THE SON OF THE EVENING STAR by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow: Summary, Meaning & Analysis
This poem is a chapter from Longfellow's epic *The Song of Hiawatha*, presented as a story told during Hiawatha's wedding feast.
The poem
Can it be the sun descending O'er the level plain of water? Or the Red Swan floating, flying, Wounded by the magic arrow, Staining all the waves with crimson, With the crimson of its life-blood, Filling all the air with splendor, With the splendor of its plumage? Yes; it is the sun descending, Sinking down into the water; All the sky is stained with purple, All the water flushed with crimson! No; it is the Red Swan floating, Diving down beneath the water; To the sky its wings are lifted, With its blood the waves are reddened! Over it the Star of Evening Melts and trembles through the purple, Hangs suspended in the twilight. No; it is a bead of wampum On the robes of the Great Spirit As he passes through the twilight, Walks in silence through the heavens. This with joy beheld Iagoo And he said in haste: "Behold it! See the sacred Star of Evening! You shall hear a tale of wonder, Hear the story of Osseo, Son of the Evening Star, Osseo! "Once, in days no more remembered, Ages nearer the beginning, When the heavens were closer to us, And the Gods were more familiar, In the North-land lived a hunter, With ten young and comely daughters, Tall and lithe as wands of willow; Only Oweenee, the youngest, She the wilful and the wayward, She the silent, dreamy maiden, Was the fairest of the sisters. "All these women married warriors, Married brave and haughty husbands; Only Oweenee, the youngest, Laughed and flouted all her lovers, All her young and handsome suitors, And then married old Osseo, Old Osseo, poor and ugly, Broken with age and weak with coughing, Always coughing like a squirrel. "Ah, but beautiful within him Was the spirit of Osseo, From the Evening Star descended, Star of Evening, Star of Woman, Star of tenderness and passion! All its fire was in his bosom, All its beauty in his spirit, All its mystery in his being, All its splendor in his language! "And her lovers, the rejected, Handsome men with belts of wampum, Handsome men with paint and feathers. Pointed at her in derision, Followed her with jest and laughter. But she said: 'I care not for you, Care not for your belts of wampum, Care not for your paint and feathers, Care not for your jests and laughter; I am happy with Osseo!' "Once to some great feast invited, Through the damp and dusk of evening, Walked together the ten sisters, Walked together with their husbands; Slowly followed old Osseo, With fair Oweenee beside him; All the others chatted gayly, These two only walked in silence. "At the western sky Osseo Gazed intent, as if imploring, Often stopped and gazed imploring At the trembling Star of Evening, At the tender Star of Woman; And they heard him murmur softly, 'Ah, showain nemeshin, Nosa! Pity, pity me, my father!' "'Listen!' said the eldest sister, 'He is praying to his father! What a pity that the old man Does not stumble in the pathway, Does not break his neck by falling!' And they laughed till all the forest Rang with their unseemly laughter. "On their pathway through the woodlands Lay an oak, by storms uprooted, Lay the great trunk of an oak-tree, Buried half in leaves and mosses, Mouldering, crumbling, huge and hollow. And Osseo, when he saw it, Gave a shout, a cry of anguish, Leaped into its yawning cavern, At one end went in an old man, Wasted, wrinkled, old, and ugly; From the other came a young man, Tall and straight and strong and handsome. "Thus Osseo was transfigured, Thus restored to youth and beauty; But, alas for good Osseo, And for Oweenee, the faithful! Strangely, too, was she transfigured. Changed into a weak old woman, With a staff she tottered onward, Wasted, wrinkled, old, and ugly! And the sisters and their husbands Laughed until the echoing forest Rang with their unseemly laughter. "But Osseo turned not from her, Walked with slower step beside her, Took her hand, as brown and withered As an oak-leaf is in Winter, Called her sweetheart, Nenemoosha, Soothed her with soft words of kindness, Till they reached the lodge of feasting, Till they sat down in the wigwam, Sacred to the Star of Evening, To the tender Star of Woman. "Wrapt in visions, lost in dreaming, At the banquet sat Osseo; All were merry, all were happy, All were joyous but Osseo. Neither food nor drink he tasted, Neither did he speak nor listen; But as one bewildered sat he, Looking dreamily and sadly, First at Oweenee, then upward At the gleaming sky above them. "Then a voice was heard, a whisper, Coming from the starry distance, Coming from the empty vastness, Low, and musical, and tender; And the voice said: 'O Osseo! O my son, my best beloved! Broken are the spells that bound you, All the charms of the magicians, All the magic powers of evil; Come to me; ascend, Osseo! "'Taste