"Does not all the blood within me Leap to meet thee, leap to meet thee, As the springs to meet the sunshine, In the Moon when nights are brightest? "Onaway! my heart sings to thee, Sings with joy when thou art near me, As the sighing, singing branches In the pleasant Moon of Strawberries! "When thou art not pleased, beloved, Then my heart is sad and darkened, As the shining river darkens

When the clouds drop shadows on it! "When thou smilest, my beloved, Then my troubled heart is brightened, As in sunshine gleam the ripples That the cold wind makes in rivers. "Smiles the earth, and smile the waters,

Smile the cloudless skies above us,

But I lose the way of smiling

When thou art no longer near me !

"I myself, myself! behold me! Blood of my beating heart, behold me! O awake, awake, beloved!

Onaway! awake, beloved!"

Thus the gentle Chibiabos

Sang his song of love and longing;
And Iagoo, the great boaster,
He the marvellous story-teller,
He the friend of old Nokomis,

Jealous of the sweet musician,
Jealous of the applause they gave him,
Saw in all the eyes around him,
Saw in all their looks and gestures,
That the wedding guests assembled
Longed to hear his pleasant stories,
His immeasurable falsehoods.

Very boastful was Iagoo;
Never heard he an adventure
But himself had met a greater;
Never any deed of daring
But himself had done a bolder;
Never any marvellous story
But himself could tell a stranger.

Would you listen to his boasting,
Would you only give him credence,
No one ever shot an arrow

Half so far and high as he had;
Ever caught so many fishes,
Ever killed so many reindeer,

Ever trapped so many beaver!

None could run so fast as he could,

None could dive so deep as he could,
None could swim so far as he could;

None had made so many journeys,
None had seen so many wonders,
As this wonderful Iagoo,
As this marvellous story-teller!

Thus his name became a by-word

And a jest among the people;
And whene'er a boastful hunter
Praised his own address too highly,
Or a warrior, home returning,
Talked too much of his achievements,
All his hearers cried, "Iagoo!
Here's Iagoo come among us!"

He it was who carved the cradle
Of the little Hiawatha,

Carved its framework out of linden,
Bound it strong with reindeer sinews;
He it was who taught him later
How to make his bows and arrows,
How to make the bows of ash-tree,

And the arrows of the oak-tree.
So among the guests assembled
At my Hiawatha's wedding
Sat Iagoo, old and ugly,

Sat the marvellous story-teller.
And they said, "O good Iagoo,
Tell us now a tale of wonder,
Tell us of some strange adventure,
That the feast may be more joyous,
That the time may pass more gayly,
And our guests be more contented!"
And Iagoo answered straightway,

"You shall hear a tale of wonder, You shall hear the strange adventures

Of Osseo, the Magician,

From the Evening Star descended."

XII.

THE SON OF THE EVENING STAR

CAN it be the sun descending
O'er the level plain of water?
Or the Red Swan floating, flying,
Wounded by the magic arrow,
Staining all the waves with crimson,
With the crimson of its life-blood,
Filling all the air with splendor,
With the splendor of its plumage?

Yes; it is the sun descending,

Sinking down into the water;
All the sky is stained with purple,
All the water flushed with crimson!
No; it is the Red Swan floating,
Diving down beneath the water;
To the sky its wings are lifted,

With its blood the waves are reddened!
Over it the Star of Evening

Melts and trembles through the purple,

Hangs suspended in the twilight.
No; it is a bead of wampum
On the robes of the Great Spirit,
As he passes through the twilight,
Walks in silence through the heavens.

This with joy beheld Iagoo
And he said in haste: "Behold it!
See the sacred Star of Evening!

You shall hear a tale of wonder,

Hear the story of Osseo,

Son of the Evening Star, Osseo!

"Once, in days no more remembered, Ages nearer the beginning,

When the heavens were closer to us,
And the Gods were more familiar,

In the North-land lived a hunter,
With ten young and comely daughters,
Tall and lithe as wands of willow;
Only Oweenee, the youngest,
She the wilful and the wayward,
She the silent, dreamy maiden,
Was the fairest of the sisters.

"All these women married warriors, Married brave and haughty husbands; Only Oweenee, the youngest,

Laughed and flouted all her lovers,

All her young and handsome suitors,

And then married old Osseo,

Old Osseo, poor and ugly,

Broken with age and weak with coughing,

Always coughing like a squirrel.

"Ah, but beautiful within him

Was the spirit of Osseo,

From the Evening Star descended,