The Complete Poems. Генри Уодсуорт Лонгфелло

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      Smote the mighty Mishe-Mokwa

      In the middle of the forehead,

      Right between the eyes he smote him.

       With the heavy blow bewildered,

      Rose the Great Bear of the mountains;

      But his knees beneath him trembled,

      And he whimpered like a woman,

      As he reeled and staggered forward,

      As he sat upon his haunches;

      And the mighty Mudjekeewis,

      Standing fearlessly before him,

      Taunted him in loud derision,

      Spake disdainfully in this wise:—

       "Hark you, Bear! you are a coward;

      And no Brave, as you pretended;

      Else you would not cry and whimper

      Like a miserable woman!

      Bear! you know our tribes are hostile,

      Long have been at war together;

      Now you find that we are strongest,

      You go sneaking in the forest,

      You go hiding in the mountains!

      Had you conquered me in battle

      Not a groan would I have uttered;

      But you, Bear! sit here and whimper,

      And disgrace your tribe by crying,

      Like a wretched Shaugodaya,

      Like a cowardly old woman!"

       Then again he raised his war-club,

      Smote again the Mishe-Mokwa

      In the middle of his forehead,

      Broke his skull, as ice is broken

      When one goes to fish in Winter.

      Thus was slain the Mishe-Mokwa,

      He the Great Bear of the mountains,

      He the terror of the nations.

       "Honor be to Mudjekeewis!"

      With a shout exclaimed the people,

      "Honor be to Mudjekeewis!

      Henceforth he shall be the West-Wind,

      And hereafter and forever

      Shall he hold supreme dominion

      Over all the winds of heaven.

      Call him no more Mudjekeewis,

      Call him Kabeyun, the West-Wind!"

       Thus was Mudjekeewis chosen

      Father of the Winds of Heaven.

      For himself he kept the West-Wind,

      Gave the others to his children;

      Unto Wabun gave the East-Wind,

      Gave the South to Shawondasee,

      And the North-Wind, wild and cruel,

      To the fierce Kabibonokka.

       Young and beautiful was Wabun;

      He it was who brought the morning,

      He it was whose silver arrows

      Chased the dark o'er hill and valley;

      He it was whose cheeks were painted

      With the brightest streaks of crimson,

      And whose voice awoke the village,

      Called the deer, and called the hunter.

       Lonely in the sky was Wabun;

      Though the birds sang gayly to him,

      Though the wild-flowers of the meadow

      Filled the air with odors for him,

      Though the forests and the rivers

      Sang and shouted at his coming,

      Still his heart was sad within him,

      For he was alone in heaven.

       But one morning, gazing earthward,

      While the village still was sleeping,

      And the fog lay on the river,

      Like a ghost, that goes at sunrise,

      He beheld a maiden walking

      All alone upon a meadow,

      Gathering water-flags and rushes

      By a river in the meadow.

       Every morning, gazing earthward,

      Still the first thing he beheld there

      Was her blue eyes looking at him,

      Two blue lakes among the rushes.

      And he loved the lonely maiden,

      Who thus waited for his coming;

      For they both were solitary,

      She on earth and he in heaven.

       And he wooed her with caresses,

      Wooed her with his smile of sunshine,

      With his flattering words he wooed her,

      With his sighing and his singing,

      Gentlest whispers in the branches,

      Softest music, sweetest odors,

      Till he drew her to his bosom,

      Folded in his robes of crimson,

      Till into a star he changed her,

      Trembling still upon his bosom;

      And forever in the heavens

      They are seen together walking,

      Wabun and the Wabun-Annung,

      Wabun and the Star of Morning.

       But the fierce Kabibonokka

      Had his dwelling among icebergs,

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