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 rain-shower and the snow-storm, 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 ;- To this Song of Hiawatha ! Ye who love a nation's legends, Love the ballads of a people, That like voices from afar off 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, Homely phrases, but each letter Full of hope and yet of heart-break, Full of all the tender pathos Of the Here and the Hereafter; Stay and read this rude inscription, Read this Song of Hiawatha! THE SONG OF HIAWATHA I. THE PEACE-PIPE. N the Mountains of the Prairie, ON On the great Red Pipe-stone Quarry, Gitche Manito, the mighty, He the Master of Life, descending, From the red stone of the quarry |