HIAWATHA'S CHILDHOOD by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow: Summary, Meaning & Analysis
This poem narrates the tale of Hiawatha's birth and upbringing.
The poem
Downward through the evening twilight, In the days that are forgotten, In the unremembered ages, From the full moon fell Nokomis, Fell the beautiful Nokomis, She a wife, but not a mother. She was sporting with her women, Swinging in a swing of grape-vines, When her rival, the rejected, Full of jealousy and hatred, Cut the leafy swing asunder, Cut in twain the twisted grape-vines, And Nokomis fell affrighted Downward through the evening twilight, On the Muskoday, the meadow, On the prairie full of blossoms. "See! a star falls!" said the people; "From the sky a star is falling!" There among the ferns and mosses, There among the prairie lilies, On the Muskoday, the meadow, In the moonlight and the starlight, Fair Nokomis bore a daughter. And she called her name Wenonah, As the first-born of her daughters. And the daughter of Nokomis Grew up like the prairie lilies, Grew a tall and slender maiden, With the beauty of the moonlight, With the beauty of the starlight. And Nokomis warned her often, Saying oft, and oft repeating, "Oh, beware of Mudjekeewis, Of the West-Wind, Mudjekeewis; Listen not to what he tells you; Lie not down upon the meadow, Stoop not down among the lilies, Lest the West-Wind come and harm you!" But she heeded not the warning, Heeded not those words of wisdom, And the West-Wind came at evening, Walking lightly o'er the prairie, Whispering to the leaves and blossoms, Bending low the flowers and grasses, Found the beautiful Wenonah, Lying there among the lilies, Wooed her with his words of sweetness, Wooed her with his soft caresses, Till she bore a son in sorrow, Bore a son of love and sorrow. Thus was born my Hiawatha, Thus was born the child of wonder; But the daughter of Nokomis, Hiawatha's gentle mother, In her anguish died deserted By the West-Wind, false and faithless, By the heartless Mudjekeewis. For her daughter long and loudly Wailed and wept the sad Nokomis; "Oh that I were dead!" she murmured, "Oh that I were dead, as thou art! No more work, and no more weeping, Wahonowin! Wahonowin!" By the shores of Gitche Gumee, By the shining Big-Sea-Water, Stood the wigwam of Nokomis, Daughter of the Moon, Nokomis. Dark behind it rose the forest, Rose the black and gloomy pine-trees, Rose the firs with cones upon them; Bright before it beat the water, Beat the clear and sunny water, Beat the shining Big-Sea-Water. There the wrinkled old Nokomis Nursed the little Hiawatha, Rocked him in his linden cradle, Bedded soft in moss and rushes, Safely bound with reindeer sinews; Stilled his fretful wail by saying, "Hush! the Naked Bear will hear thee!" Lulled him into slumber, singing, "Ewa-yea! my little owlet! Who is this, that lights the wigwam? With his great eyes lights the wigwam? Ewa-yea! my little owlet!" Many things Nokomis taught him Of the stars that shine in heaven; Showed him Ishkoodah, the comet, Ishkoodah, with fiery tresses; Showed the Death-Dance of the spirits, Warriors with their plumes and war-clubs, Flaring far away to northward In the frosty nights of Winter; Showed the broad white road in heaven, Pathway of the ghosts, the shadows, Running straight across the heavens, Crowded with the ghosts, the shadows. At the door on summer evenings Sat the little Hiawatha; Heard the whispering of the pine-trees, Heard the lapping of the water, Sounds of music, words of wonder; 'Minne-wawa!" said the Pine-trees, Mudway-aushka!" said the water. Saw the fire-fly, Wah-wah-taysee, Flitting through the dusk of evening, With the twinkle of its candle Lighting up the brakes and bushes, And he sang the song of children, Sang the song Nokomis taught him: "Wah-wah-taysee, little fire-fly, Little, flitting, white-fire insect, Little, dancing, white-fire creature, Light me with your little candle, Ere upon my bed I lay me, Ere in sleep I close my eyelids!" Saw the moon rise from the water Rippling, rounding from the water, Saw the flecks and shadows on it, Whispered, "What is that, Nokomis?" And the good Nokomis answered: "Once a warrior, very angry, Seized his grandmother, and threw her Up into the sky at midnight; Right against the moon he threw her; 'T is her body that you see there." Saw the rainbow in the heaven, In the eastern sky, the rainbow, Whispered, "What is that, Nokomis?" And the good Nokomis answered: "'T is the heaven of flowers you see there; All the wild-flowers of the forest, All the lilies of the prairie, When on earth they fade and perish, Blossom in that heaven above us." When he heard the owls at midnight, Hooting, laughing in the forest, "What is that?" he cried in terror, "What is that," he said, "Nokomis?" And the good Nokomis answered: "That is but the owl and owlet, Talking in their native language, Talking, scolding at each other." Then the little Hiawatha Learned of every bird its language, Learned their names and all their secrets, How they built their nests in Summer, Where they hid themselves in Winter, Talked with them whene'er he met them, Called them "Hiawatha's Chickens." Of all beasts