HIAWATHA'S FASTING by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow: Summary, Meaning & Analysis
Hiawatha spends seven days fasting in the forest, not to seek personal strength but to discover how to feed his people.
The poem
You shall hear how Hiawatha Prayed and fasted in the forest, Not for greater skill in hunting, Not for greater craft in fishing, Not for triumphs in the battle, And renown among the warriors, But for profit of the people, For advantage of the nations. First he built a lodge for fasting, Built a wigwam in the forest, By the shining Big-Sea-Water, In the blithe and pleasant Spring-time, In the Moon of Leaves he built it, And, with dreams and visions many, Seven whole days and nights he fasted. On the first day of his fasting Through the leafy woods he wandered; Saw the deer start from the thicket, Saw the rabbit in his burrow, Heard the pheasant, Bena, drumming, Heard the squirrel, Adjidaumo, Rattling in his hoard of acorns, Saw the pigeon, the Omeme, Building nests among the pine-trees, And in flocks the wild-goose, Wawa, Flying to the fen-lands northward, Whirring, wailing far above him. "Master of Life!" he cried, desponding, "Must our lives depend on these things?" On the next day of his fasting By the river's brink he wandered, Through the Muskoday, the meadow, Saw the wild rice, Mahnomonee, Saw the blueberry, Meenahga, And the strawberry, Odahmin, And the gooseberry, Shahbomin, And the grape-vine, the Bemahgut, Trailing o'er the alder-branches, Filling all the air with fragrance! "Master of Life!" he cried, desponding, "Must our lives depend on these things?" On the third day of his fasting By the lake he sat and pondered, By the still, transparent water; Saw the sturgeon, Nahma, leaping, Scattering drops like beads of wampum, Saw the yellow perch, the Sahwa, Like a sunbeam in the water, Saw the pike, the Maskenozha, And the herring, Okahahwis, And the Shawgashee, the crawfish! "Master of Life!" he cried, desponding, "Must our lives depend on these things?" On the fourth day of his fasting In his lodge he lay exhausted; From his couch of leaves and branches Gazing with half-open eyelids, Full of shadowy dreams and visions, On the dizzy, swimming landscape, On the gleaming of the water, On the splendor of the sunset. And he saw a youth approaching, Dressed in garments green and yellow, Coming through the purple twilight, Through the splendor of the sunset; Plumes of green bent o'er his forehead, And his hair was soft and golden. Standing at the open doorway, Long he looked at Hiawatha, Looked with pity and compassion On his wasted form and features, And, in accents like the sighing Of the South-Wind in the tree-tops, Said he, "O my Hiawatha! All your prayers are heard in heaven, For you pray not like the others; Not for greater skill in hunting, Not for greater craft in fishing, Not for triumph in the battle, Nor renown among the warriors, But for profit of the people, For advantage of the nations. "From the Master of Life descending, I, the friend of man, Mondamin, Come to warn you and instruct you, How by struggle and by labor You shall gain what you have prayed for. Rise up from your bed of branches, Rise, O youth, and wrestle with me!" Faint with famine, Hiawatha Started from his bed of branches, From the twilight of his wigwam Forth into the flush of sunset Came, and wrestled with Mondamin; At his touch he felt new courage Throbbing in his brain and bosom, Felt new life and hope and vigor Run through every nerve and fibre. So they wrestled there together In the glory of the sunset, And the more they strove and struggled, Stronger still grew Hiawatha; Till the darkness fell around them, And the heron, the Shuh-shuh-gah, From her nest among the pine-trees, Gave a cry of lamentation, Gave a scream of pain and famine. "'T is enough!" then said Mondamin, Smiling upon Hiawatha, "But tomorrow, when the sun sets, I will come again to try you." And he vanished, and was seen not; Whether sinking as the rain sinks, Whether rising as the mists rise, Hiawatha saw not, knew not, Only saw that he had vanished, Leaving him alone and fainting, With the misty lake below him, And the reeling stars above him. On the morrow and the next day, When the sun through heaven descending, Like a red and burning cinder From the hearth of the Great Spirit, Fell into the western waters, Came Mondamin for the trial, For the strife with Hiawatha; Came as silent as the dew comes, From the empty air appearing, Into empty air returning, Taking shape when earth it touches, But invisible to all men In its coming and its going. Thrice they wrestled there together In the glory of the sunset, Till the darkness fell around them, Till the heron, the Shuh-shuh-gah, From her nest among the pine-trees, Uttered her loud cry of famine, And Mondamin paused to listen. Tall and beautiful he stood there, In his garments green and yellow; To and fro his plumes above him, Waved and nodded with his breathing, And the sweat of the encounter Stood like drops of dew upon him. And he cried, "O Hiawatha! Bravely have you wrestled with me, Thrice have