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ARBOR DA Y MANUAL. 
THE STORY OF “HIAWATHA.” 
TRACED BY TREES AND SUNG BY BIRDS. 
Arranged for the “ Arbor Day Manual.” 
I N dedicating a tree to the memory of Longfellow, this “ story ” may be arranged for 
an entire class or grade. It is especially appropriate for high school and academic 
grades, in cities and villages where but a single tree is to be planted by the class. 
introduction. Listen to these wild traditions, 
ask me, whence these stories ? 
Should y( 
■Whence these legends and traditions, 
With the odors of the forest, 
With the dew and damp of meadows. 
With the curling smoke of wigwams, 
With the rushing of great rivers, 
With their frequent repetitions, 
And their wild reverberations, 
As of thunder in the mountains? 
I should answer, I should tell you, 
From the forests and the prairies.” 
Should you ask where Nawadaha 
To this Song of Hiawatha ! 
THE PEACE PIPE. 
From the red stone of the quarry 
With his hand he broke a fragment, 
Moulded it into a pipe head, 
Shaped and fashioned it with figures; 
From the margin of the river 
Took a long reed for a pipe stem, 
With its dark green leaves upon it; 
Filled the pipe with bark of willow, 
With the bark of the red willow; 
Breathed upon the neighboring forest, 
Found these songs, so wild and wayward, Made its great boughs chafe together, 
. Found these legends and traditions, 
I should answer, I should tell you, 
“ In the birds’-nests of the forest, 
In the lodges of the beaver, 
In the hoof-prints of the bison, 
Jn the eyry of the eagle ! 
Till in flame they burst and kindled; 
And erect upon the mountains, 
Gitchie Manito, the mighty, 
Smoked the calumet, the Peace Pipe, 
As a signal to the nations. 
“ In the Vale of Tawasentha, 
In the green and silent valley, 
By the pleasant water-courses, 
Dwelt the singer Nawadaha. 
Round about the Indian village 
Spread the meadows and the cornfields, 
And beyond them stood the forest, 
Stood the groves of singing pine trees, 
'Green in summer, white in winter, 
Ever sighing, ever singing. 
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-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: 
THE EAST WIND. 
Lonely in the sky was Wabun; 
Though the birds sang gayly to him, 
Though the wild-flowers of the meadow 
Filled the air with odors for him, 
Though the forests and the rivers 
Sang and shouted at his coming, 
Still his heart was sad within him, 
For he was alone in heaven. 
But one morning, gazing earthward, 
While the village still was sleeping, 
And the fog lay on the river, 
Like a ghost, that goes at sunrise, 
He beheld a maiden walking 
All alone upon a meadow, 
Gathering water-flags and rushes 
By a river in the meadow, 
Every morning, gazing earthward. 
Still the first thing he beheld there 
Was her blue eyes looking at him, 
Two blue lakes among the rushes. 