he learned the language, Learned their names and all their secrets, How the beavers built their lodges, Where the squirrels hid their acorns, How the reindeer ran so swiftly, Why the rabbit was so timid, Talked with them whene'er he met them, Called them "Hiawatha's Brothers." Then Iagoo, the great boaster, He the marvellous story-teller, He the traveller and the talker, He the friend of old Nokomis, Made a bow for Hiawatha; From a branch of ash he made it, From an oak-bough made the arrows, Tipped with flint, and winged with feathers, And the cord he made of deer-skin. Then he said to Hiawatha: "Go, my son, into the forest, Where the red deer herd together, Kill for us a famous roebuck, Kill for us a deer with antlers!" Forth into the forest straightway All alone walked Hiawatha Proudly, with his bow and arrows; And the birds sang round him, o'er him, "Do not shoot us, Hiawatha!" Sang the robin, the Opechee, Sang the bluebird, the Owaissa, "Do not shoot us, Hiawatha!" Up the oak-tree, close beside him, Sprang the squirrel, Adjidaumo, In and out among the branches, Coughed and chattered from the oak-tree, Laughed, and said between his laughing, "Do not shoot me, Hiawatha!" And the rabbit from his pathway Leaped aside, and at a distance Sat erect upon his haunches, Half in fear and half in frolic, Saying to the little hunter, "Do not shoot me, Hiawatha!" But he heeded not, nor heard them, For his thoughts were with the red deer; On their tracks his eyes were fastened, Leading downward to the river, To the ford across the river, And as one in slumber walked he. Hidden in the alder-bushes, There he waited till the deer came, Till he saw two antlers lifted, Saw two eyes look from the thicket, Saw two nostrils point to windward, And a deer came down the pathway, Flecked with leafy light and shadow. And his heart within him fluttered, Trembled like the leaves above him, Like the birch-leaf palpitated, As the deer came down the pathway. Then, upon one knee uprising, Hiawatha aimed an arrow; Scarce a twig moved with his motion, Scarce a leaf was stirred or rustled, But the wary roebuck started, Stamped with all his hoofs together, Listened with one foot uplifted, Leaped as if to meet the arrow; Ah! the singing, fatal arrow, Like a wasp it buzzed and stung him! Dead he lay there in the forest, By the ford across the river; Beat his timid heart no longer, But the heart of Hiawatha Throbbed and shouted and exulted, As he bore the red deer homeward, And Iagoo and Nokomis Hailed his coming with applauses. From the red deer's hide Nokomis Made a cloak for Hiawatha, From the red deer's flesh Nokomis Made a banquet to his honor. All the village came and feasted, All the guests praised Hiawatha, Called him Strong-Heart, Soan-ge-taha! Called him Loon-Heart, Mahn-go-taysee! IV
This poem narrates the tale of Hiawatha's birth and upbringing. His grandmother Nokomis raises him by a vast lake, sharing the names and secrets of the stars, animals, and nature. When he is finally old enough to venture into the forest and hunt his first deer, it becomes a moment of celebration for the entire village.
Line-by-line
Downward through the evening twilight, / In the days that are forgotten,
There among the ferns and mosses, / There among the prairie lilies,
But she heeded not the warning, / Heeded not those words of wisdom,
For her daughter long and loudly / Wailed and wept the sad Nokomis;
By the shores of Gitche Gumee, / By the shining Big-Sea-Water,
Many things Nokomis taught him / Of the stars that shine in heaven;
At the door on summer evenings / Sat the little Hiawatha;
Saw the moon rise from the water / Rippling, rounding from the water,
When he heard the owls at midnight, / Hooting, laughing in the forest,
Then Iagoo, the great boaster, / He the marvellous story-teller,
Hidden in the alder-bushes, / There he waited till the deer came,
From the red deer's hide Nokomis / Made a cloak for Hiawatha,
Tone & mood
The tone is ceremonial and almost chant-like—Longfellow's well-known trochaic tetrameter creates a rhythmic beat in each line, reminiscent of storytelling set to music. There's a sense of tenderness in the moments shared between Nokomis and Hiawatha, real sorrow in Wenonah's fate, and a sense of quiet awe in the descriptions of nature. The poem avoids sentimentality, acknowledging that the world it depicts can also bring betrayal and death. By the conclusion, as the village celebrates and rejoices, the tone rises to something resembling joy.
Symbols & metaphors
- The grape-vine swing — The swing symbolizes how fragile safety and trust can be. Jealousy cuts through it, leading to a fall that sets off a chain reaction—Nokomis's descent, Wenonah's birth, and ultimately Hiawatha's existence. This ordinary household item sparks a mythic catastrophe.
- The West-Wind (Mudjekeewis) — Mudjekeewis symbolizes charming yet reckless male power. He enchants Wenonah with soft whispers and tender touches, fathers a child, and then disappears. He's described as 'false and faithless' and 'heartless.' The wind is omnipresent and belongs to no one — an ideal representation of a force that influences everything but remains tied to nothing.