wrestled stoutly with me, And the Master of Life, who sees us, He will give to you the triumph!" Then he smiled, and said: "To-morrow Is the last day of your conflict, Is the last day of your fasting. You will conquer and o'ercome me; Make a bed for me to lie in, Where the rain may fall upon me, Where the sun may come and warm me; Strip these garments, green and yellow, Strip this nodding plumage from me, Lay me in the earth, and make it Soft and loose and light above me. "Let no hand disturb my slumber, Let no weed nor worm molest me, Let not Kahgahgee, the raven, Come to haunt me and molest me, Only come yourself to watch me, Till I wake, and start, and quicken, Till I leap into the sunshine." And thus saying, he departed; Peacefully slept Hiawatha, But he heard the Wawonaissa, Heard the whippoorwill complaining, Perched upon his lonely wigwam; Heard the rushing Sebowisha, Heard the rivulet rippling near him, Talking to the darksome forest; Heard the sighing of the branches, As they lifted and subsided At the passing of the night-wind, Heard them, as one hears in slumber Far-off murmurs, dreamy whispers: Peacefully slept Hiawatha. On the morrow came Nokomis, On the seventh day of his fasting, Came with food for Hiawatha, Came imploring and bewailing, Lest his hunger should o'ercome him, Lest his fasting should be fatal. But he tasted not, and touched not, Only said to her, "Nokomis, Wait until the sun is setting, Till the darkness falls around us, Till the heron, the Shuh-shuh-gah, Crying from the desolate marshes, Tells us that the day is ended." Homeward weeping went Nokomis, Sorrowing for her Hiawatha, Fearing lest his strength should fail him, Lest his fasting should be fatal. He meanwhile sat weary waiting For the coming of Mondamin, Till the shadows, pointing eastward, Lengthened over field and forest, Till the sun dropped from the heaven, Floating on the waters westward, As a red leaf in the Autumn Falls and floats upon the water, Falls and sinks into its bosom. And behold! the young Mondamin, With his soft and shining tresses, With his garments green and yellow, With his long and glossy plumage, Stood and beckoned at the doorway. And as one in slumber walking, Pale and haggard, but undaunted, From the wigwam Hiawatha Came and wrestled with Mondamin. Round about him spun the landscape, Sky and forest reeled together, And his strong heart leaped within him, As the sturgeon leaps and struggles In a net to break its meshes. Like a ring of fire around him Blazed and flared the red horizon, And a hundred suns seemed looking At the combat of the wrestlers. Suddenly upon the greensward All alone stood Hiawatha, Panting with his wild exertion, Palpitating with the struggle; And before him breathless, lifeless, Lay the youth, with hair dishevelled, Plumage torn, and garments tattered, Dead he lay there in the sunset. And victorious Hiawatha Made the grave as he commanded, Stripped the garments from Mondamin, Stripped his tattered plumage from him, Laid him in the earth, and made it Soft and loose and light above him; And the heron, the Shuh-shuh-gah, From the melancholy moorlands, Gave a cry of lamentation, Gave a cry of pain and anguish! Homeward then went Hiawatha To the lodge of old Nokomis, And the seven days of his fasting Were accomplished and completed. But the place was not forgotten Where he wrestled with Mondamin; Nor forgotten nor neglected Was the grave where lay Mondamin, Sleeping in the rain and sunshine, Where his scattered plumes and garments Faded in the rain and sunshine. Day by day did Hiawatha Go to wait and watch beside it; Kept the dark mould soft above it, Kept it clean from weeds and insects, Drove away, with scoffs and shoutings, Kahgahgee, the king of ravens. Till at length a small green feather From the earth shot slowly upward, Then another and another, And before the Summer ended Stood the maize in all its beauty, With its shining robes about it, And its long, soft, yellow tresses; And in rapture Hiawatha Cried aloud, "It is Mondamin! Yes, the friend of man, Mondamin!" Then he called to old Nokomis And Iagoo, the great boaster, Showed them where the maize was growing, Told them of his wondrous vision, Of his wrestling and his triumph, Of this new gift to the nations, Which should be their food forever. And still later, when the Autumn Changed the long, green leaves to yellow, And the soft and juicy kernels Grew like wampum hard and yellow, Then the ripened ears he gathered, Stripped the withered husks from off them, As he once had stripped the wrestler, Gave the first Feast of Mondamin, And made known unto the people This new gift of the Great Spirit. VI
Hiawatha spends seven days fasting in the forest, not to seek personal strength but to discover how to feed his people. On the fourth day, a mysterious spirit named Mondamin shows up, and the two engage in a wrestling match at sunset for several nights until Hiawatha ultimately wins. Mondamin is revealed to be corn — his buried body transforms into the maize plant, and Hiawatha shares this invaluable gift of food with his nation for generations to come.
