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

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      Heard them, as one hears in slumber

      Far-off murmurs, dreamy whispers:

      Peacefully slept Hiawatha.

       On the morrow came Nokomis,

      On the seventh day of his fasting,

      Came with food for Hiawatha,

      Came imploring and bewailing,

      Lest his hunger should o'ercome him,

      Lest his fasting should be fatal.

       But he tasted not, and touched not,

      Only said to her, "Nokomis,

      Wait until the sun is setting,

      Till the darkness falls around us,

      Till the heron, the Shuh-shuh-gah,

      Crying from the desolate marshes,

      Tells us that the day is ended."

       Homeward weeping went Nokomis,

      Sorrowing for her Hiawatha,

      Fearing lest his strength should fail him,

      Lest his fasting should be fatal.

      He meanwhile sat weary waiting

      For the coming of Mondamin,

      Till the shadows, pointing eastward,

      Lengthened over field and forest,

      Till the sun dropped from the heaven,

      Floating on the waters westward,

      As a red leaf in the Autumn

      Falls and floats upon the water,

      Falls and sinks into its bosom.

       And behold! the young Mondamin,

      With his soft and shining tresses,

      With his garments green and yellow,

      With his long and glossy plumage,

      Stood and beckoned at the doorway.

      And as one in slumber walking,

      Pale and haggard, but undaunted,

      From the wigwam Hiawatha

      Came and wrestled with Mondamin.

       Round about him spun the landscape,

      Sky and forest reeled together,

      And his strong heart leaped within him,

      As the sturgeon leaps and struggles

      In a net to break its meshes.

      Like a ring of fire around him

      Blazed and flared the red horizon,

      And a hundred suns seemed looking

      At the combat of the wrestlers.

       Suddenly upon the greensward

      All alone stood Hiawatha,

      Panting with his wild exertion,

      Palpitating with the struggle;

      And before him breathless, lifeless,

      Lay the youth, with hair dishevelled,

      Plumage torn, and garments tattered,

      Dead he lay there in the sunset.

       And victorious Hiawatha

      Made the grave as he commanded,

      Stripped the garments from Mondamin,

      Stripped his tattered plumage from him,

      Laid him in the earth, and made it

      Soft and loose and light above him;

      And the heron, the Shuh-shuh-gah,

      From the melancholy moorlands,

      Gave a cry of lamentation,

      Gave a cry of pain and anguish!

       Homeward then went Hiawatha

      To the lodge of old Nokomis,

      And the seven days of his fasting

      Were accomplished and completed.

      But the place was not forgotten

      Where he wrestled with Mondamin;

      Nor forgotten nor neglected

      Was the grave where lay Mondamin,

      Sleeping in the rain and sunshine,

      Where his scattered plumes and garments

      Faded in the rain and sunshine.

       Day by day did Hiawatha

      Go to wait and watch beside it;

      Kept the dark mould soft above it,

      Kept it clean from weeds and insects,

      Drove away, with scoffs and shoutings,

      Kahgahgee, the king of ravens.

       Till at length a small green feather

      From the earth shot slowly upward,

      Then another and another,

      And before the Summer ended

      Stood the maize in all its beauty,

      With its shining robes about it,

      And its long, soft, yellow tresses;

      And in rapture Hiawatha

      Cried aloud, "It is Mondamin!

      Yes, the friend of man, Mondamin!"

       Then he called to old Nokomis

      And Iagoo, the great boaster,

      Showed them where the maize was growing,

      Told them of his wondrous vision,

      Of his wrestling and his triumph,

      Of this new gift to the nations,

      Which should be their food forever.

       And still later, when the Autumn

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