Henry W Longfellow

The Song of Hiawatha Henry W Longfellow

On the Mountains of the Prairie, On the great Red Pipe-stone Quarry, Gitche Manito, the mighty, He the Master of Life, descending, On the red crags of the quarryStood erect, and called the nations, Called the tribes of men together. From his footprints flowed a river, Leaped into the light of morning, O'er the precipice plunging downwardGleamed like Ishkoodah, the comet. And the Spirit, stooping earthward, With his finger on the meadowTraced a winding pathway for it, Saying to it, "Run in this way!" From the red stone of the quarryWith his hand he broke a fragment, Moulded it into a pipe-head, Shaped and fashioned it with figures; From the margin of the riverTook 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, Made its great boughs chafe together, Till in flame they burst and kindled; And erect upon the mountains, Gitche Manito, the mighty, Smoked the calumet, the Peace-Pipe, As a sign