Line-by-line
You shall hear how Hiawatha / Prayed and fasted in the forest,
On the first day of his fasting / Through the leafy woods he wandered;
On the next day of his fasting / By the river's brink he wandered,
On the third day of his fasting / By the lake he sat and pondered,
On the fourth day of his fasting / In his lodge he lay exhausted;
Faint with famine, Hiawatha / Started from his bed of branches,
On the morrow and the next day, / When the sun through heaven descending,
But he heard the Wawonaissa, / Heard the whippoorwill complaining,
On the morrow came Nokomis, / On the seventh day of his fasting,
And behold! the young Mondamin, / With his soft and shining tresses,
And victorious Hiawatha / Made the grave as he commanded,
Till at length a small green feather / From the earth shot slowly upward,
And still later, when the Autumn / Changed the long, green leaves to yellow,
Tone & mood
The tone remains reverent and ceremonial throughout, influenced by Longfellow's use of trochaic tetrameter — the same falling-stress rhythm he adapted from the Finnish epic *Kalevala*. This gives the poem a chant-like, hypnotic quality that suits a creation myth. There's a genuine tenderness in the interactions with Nokomis and a palpable urgency in the wrestling matches, ensuring the poem never feels cold or just ornamental. Beneath the solemnity lies a quiet optimism: the entire narrative progresses toward abundance and the spirit of gift-giving.
Symbols & metaphors
- Mondamin (the corn spirit) — Mondamin represents a supernatural visitor, an adversary, and a sacrificial figure all at once. Dressed in green and yellow, with golden hair, he mirrors the colors of a corn plant. His death and burial symbolize the planting of a seed, while his resurrection signifies the first harvest. He embodies the belief that the earth's most valuable gifts emerge from struggle and demand continuous nurturing.
- The sunset — Every wrestling match takes place at sunset, the boundary between day and night, life and death. The setting sun frames each contest as a moment in transition — an occurrence at the edge of everyday life. It also connects Mondamin's appearances to the natural cycle of light, strengthening his identity as a plant spirit linked to the seasons.
- The heron's cry — The heron (Shuh-shuh-gah) lets out a cry at the conclusion of each wrestling match, often interpreted as a sound of "pain and famine." It serves as a natural clock and a witness, linking the human spiritual struggle to the hunger experienced globally. When Mondamin finally falls, the heron emits a cry of sorrow — grieving the death that will nourish the people.
- The grave / the planted field — Mondamin's burial resembles the act of planting a crop. The guidance he provides — soft, loose soil, free from weeds and ravens, with regular care — reads like farming advice. The grave transforms into a garden bed, and death becomes a source of abundance. This symbol encapsulates the poem's main message: that nourishing a community demands both sacrifice and ongoing effort.
- The raven (Kahgahgee) — The raven is the one creature that Mondamin warns us about. In many Indigenous traditions, ravens are seen as scavengers and tricksters. Here, Kahgahgee symbolizes the forces that would devour the gift before it has a chance to flourish — whether that's greed, carelessness, or not safeguarding what has been entrusted to you.
- The seven-day fast — Seven days is a significant number in various world traditions, representing a complete cycle of time. Hiawatha's fast reflects vision-quest traditions where physical deprivation clears the mind for spiritual experiences. Additionally, the number organizes the poem like a week, creating a sense of inevitability—each day must be faced before the gift can be received.
