Page:Song of Hiawatha (1855).djvu/211

Rh In his wigwam sat lamenting,

Seven long weeks he sat lamenting,

Uttering still this moan of sorrow:

"He is dead, the sweet musician!

He the sweetest of all singers!

He has gone from us for ever,

He has moved a little nearer

To the Master of all music,

To the Master of all singing!

O my brother, Chibiabos!"

And the melancholy fir-trees

Waved their dark green fans above him,

Waved their purple cones above him,

Sighing with him to console him,

Mingling with his lamentation

Their complaining, their lamenting.

Came the Spring, and all the forest

Looked in vain for Chibiabos;

Sighed the rivulet, Sebowisha,

Sighed the rushes in the meadow.