ir wigwams, where they told the young
men and women all about the strangers who had been sent by the Great
Manito; and in Hiawatha's lodge the strangers, weary from their journey
and the summer heat, stretched themselves upon the robes of ermine and
went fast asleep.

Slowly a coolness fell upon the air, and the rays of sunset gilded every
thicket of the forest, when Hiawatha rose from his seat and whispered to
Nokomis, saying: "O Nokomis, I am going on a long journey to the Land of
Sunset and the home of the North-west wind. See that no harm comes to
these guests, whom I leave here in your care. See that fear and danger
or want of food and shelter never come near them in the lodge of
Hiawatha."

Forth went Hiawatha into the village, and he bade farewell to all the
warriors and to all the young men, saying to them: "My people, I am
going on a distant journey, and many winters will have passed before I
come once more among you. Listen to the truth my guests will tell you,
for the Great Manito has sent them, and I leave them in your care. And
now, farewell!" cried Hiawatha.

On the shore of the Big-Sea-Water for the last time Hiawatha launched
his birch canoe, pushed it out from among the rushes and whispered to
it, "Westward! Westward!" It darted forward like an arrow, and the rays
of the setting sun shot a long and fiery pathway over the smooth waters
of the lake.

Down this path of light sailed Hiawatha in his birch canoe right into
the flaming sunset, and the Indians on the shore saw him moving on and
on until he became a tiny speck against the splendor of the clouds. With
a final lift and fall his canoe rose upon a sunbeam, and as it
disappeared within the crimson sky the Indians all cried out: "Farewell,
farewell, O Hiawatha!" And the trees in the forest, the waves on the
edges of the lake and every living creature that ran or swam or flew
took up the cry: "Farewell, Hiawatha!" For Hiawatha had disappeared
forever in the kingdom of the North-west wind and the Islands of the
Blessed.

THE SONG OF HIAWATHA

INTRODUCTION

SHOULD you ask me, whence these stories?
Whence these legends and traditions,
With the odors of the forest,
With the dew and damp of meadows,
With the curling smoke of wigwams,
With the rushing of great rivers,
With their frequent repetitions,
And their wild reverberations,
As of thunde