Historical context
Longfellow published *The Song of Hiawatha* in 1855, drawing extensively on Henry Rowe Schoolcraft's ethnographic records of Ojibwe oral traditions, especially *Algic Researches* (1839). The poem quickly became a bestseller and influenced how generations of Americans perceived Indigenous life. Longfellow borrowed the meter from the Finnish national epic *Kalevala*, translated by Elias Lönnrot, which gives the poem its unique trochaic tetrameter rhythm. "Hiawatha's Fasting" is Canto V of the larger work and recounts an Ojibwe origin myth about how corn (maize) was given to humanity. Although the poem has been praised for introducing Indigenous stories to a broad audience, it has also faced criticism for romanticizing and simplifying the cultures it portrays, as well as for interpreting oral traditions through a European literary perspective. It was published during a time of intense national debate over westward expansion and the displacement of Native peoples.
FAQ
Yes, the Mondamin story originates from Ojibwe oral tradition, as recorded by ethnographer Henry Rowe Schoolcraft. In these accounts, a young man embarks on a vision quest that leads to the creation of a corn spirit, which must be wrestled and buried to provide humanity with maize. Longfellow adapted this tale closely, although he interpreted it through his own literary style and the rhythm of a Finnish epic. At its heart, the myth—that corn is a gift that demands sacrifice and hard work—is deeply rooted in Ojibwe belief.
The Ojibwe names are drawn straight from Schoolcraft's ethnographic records. Longfellow included them not only for authenticity but also because they contribute to the poem's unique sound. Words like "Adjidaumo," "Mahnomonee," and "Shuh-shuh-gah" create a sonic atmosphere that feels refreshingly distinct from European poetry. They also act as a sort of glossary, introducing readers to the Indigenous names for plants, animals, and places alongside their English counterparts.
The poem uses trochaic tetrameter — that means there are four stressed-unstressed pairs per line, beginning with a stressed syllable. Longfellow took this directly from the Finnish epic *Kalevala*. The repetition is purposeful: it reflects the way oral storytelling works, with repeated phrases and refrains helping listeners to follow along and remember the tale. For example, the line "Must our lives depend on these things?" appears three times to create a sense of ritual significance, not because Longfellow was out of ideas.
Mondamin is a spirit sent by the Master of Life, known as Gitche Manitou in Ojibwe tradition, to fulfill Hiawatha's prayer. Unlike a god in the Western sense, he acts as a mediating spirit — a "friend of man" who takes on a physical form to deliver his gift through a contest. His identity as the corn plant unfolds slowly through his appearance (wearing green and yellow garments, with golden hair) and is ultimately confirmed when he rises from his grave as maize.
This is the poem's core spiritual message: Mondamin's touch gives Hiawatha courage and vitality instead of sapping his strength. The wrestling match goes beyond a mere physical challenge; it becomes a transformative experience. As Hiawatha dedicates himself to the fight for his people's benefit, he gains more strength. This reflects the idea that selfless effort produces its own energy, a notion found in both Indigenous and global mythologies.
The heron (Shuh-shuh-gah) acts as a natural timekeeper and observer. Its cry of "pain and famine" marks the end of each wrestling bout, connecting the spiritual struggle to the real hunger present in the world. The heron serves more than just ambiance — it embodies the voice of the need that Hiawatha seeks to address. When Mondamin ultimately dies, the heron's cry transforms into a lament, recognizing the price of the gift.
Many scholars and Indigenous readers have pointed out that *The Song of Hiawatha* portrays Ojibwe culture through a romanticized European perspective, oversimplifying rich traditions into a single noble-savage narrative. Longfellow never interacted directly with Ojibwe communities and relied solely on Schoolcraft's secondhand accounts. Additionally, the poem was published during a time when Native peoples were being forcibly removed, which makes its romantic view of a disappearing "Indian" world politically convenient for settler culture. It's important to approach this work with those tensions in mind.
The Feast of Mondamin is Longfellow's interpretation of a harvest celebration linked to the first corn crop. Corn harvest ceremonies are genuine and common among various Indigenous nations throughout North America, although the specific practices differ greatly by culture. Longfellow depicts the feast as the beginning of a continuous ritual, tying the mythic origin story to a current tradition — suggesting that each harvest re-enacts Hiawatha's initial sacrifice and Mondamin's gift.