BLESSING THE CORNFIELDS by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow: Summary, Meaning & Analysis
This poem comes from Longfellow's epic *The Song of Hiawatha* and narrates the tale of the Ojibwe hero Hiawatha and his wife Minnehaha as they safeguard and tend to their cornfields through rituals, clever tactics, and community spirit.
The poem
Sing, O Song of Hiawatha, Of the happy days that followed, In the land of the Ojibways, In the pleasant land and peaceful! Sing the mysteries of Mondamin, Sing the Blessing of the Cornfields! Buried was the bloody hatchet, Buried was the dreadful war-club, Buried were all warlike weapons, And the war-cry was forgotten. There was peace among the nations; Unmolested roved the hunters, Built the birch canoe for sailing, Caught the fish in lake and river, Shot the deer and trapped the beaver; Unmolested worked the women, Made their sugar from the maple, Gathered wild rice in the meadows, Dressed the skins of deer and beaver. All around the happy village Stood the maize-fields, green and shining, Waved the green plumes of Mondamin, Waved his soft and sunny tresses, Filling all the land with plenty. 'T was the women who in Spring-time Planted the broad fields and fruitful, Buried in the earth Mondamin; 'T was the women who in Autumn Stripped the yellow husks of harvest, Stripped the garments from Mondamin, Even as Hiawatha taught them. Once, when all the maize was planted, Hiawatha, wise and thoughtful, Spake and said to Minnehaha, To his wife, the Laughing Water: "You shall bless to-night the cornfields, Draw a magic circle round them, To protect them from destruction, Blast of mildew, blight of insect, Wagemin, the thief of cornfields, Paimosaid, who steals the maize-ear! "In the night, when all is silence, In the night, when all is darkness, When the Spirit of Sleep, Nepahwin, Shuts the doors of all the wigwams, So that not an ear can hear you, So that not an eye can see you, Rise up from your bed in silence, Lay aside your garments wholly, Walk around the fields you planted, Round the borders of the cornfields, Covered by your tresses only, Robed with darkness as a garment. "Thus the fields shall be more fruitful, And the passing of your footsteps Draw a magic circle round them, So that neither blight nor mildew, Neither burrowing worm nor insect, Shall pass o'er the magic circle; Not the dragon-fly, Kwo-ne-she, Nor the spider, Subbekashe, Nor the grasshopper, Pah-puk-keena; Nor the mighty caterpillar, Way-muk-kwana, with the bear-skin, King of all the caterpillars!" On the tree-tops near the cornfields Sat the hungry crows and ravens, Kahgahgee, the King of Ravens, With his band of black marauders. And they laughed at Hiawatha, Till the tree-tops shook with laughter, With their melancholy laughter, At the words of Hiawatha. "Hear him!" said they; "hear the Wise Man, Hear the plots of Hiawatha!" When the noiseless night descended Broad and dark o'er field and forest, When the mournful Wawonaissa Sorrowing sang among the hemlocks, And the Spirit of Sleep, Nepahwin, Shut the doors of all the wigwams, From her bed rose Laughing Water, Laid aside her garments wholly, And with darkness clothed and guarded, Unashamed and unaffrighted, Walked securely round the cornfields, Drew the sacred, magic circle Of her footprints round the cornfields. No one but the Midnight only Saw her beauty in the darkness, No one but the Wawonaissa Heard the panting of her bosom; Guskewau, the darkness, wrapped her Closely in his sacred mantle, So that none might see her beauty, So that none might boast, "I saw her!" On the morrow, as the day dawned, Kahgahgee, the King of Ravens, Gathered all his black marauders, Crows and blackbirds, jays and ravens, Clamorous on the dusky tree-tops, And descended, fast and fearless, On the fields of Hiawatha, On the grave of the Mondamin. "We will drag Mondamin," said they, "From the grave where he is buried, Spite of all the magic circles Laughing Water draws around it, Spite of all the sacred footprints Minnehaha stamps upon it!" But the wary Hiawatha, Ever thoughtful, careful, watchful, Had o'erheard the scornful laughter When they mocked him from the tree-tops. "Kaw!" he said, "my friends the ravens! Kahgahgee, my King of Ravens! I will teach you all a lesson That shall not be soon forgotten!" He had risen before the daybreak, He had spread o'er all the cornfields Snares to catch the black marauders, And was lying now in ambush In the neighboring grove of pine-trees, Waiting for the crows and blackbirds, Waiting for the jays and ravens. Soon they came with caw and clamor, Rush of wings and cry of voices, To their work of devastation, Settling down upon the cornfields, Delving deep with beak and talon, For the body of Mondamin. And with all their craft and cunning, All their skill in wiles of warfare, They perceived no danger near them, Till their claws became entangled, Till they found themselves imprisoned In the snares of Hiawatha. From his place of ambush came he, Striding terrible among them, And so awful was his aspect That the bravest quailed with terror. Without mercy he destroyed them Right and left, by tens and twenties, And their wretched, lifeless bodies Hung aloft on poles for scarecrows Round the consecrated cornfields, As a signal of his vengeance, As a warning to marauders. Only Kahgahgee, the leader, Kahgahgee, the King of Ravens, He alone was spared among them As a hostage for his