The Complete Poems. Генри Уодсуорт Лонгфелло

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HIAWATHA'S FASTING

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      You shall hear how Hiawatha

      Prayed and fasted in the forest,

      Not for greater skill in hunting,

      Not for greater craft in fishing,

      Not for triumphs in the battle,

      And renown among the warriors,

      But for profit of the people,

      For advantage of the nations.

       First he built a lodge for fasting,

      Built a wigwam in the forest,

      By the shining Big-Sea-Water,

      In the blithe and pleasant Spring-time,

      In the Moon of Leaves he built it,

      And, with dreams and visions many,

      Seven whole days and nights he fasted.

       On the first day of his fasting

      Through the leafy woods he wandered;

      Saw the deer start from the thicket,

      Saw the rabbit in his burrow,

      Heard the pheasant, Bena, drumming,

      Heard the squirrel, Adjidaumo,

      Rattling in his hoard of acorns,

      Saw the pigeon, the Omeme,

      Building nests among the pine-trees,

      And in flocks the wild-goose, Wawa,

      Flying to the fen-lands northward,

      Whirring, wailing far above him.

      "Master of Life!" he cried, desponding,

      "Must our lives depend on these things?"

       On the next day of his fasting

      By the river's brink he wandered,

      Through the Muskoday, the meadow,

      Saw the wild rice, Mahnomonee,

      Saw the blueberry, Meenahga,

      And the strawberry, Odahmin,

      And the gooseberry, Shahbomin,

      And the grape-vine, the Bemahgut,

      Trailing o'er the alder-branches,

      Filling all the air with fragrance!

      "Master of Life!" he cried, desponding,

      "Must our lives depend on these things?"

       On the third day of his fasting

      By the lake he sat and pondered,

      By the still, transparent water;

      Saw the sturgeon, Nahma, leaping,

      Scattering drops like beads of wampum,

      Saw the yellow perch, the Sahwa,

      Like a sunbeam in the water,

      Saw the pike, the Maskenozha,

      And the herring, Okahahwis,

      And the Shawgashee, the crawfish!

      "Master of Life!" he cried, desponding,

      "Must our lives depend on these things?"

       On the fourth day of his fasting

      In his lodge he lay exhausted;

      From his couch of leaves and branches

      Gazing with half-open eyelids,

      Full of shadowy dreams and visions,

      On the dizzy, swimming landscape,

      On the gleaming of the water,

      On the splendor of the sunset.

       And he saw a youth approaching,

      Dressed in garments green and yellow,

      Coming through the purple twilight,

      Through the splendor of the sunset;

      Plumes of green bent o'er his forehead,

      And his hair was soft and golden.

       Standing at the open doorway,

      Long he looked at Hiawatha,

      Looked with pity and compassion

      On his wasted form and features,

      And, in accents like the sighing

      Of the South-Wind in the tree-tops,

      Said he, "O my Hiawatha!

      All your prayers are heard in heaven,

      For you pray not like the others;

      Not for greater skill in hunting,

      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,