The Song of Hiawatha   ::   Longfellow Henry Wadsworth

From the lowlands far beneath them,

From the Muskoday, the meadow,

Pau-Puk-Keewis, turning backward,

Made a gesture of defiance,

Made a gesture of derision;

And aloud cried Hiawatha,

From the summit of the mountains:

"Not so long and wide the world is,

Not so rude and rough the way is,

But my wrath shall overtake you,

And my vengeance shall attain you!"

Over rock and over river,

Through bush, and brake, and forest,

Ran the cunning Pau-Puk-Keewis;

Like an antelope he bounded,

Till he came unto a streamlet

In the middle of the forest,

To a streamlet still and tranquil,

That had overflowed its margin,

To a dam made by the beavers,

To a pond of quiet water,

Where knee-deep the trees were standing,

Where the water lilies floated,

Where the rushes waved and whispered.

On the dam stood Pau-Puk-Keewis,

On the dam of trunks and branches,

Through whose chinks the water spouted,

O'er whose summit flowed the streamlet.

From the bottom rose the beaver,

Looked with two great eyes of wonder,

Eyes that seemed to ask a question,

At the stranger, Pau-Puk-Keewis.

On the dam stood Pau-Puk-Keewis,

O'er his ankles flowed the streamlet,

Flowed the bright and silvery water,

And he spake unto the beaver,

With a smile he spake in this wise:

"O my friend Ahmeek, the beaver,

Cool and pleasant Is the water;

Let me dive into the water,

Let me rest there in your lodges;

Change me, too, into a beaver!"

Cautiously replied the beaver,

With reserve he thus made answer:

"Let me first consult the others,

Let me ask the other beavers."

Down he sank into the water,

Heavily sank he, as a stone sinks,

Down among the leaves and branches,

Brown and matted at the bottom.

On the dam stood Pau-Puk-Keewis,

O'er his ankles flowed the streamlet,

Spouted through the chinks below him,

Dashed upon the stones beneath him,

Spread serene and calm before him,

And the sunshine and the shadows

Fell in flecks and gleams upon him,

Fell in little shining patches,

Through the waving, rustling branches.

From the bottom rose the beavers,

Silently above the surface

Rose one head and then another,

Till the pond seemed full of beavers,

Full of black and shining faces.