people. With his prisoner-string he bound him, Led him captive to his wigwam, Tied him fast with cords of elm-bark To the ridge-pole of his wigwam. "Kahgahgee, my raven!" said he, "You the leader of the robbers, You the plotter of this mischief, The contriver of this outrage, I will keep you, I will hold you, As a hostage for your people, As a pledge of good behavior!" And he left him, grim and sulky, Sitting in the morning sunshine On the summit of the wigwam, Croaking fiercely his displeasure, Flapping his great sable pinions, Vainly struggling for his freedom, Vainly calling on his people! Summer passed, and Shawondasee Breathed his sighs o'er all the landscape, From the South-land sent his ardor, Wafted kisses warm and tender; And the maize-field grew and ripened, Till it stood in all the splendor Of its garments green and yellow, Of its tassels and its plumage, And the maize-ears full and shining Gleamed from bursting sheaths of verdure. Then Nokomis, the old woman, Spake, and said to Minnehaha: "'T is the Moon when leaves are falling; All the wild-rice has been gathered, And the maize is ripe and ready; Let us gather in the harvest, Let us wrestle with Mondamin, Strip him of his plumes and tassels, Of his garments green and yellow!" And the merry Laughing Water Went rejoicing from the wigwam, With Nokomis, old and wrinkled, And they called the women round them, Called the young men and the maidens, To the harvest of the cornfields, To the husking of the maize-ear. On the border of the forest, Underneath the fragrant pine-trees, Sat the old men and the warriors Smoking in the pleasant shadow. In uninterrupted silence Looked they at the gamesome labor Of the young men and the women; Listened to their noisy talking, To their laughter and their singing, Heard them chattering like the magpies, Heard them laughing like the blue-jays, Heard them singing like the robins. And whene'er some lucky maiden Found a red ear in the husking, Found a maize-ear red as blood is, "Nushka!" cried they all together, "Nushka! you shall have a sweetheart, You shall have a handsome husband!" "Ugh!" the old men all responded From their seats beneath the pine-trees. And whene'er a youth or maiden Found a crooked ear in husking, Found a maize-ear in the husking Blighted, mildewed, or misshapen, Then they laughed and sang together, Crept and limped about the cornfields, Mimicked in their gait and gestures Some old man, bent almost double, Singing singly or together: "Wagemin, the thief of cornfields! Paimosaid, who steals the maize-ear!" Till the cornfields rang with laughter, Till from Hiawatha's wigwam Kahgahgee, the King of Ravens, Screamed and quivered in his anger, And from all the neighboring tree-tops Cawed and croaked the black marauders. "Ugh!" the old men all responded, From their seats beneath the pine-trees!
This poem comes from Longfellow's epic *The Song of Hiawatha* and narrates the tale of the Ojibwe hero Hiawatha and his wife Minnehaha as they safeguard and tend to their cornfields through rituals, clever tactics, and community spirit. At night, Minnehaha walks a sacred circle around the fields to bless them, while Hiawatha cleverly tricks a gang of ravens that threaten their crops. The entire village unites for a joyful harvest. It’s a story that highlights the cycle of planting and reaping, illustrating how a community's survival relies on both spiritual practices and practical wisdom.
Line-by-line
Sing, O Song of Hiawatha, / Of the happy days that followed,
All around the happy village / Stood the maize-fields, green and shining,
'T was the women who in Spring-time / Planted the broad fields and fruitful,
Once, when all the maize was planted, / Hiawatha, wise and thoughtful,
On the tree-tops near the cornfields / Sat the hungry crows and ravens,
When the noiseless night descended / Broad and dark o'er field and forest,
On the morrow, as the day dawned, / Kahgahgee, the King of Ravens,
Only Kahgahgee, the leader, / Kahgahgee, the King of Ravens,
Summer passed, and Shawondasee / Breathed his sighs o'er all the landscape,
Then Nokomis, the old woman, / Spake, and said to Minnehaha:
And whene'er some lucky maiden / Found a red ear in the husking,
Tone & mood
The poem has a celebratory and ceremonial tone, flowing with a steady, chant-like rhythm that perfectly fits its theme of ritual. Longfellow expresses warmth and genuine affection for the community he depicts. When the ravens show up, the tone shifts to something almost martial, and Hiawatha's destruction of the birds is presented without any sentimentality. Yet, the poem consistently returns to a foundation of communal joy, finishing with laughter instead of violence. Throughout, there's a deep respect for the natural world and the spiritual wisdom of the Ojibwe traditions that Longfellow references.
Symbols & metaphors
- Mondamin (the corn spirit) — Mondamin is both the physical corn crop and a spiritual being with a body—he is planted like a burial, grows, and is harvested like a taking off of clothes. He symbolizes the cycle of death and renewal, emphasizing that the natural world is filled with life, personhood, and meaning.
- The magic circle — Minnehaha's barefoot walk around the cornfield creates a clear boundary between the sacred and the everyday. The circle symbolizes protection and completeness, and in this context, it highlights the strength of feminine rituals in safeguarding the community's vital resources.
