over

      With the Dead-man's Moccasin-leather,

      With the fungus white and yellow.

       Suddenly from the boughs above him

      Sang the Mama, the woodpecker:

      "Aim your arrows, Hiawatha,

      At the head of Megissogwon,

      Strike the tuft of hair upon it,

      At their roots the long black tresses;

      There alone can he be wounded!"

       Winged with feathers, tipped with jasper,

      Swift flew Hiawatha's arrow,

      Just as Megissogwon, stooping,

      Raised a heavy stone to throw it.

      Full upon the crown it struck him,

      At the roots of his long tresses,

      And he reeled and staggered forward,

      Plunging like a wounded bison,

      Yes, like Pezhekee, the bison,

      When the snow is on the prairie.

       Swifter flew the second arrow,

      In the pathway of the other,

      Piercing deeper than the other,

      Wounding sorer than the other;

      And the knees of Megissogwon

      Shook like windy reeds beneath him,

      Bent and trembled like the rushes.

       But the third and latest arrow

      Swiftest flew, СКАЧАТЬ