S HOULD you ask me, whence these stories? Whence these legends and traditions, With the odors of the forest, With the dew and damp of meadows, I should answer, I should tell you, From the land of the Dacotahs, From the mountains, moors, and fen-lands, Where the heron, the Shuh-shuh-gah, Feeds among the reeds and rushes. I repeat them as I heard them From the lips of Nawadaha, The musician, the sweet singer." Should you ask where Nawadaha Found these songs, so wild and wayward, Found these legends and traditions, In the eyry of the eagle! "All the wild-fowl sang them to him, And the grouse, the Mushkodasa!" I should answer your inquiries In the green and silent valley, Dwelt the singer Nawadaha. Spread the meadows and the corn-fields, "And the pleasant water-courses, You could trace them through the valley, By the rushing in the Spring-time, By the alders in the Summer, By the white fog in the Autumn, By the black line in the Winter ; Ye who love the haunts of Nature, And the rushing of great rivers Through their palisades of pine-trees, And the thunder in the mountains, Whose innumerable echoes Flap like eagles in their eyries ;- Ye who love a nation's legends, That like voices from afar off Call to us to pause and listen, Speak in tones so plain and childlike, To this Song of Hiawatha ! Ye whose hearts are fresh and simple, Who have faith in God and Nature, Who believe, that in all ages Every human heart is human, There are longings, yearnings, strivings Touch God's right hand in that darkness And are lifted up and strengthened ;Listen to this simple story, To this Song of Hiawatha ! Ye, who sometimes, in your rambles Through the green lanes of the country, Where the tangled barberry-bushes Hang their tufts of crimson berries. Over stone walls gray with mosses, Pause by some neglected graveyard, For a while to muse, and ponder On a half-effaced inscription, Written with little skill of song-craft, |