"Take your bow, O Hiawatha,Take your arrows, jasper-headed,Take your war-club, Puggawaugun,
And your mittens, Minjekahwun,And your birch-canoe for sailing, And the oil of Mishe-Nahma,So to smear its sides, that swiftly
You may pass the black pitch-water; Slay this merciless magician,Save the people from the fever That he breathes across the fen-lands,And avenge my father's murder!" Straightway then my Hiawatha Armed himself with all his war-gear, Launched his birch-canoe for sailing; With his palm its sides he patted, Said with glee, "Cheemaun, my darling, O my Birch-canoe! leap forward, Where you see the fiery serpents,
Where you see the black pitch-water!" Forward leaped Cheemaun exulting, And the noble Hiawatha Sang his war-song wild and woful, And above him the war-eagle, The Keneu, the great war-eagle, Master of all fowls with feathers,
Screamed and hurtled through the heavens.
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