Incantations (Part 2)
(专辑: Incantations - 1978)
By the
shores of gitche gumee, By the
shining big-sea-water, At the
doorway of the
wigwam, In the
early summer morning, Hiawatha stood and waited. All the
air was full of freshness, All the
earth was bright and joyous, And before him, through the
sunshine, Westward toward the
neighboring forest Passed in golden swarms the
ahmo, Passed the
bees, the
honey-makers, Burning, singing in the
sunshine. Bright above him shone the
heavens, Level spread the
lake before him; From it's bosom leaped the
sturgeon, Sparkling, flashing in the
sunshine; On it's margin the
great forest Stood reflected in the
water, Every tree-top had it's shadow, Motionless beneath the
water. From the
brow of hiawatha Gone was every trace of sorrow, As the
fog from off the
water, As the
mist from off the
meadow. With a
smile of joy and gladness, With a
look of exultation, As of one who in a
vision Sees what is to be, but is not, Stood and waited hiawatha. Toward the
sun his hands were lifted, Both the
palms spread out toward it, And between the
parted fingers Fell the
sunshine on his features, Flecked with light his naked shoulders, As it falls and flecks an oak-tree Through the
rifted leaves and branches. O'er the
water floating, flying, Something in the
hazy distance, Something in the
mists of morning, Loomed and lifted from the
water, Now seemed floating, now seemed flying, Coming nearer, nearer, nearer. Was it shingebis the
diver? Or the
pelican, the
shada? Or the
heron, the
shuh-shuh-gah? Or the
white goose, waw-be-wana, With the
water dripping, flashing, From it's glossy neck and feathers? It was neither goose nor diver, Neither pelican nor heron, O'er the
water floating, flying, Through the
shining mist of morning, But a
birch canoe with paddles, Rising, sinking on the
water, Dripping, flashing in the
sunshine; And within it came a
people [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 it's life-blood, Filling all the
air with splendor, Filling all the
air with 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 it's wings are lifted, With it's blood the
waves are reddened! Over it the
star of evening Melts and trembles through the
purple, Hangs suspended in the
twilight, Walks in silence through the
heavens.