The Complete Poems. Генри Уодсуорт Лонгфелло

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      Not for greater craft in fishing,

      Not for triumph in the battle,

      Nor renown among the warriors,

      But for profit of the people,

      For advantage of the nations.

       "From the Master of Life descending,

      I, the friend of man, Mondamin,

      Come to warn you and instruct you,

      How by struggle and by labor

      You shall gain what you have prayed for.

      Rise up from your bed of branches,

      Rise, O youth, and wrestle with me!"

       Faint with famine, Hiawatha

      Started from his bed of branches,

      From the twilight of his wigwam

      Forth into the flush of sunset

      Came, and wrestled with Mondamin;

      At his touch he felt new courage

      Throbbing in his brain and bosom,

      Felt new life and hope and vigor

      Run through every nerve and fibre.

       So they wrestled there together

      In the glory of the sunset,

      And the more they strove and struggled,

      Stronger still grew Hiawatha;

      Till the darkness fell around them,

      And the heron, the Shuh-shuh-gah,

      From her nest among the pine-trees,

      Gave a cry of lamentation,

      Gave a scream of pain and famine.

       "'T is enough!" then said Mondamin,

      Smiling upon Hiawatha,

      "But tomorrow, when the sun sets,

      I will come again to try you."

      And he vanished, and was seen not;

      Whether sinking as the rain sinks,

      Whether rising as the mists rise,

      Hiawatha saw not, knew not,

      Only saw that he had vanished,

      Leaving him alone and fainting,

      With the misty lake below him,

      And the reeling stars above him.

       On the morrow and the next day,

      When the sun through heaven descending,

      Like a red and burning cinder

      From the hearth of the Great Spirit,

      Fell into the western waters,

      Came Mondamin for the trial,

      For the strife with Hiawatha;

      Came as silent as the dew comes,

      From the empty air appearing,

      Into empty air returning,

      Taking shape when earth it touches,

      But invisible to all men

      In its coming and its going.

       Thrice they wrestled there together

      In the glory of the sunset,

      Till the darkness fell around them,

      Till the heron, the Shuh-shuh-gah,

      From her nest among the pine-trees,

      Uttered her loud cry of famine,

      And Mondamin paused to listen.

       Tall and beautiful he stood there,

      In his garments green and yellow;

      To and fro his plumes above him,

      Waved and nodded with his breathing,

      And the sweat of the encounter

      Stood like drops of dew upon him.

       And he cried, "O Hiawatha!

      Bravely have you wrestled with me,

      Thrice have wrestled stoutly with me,

      And the Master of Life, who sees us,

      He will give to you the triumph!"

       Then he smiled, and said: "To-morrow

      Is the last day of your conflict,

      Is the last day of your fasting.

      You will conquer and o'ercome me;

      Make a bed for me to lie in,

      Where the rain may fall upon me,

      Where the sun may come and warm me;

      Strip these garments, green and yellow,

      Strip this nodding plumage from me,

      Lay me in the earth, and make it

      Soft and loose and light above me.

       "Let no hand disturb my slumber,

      Let no weed nor worm molest me,

      Let not Kahgahgee, the raven,

      Come to haunt me and molest me,

      Only come yourself to watch me,

      Till I wake, and start, and quicken,

      Till I leap into the sunshine."

       And thus saying, he departed;

      Peacefully slept Hiawatha,

      But he heard the Wawonaissa,

      Heard the whippoorwill complaining,

      Perched upon his lonely wigwam;

      Heard the rushing Sebowisha,

      Heard the rivulet rippling near him,

      Talking to the darksome forest;

      Heard the sighing of the branches,

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