- Gitche Gumee (the Big-Sea-Water) — The great lake serves as both a backdrop and a symbol of the vast, enduring natural world that shaped Hiawatha's childhood. Its water is described as 'clear,' 'sunny,' and 'shining' — reflecting clarity, life, and the ongoing presence of a world larger than any one human narrative.
- The stars and the night sky — The sky is a living text that Nokomis interprets for Hiawatha. Comets, the Northern Lights, and the Milky Way tell stories of spirits and warriors. The sky carries cultural memory from one generation to the next — a blend of knowledge and wonder.
- The red deer — The deer represents Hiawatha's rite of passage. Taking its life changes him from a child who communicates with animals into a young man who can support and gain recognition from his community. The deer's hide becomes his cloak—this kill literally wraps him in a new identity.
- The linden cradle — The cradle made of moss, rushes, and reindeer sinew shows the care and creativity Nokomis uses to create a safe world for Hiawatha from the natural materials around her. This image reflects the larger theme of the poem: a grandmother crafting a childhood from both grief and love.
Historical context
Longfellow published *The Song of Hiawatha* in 1855, drawing heavily on Henry Rowe Schoolcraft's ethnographic records of the Ojibwe oral tradition, especially *Algic Researches* (1839). He based the poem's meter on the Finnish epic *Kalevala*, finding its trochaic tetrameter a perfect fit for the rhythms of Native American legend. "Hiawatha's Childhood" is the fourth canto of this larger work. The poem became an instant hit, selling 50,000 copies in its first year, and it influenced how many Americans envisioned Indigenous life for generations. Scholars have long debated its romanticized portrayal of Ojibwe culture — Longfellow relied on secondhand sources and viewed everything through a 19th-century European lens — but the poem also exposed millions of readers to Ojibwe names, stories, and cosmology that they likely wouldn't have encountered otherwise.
FAQ
Nokomis is Hiawatha's grandmother and the one who raises him. Her name translates to 'my grandmother' in Ojibwe. She descends from the sky after a jealous rival cuts her swing, bringing her to earth. In this canto, she serves as the emotional core — mourning her daughter, caring for Hiawatha, imparting knowledge about the natural world, and celebrating his first hunt. Without her, Hiawatha wouldn't exist.
Longfellow employs trochaic tetrameter, which consists of eight syllables per line, with each pair beginning with a stressed syllable (DUM-da DUM-da DUM-da DUM-da). He adapted this form from the Finnish epic *Kalevala*. The repetition is intentional: lines such as 'By the shores of Gitche Gumee' and 'By the shining Big-Sea-Water' are designed to evoke the feel of oral chanting or drumming. Depending on your tolerance, it can come across as either hypnotic or monotonous.
It draws from Ojibwe oral traditions documented by ethnographer Henry Rowe Schoolcraft, but Longfellow made substantial changes. He blended characters from various stories, resolved inconsistencies, and presented everything in a European Romantic literary style. While the names, places, and certain elements of the story are authentically Ojibwe, the poem is ultimately Longfellow's artistic interpretation, rather than a straightforward transcription of any one Indigenous source.
Wenonah succumbs to the charm of Mudjekeewis, the West-Wind, despite her mother's cautions. Once she gives birth to Hiawatha, Mudjekeewis leaves her. The poem notes that she 'died deserted'—the pain of childbirth combined with abandonment leads to her demise. Her death becomes the tragic beginning of Hiawatha's story: born from love and loss, he grows up without a mother, nurtured instead by a sorrowful grandmother.
She explains that the face in the moon represents a grandmother's body thrown into the sky by an angry warrior. The rainbow, she says, is where wildflowers go when they die on earth—they bloom again in the sky. Both stories transform natural phenomena into moral and emotional narratives. They illustrate how Ojibwe oral tradition brings personal meaning to the natural world.
Because Hiawatha spent his childhood learning the languages of birds and beasts, considering them his brothers, the animals know and trust him. When he enters the forest with a bow, they appeal to that bond. He ignores them—not out of cruelty, but because hunting is a necessity in a different way. This creates a quiet tension in the poem: the boy who loved animals must transform into the man who hunts them.
'Soan-ge-taha' translates to Strong-Heart and 'Mahn-go-taysee' translates to Loon-Heart. The loon, a bird found around the Great Lakes, symbolizes endurance and wildness. These names represent Hiawatha's shift from childhood to becoming a respected young hunter, as the community officially recognizes his growth.
The main criticism is that Longfellow, a white poet from New England, romanticized and oversimplified a living culture he only understood through secondhand accounts. The poem depicts Ojibwe life as timeless and pre-modern, which can obscure the real complexity and history of Indigenous peoples. Its influence was so strong that the distorted details it presented shaped public perceptions of Native Americans for more than a hundred years, often overshadowing more accurate portrayals.