Mahng, the loon, the wild goose, Wawa, The blue heron, the Shuh-shuh-gah, And the grouse, the Mushkodasa!" If still further should ask me, you Saying, "Who was Nawadaha? Tell us of this Nawadaha," I should answer your inquiries In the green and silent valley, And beyond them stood the forest, Stood the groves of singing pine-trees, Green in Summer, white in Winter, Ever sighing, ever singing. "And the pleasant water-courses, You could trace them through the valley, By the rushing in the Spring-time, In the green and silent valley. Sang the Song of Hiawatha, Ye who love the haunts of Nature, Love the sunshine of the meadow, Love the shadow of the forest, Love the wind among the branches, And the rain-shower and the snow-storir, And the rushing of great rivers Through their palisades of pine-trees, Flap like eagles in their eyries ;- To this Song of Hiawatha ! Ye who love a nation's legends, Love the ballads of a people, That like voices from afar off Call to us to pause and listen, 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, That in even savage bosoms There are longings, yearnings, strivings That the feeble hands and helpless, 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 Full of hope and yet of heart-break, |