The Song of Hiawatha   ::   Longfellow Henry Wadsworth

At the doorway of his wigwam

Sat the ancient Arrow-maker,

In the land of the Dacotahs,

Making arrow-heads of jasper,

Arrow-headsof chalcedony.

At his side, in all her beauty,

Sat the lovely Minnehaha,

Sat his daughter, Laughing Water,

Plaiting mats of flags and rushes

Of the past the old man's thoughts were,

And the maiden's of the future.

He was thinking, as he sat there,

Of the days when with such arrows

He had struck the deer and bison,

On the Muskoday, the meadow;

Shot the wild goose, flying southward

On the wing, the clamorous Wawa;

Thinking of the great war-parties,

How they came to buy his arrows,

Could not fight without his arrows.

Ah, no more such noble warriors

Could be found on earth as they were!

Now the men were all like women,

Only used their tongues for weapons!

She was thinking of a hunter,

From another tribe and country,

Young and tall and very handsome,

Who one morning, in the Spring-time,

Came to buy her father's arrows,

Sat and rested in the wigwam,

Lingered long about the doorway,

Looking back as he departed.

She had heard her father praise him,

Praise his courage and his wisdom;

Would he come again for arrows

To the Falls of Minnehaha?

On the mat her hands lay idle,

And her eyes were very dreamy.

Through their thoughts they heard a footstep,

Heard a rustling in the branches,

And with glowing cheek and forehead,

With the deer upon his shoulders,

Suddenly from out the woodlands

Hiawatha stood before them.