ARBOR DA Y MANUAL. 



227 



Sent forth such a waii of anguish, 



Such a fearful lamentation, 



That the bison paused to listen, 



And the wolves howled from the prairies. 



* * -::- * * 



' He is dead, the sweet musician ! 

 He the sweetest of all singers ! 

 He has gone from us forever, 

 He has moved a little nearer 

 To the Master of all music, 

 To the Master of all singing ! 

 O my brother, Chibiabos ! " 



And the melancholy fir trees 

 Waved their dark green fans above him, 

 Waved their purple cones above him, 

 Sighing with him to console him, 

 Mingling with his lamentation 

 Their complaining, their lamenting. 



Came the spring, and all the forest 

 Looked in vain for Chibiabos; 

 Sighed the rivulet, Sebowisha, 

 Sighed the rushes in the meadow. 



From the tree-tops sang the bluebird, 

 Sang the bluebird, the Owaissa, 

 " Chibiabos ! Chibiabos ! 

 He is dead the swet- 1 musician ! " 



From the wigwam sang the robin, 

 Sang the robin, the Opechee, 

 "Chibiabos! Chibiabos! 

 He is dead, the sweetest singer ! " 



And at night through all the forest 

 Went the whippoorwill complaining, 

 Wailing went the Wawanaissa, 

 " Chibiabos ! Chibiabos ! 

 He is dead, the sweet musician ! 

 He the sweetest of all singers ! " 



rAU-Pl'K-KEEWIS. 



Then departed Pau-Puk-Keewis 

 Whistling, singing through the forest, 

 Whistling gayly to the squirrels, 

 Who from hollow boughs above him 

 Dropped their acorn shells upon him, 

 Singing gayly to the wood-birds, 

 Who from out the leafy darkness 



Answered with a song as merry. 



* * ~ * * 



THE HUNTING OF PAU-PfK-KEEWIS. 



But the wary Hiawatha 

 the figure ere it vanished, 



Saw the form of Pau Puk-Keewis 

 Glide into the soft blue shadow 

 Of the pine trees of the forest; 

 Toward the squares of white beyond it, 

 Toward an opening in the forest. 

 Like a wind it rushed and panted, 

 Bending all the boughs before it, 

 And behind it, as the rain comes, 

 Came the steps of Hiawatha. 



***** 



And so near he came, so near him, 

 That his hand was stretched to seize him, 

 His right hand to seize and hold him, 

 When the cunning Pau-Puk-Keewis 

 Whirled and spun about in circles, 

 Fanned the air into a whirlwind, 

 Danced the dust and leaves about him, 

 And amid the whirling eddies 

 Sprang into a hollow oak tree, 

 Changed himself into a serpent, 

 Gliding out through root and rubbish. 



With his right hand Hiawatha 

 Smote amain the hollow oak tree, 

 Rent it into shreds and splinters, 

 Left it lying there in fragments. 

 But in vain; for Pau-Puk-Keewis, 

 Once again in human figure, 

 Full in sight ran on before him. 

 Sped away in gust and whirlwind. 



THE DEATH OF KWASIND. 



Now this wondrous strength of Kwasind 

 In his crown alone was seated; 

 In his crown too was his weakness; 

 There alone could he be wounded, 

 Nowhere else could weapon pierce him, 

 Nowhere else could weapon harm him. 



Even there the only weapon 

 That could wound him, that could slay him, 

 Was the seed-cone of the pine-tree, 

 Was the blue-cone of the fir tree. 

 This was Kwasind's fatal secret, 

 Known to no man among mortals; 

 But the cunning Little People, 

 The Puk-Wudjies, knew the secret, 

 Knew the only way to kill him. 



***** 



At the first blow of their war clubs, 

 Fell a drowsiness on Kwasind; 

 At the second blow they smote him, 