- Kahgahgee and the ravens — The ravens aren't just crop pests; they embody a disdain for sacred knowledge, mocking what they fail to grasp. Kahgahgee's capture and imprisonment at the poem's conclusion symbolize the community's victory over cynicism and destruction.
- The red ear of corn — Finding a red ear during husking is a folk omen associated with love and marriage. It links the fertility of the harvest to human fertility and courtship, blending agricultural and personal themes into one vivid image.
- Darkness (Guskewau) — Rather than being menacing, darkness in this poem serves as a protector and a sacred cloak. It shields Minnehaha's vulnerability during the ritual and allows her blessing to unfold. In this context, darkness symbolizes the sacred privacy essential for the ritual.
- The snares — Hiawatha's snares embody the blend of wisdom and practicality. The ritual by itself isn't sufficient — the community needs to take action in the physical world to safeguard what it cherishes. The snares serve as the practical counterpart to Minnehaha's spiritual circle.
Historical context
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow published *The Song of Hiawatha* in 1855, which quickly became one of the most popular American poems of the nineteenth century. He drew inspiration from Henry Rowe Schoolcraft's ethnographic writings on Ojibwe (Anishinaabe) oral traditions, especially his *Algic Researches* (1839). Longfellow employed the trochaic tetrameter meter from the Finnish epic *Kalevala*, which gives the poem its unique drumbeat rhythm. One of the key chapters, "Blessing the Cornfields," is rooted in actual Ojibwe agricultural traditions and features Mondamin, the spirit of corn. Although the poem enjoyed immense popularity at the time, it has faced criticism for romanticizing and sometimes misrepresenting Indigenous culture through a European literary perspective. Nevertheless, it remains an important reflection of how nineteenth-century America viewed Native life and represents a sincere, albeit flawed, effort to honor traditions that Longfellow found profoundly significant.
FAQ
Mondamin is the corn spirit in Ojibwe culture — a supernatural entity embodied by the corn plant. In the larger *Song of Hiawatha*, Hiawatha engages in a struggle with Mondamin and ultimately defeats him, leading to the first corn sprouting from Mondamin's buried body. Thus, when the poem refers to planting and harvesting Mondamin, it views the corn crop as the actual body of a spirit, highlighting the sacred nature of the rituals associated with it.
The ritual Hiawatha describes hinges on the belief that a woman's body, moving through darkness and secrecy, creates a protective magic circle around the fields. The nakedness isn't about shame or spectacle — Longfellow emphasizes that only the darkness witnesses her, ensuring her honor remains intact. This vulnerability adds to the ritual's strength: it represents a total offering of self to safeguard the community's food supply.
Longfellow referenced Henry Rowe Schoolcraft's descriptions of Ojibwe traditions, and there are recorded folk beliefs in different cultures—some European, too—about women walking through fields at night to bless them. It's difficult to determine if this specific ritual accurately reflects Ojibwe practices, as Schoolcraft's accounts were influenced by his own cultural biases. Longfellow was at least two steps removed from the original sources.
The ravens taunt Hiawatha's ritual, viewing it as mere foolishness—certain they can plunder the cornfields without regard for any magic circle. Their laughter is described as 'melancholy,' which is quite ironic: they believe they're victorious, yet their scorn for sacred knowledge is what ultimately leads to their downfall. Hiawatha hears them, which is how he learns to set the snares.
Kahgahgee, the King of Ravens, is the only bird that Hiawatha spares. He’s tied to the ridgepole of the wigwam as a hostage—a political prisoner intended to keep the other ravens in check. The poem concludes with his screams of rage while the community celebrates the harvest festival below. He represents the arrogance of defeat, forever humiliated.
The poem uses trochaic tetrameter — eight syllables per line, with the stress on the first syllable of each pair (DUM-da DUM-da DUM-da DUM-da). Longfellow took this meter straight from the Finnish epic *Kalevala*. The repetition is purposeful: it captures the essence of oral chant and ritual incantation, which fits a poem focused on ceremonial practices. Some readers find it mesmerizing, while others see it as dull.
Yes, and it's easy to see why. Longfellow was a white poet from New England who wrote about Indigenous people he had never actually encountered, relying on secondhand ethnographic sources that were influenced by European perspectives. His poem romanticizes Ojibwe life and simplifies its rich complexity into a noble-savage narrative. Many Indigenous scholars and writers have highlighted that it presents their ancestors' stories through a non-Indigenous viewpoint, and the 'Hiawatha' in the poem doesn’t accurately reflect the real historical Haudenosaunee leader of the same name. It's important to read this work not only as a poem about Ojibwe culture but also as a reflection of nineteenth-century American attitudes.
The harvest scene is the culmination of everything that came before — the ritual, the struggle with the ravens, and the lengthy summer of growth. It’s intentionally communal and joyful: old men relax and smoke in the shade, young people laugh and sing, and folk traditions like the red-ear omen are shared. Longfellow illustrates that the blessing of the cornfields wasn't solely about safeguarding food — it was about preserving the community's way of life, its rituals, its humor, and its connections.