the food that stands before you: It is blessed and enchanted, It has magic virtues in it, It will change you to a spirit. All your bowls and all your kettles Shall be wood and clay no longer; But the bowls be changed to wampum, And the kettles shall be silver; They shall shine like shells of scarlet, Like the fire shall gleam and glimmer. "'And the women shall no longer Bear the dreary doom of labor, But be changed to birds, and glisten With the beauty of the starlight, Painted with the dusky splendors Of the skies and clouds of evening!' "What Osseo heard as whispers, What as words he comprehended, Was but music to the others, Music as of birds afar off, Of the whippoorwill afar off, Of the lonely Wawonaissa Singing in the darksome forest. "Then the lodge began to tremble, Straight began to shake and tremble, And they felt it rising, rising, Slowly through the air ascending, From the darkness of the tree-tops Forth into the dewy starlight, Till it passed the topmost branches; And behold! the wooden dishes All were changed to shells of scarlet! And behold! the earthen kettles All were changed to bowls of silver! And the roof-poles of the wigwam Were as glittering rods of silver, And the roof of bark upon them As the shining shards of beetles. "Then Osseo gazed around him, And he saw the nine fair sisters, All the sisters and their husbands, Changed to birds of various plumage. Some were jays and some were magpies, Others thrushes, others blackbirds; And they hopped, and sang, and twittered, Perked and fluttered all their feathers, Strutted in their shining plumage, And their tails like fans unfolded. "Only Oweenee, the youngest, Was not changed, but sat in silence, Wasted, wrinkled, old, and ugly, Looking sadly at the others; Till Osseo, gazing upward, Gave another cry of anguish, Such a cry as he had uttered By the oak-tree in the forest. "Then returned her youth and beauty, And her soiled and tattered garments Were transformed to robes of ermine, And her staff became a feather, Yes, a shining silver feather! "And again the wigwam trembled, Swayed and rushed through airy currents, Through transparent cloud and vapor, And amid celestial splendors On the Evening Star alighted, As a snow-flake falls on snow-flake, As a leaf drops on a river, As the thistledown on water. "Forth with cheerful words of welcome Came the father of Osseo, He with radiant locks of silver, He with eyes serene and tender. And he said: 'My son, Osseo, Hang the cage of birds you bring there, Hang the cage with rods of silver, And the birds with glistening feathers, At the doorway of my wigwam.' "At the door he hung the bird-cage, And they entered in and gladly Listened to Osseo's father, Ruler of the Star of Evening, As he said: 'O my Osseo! I have had compassion on you, Given you back your youth and beauty, Into birds of various plumage Changed your sisters and their husbands; Changed them thus because they mocked you In the figure of the old man, In that aspect sad and wrinkled, Could not see your heart of passion, Could not see your youth immortal; Only Oweenee, the faithful, Saw your naked heart and loved you. "'In the lodge that glimmers yonder, In the little star that twinkles Through the vapors, on the left hand, Lives the envious Evil Spirit, The Wabeno, the magician, Who transformed you to an old man. Take heed lest his beams fall on you, For the rays he darts around him Are the power of his enchantment, Are the arrows that he uses.' "Many years, in peace and quiet, On the peaceful Star of Evening Dwelt Osseo with his father; Many years, in song and flutter, At the doorway of the wigwam, Hung the cage with rods of silver, And fair Oweenee, the faithful, Bore a son unto Osseo, With the beauty of his mother, With the courage of his father. "And the boy grew up and prospered, And Osseo, to delight him, Made him little bows and arrows, Opened the great cage of silver, And let loose his aunts and uncles, All those birds with glossy feathers, For his little son to shoot at. "Round and round they wheeled and darted, Filled the Evening Star with music, With their songs of joy and freedom Filled the Evening Star with splendor, With the fluttering of their plumage; Till the boy, the little hunter, Bent his bow and shot an arrow, Shot a swift and fatal arrow, And a bird, with shining feathers, At his feet fell wounded sorely. "But, O wondrous transformation! 'T was no bird he saw before him, 'T was a beautiful young woman, With the arrow in her bosom! "When her blood fell on the planet, On the sacred Star of Evening, Broken was the spell of magic, Powerless was the strange enchantment, And the youth, the fearless bowman, Suddenly felt himself descending, Held by unseen hands, but sinking Downward through the empty spaces, Downward through the clouds and vapors, Till he rested on an island, On an island, green and grassy, Yonder in the Big-Sea-Water. "After him he saw descending All the birds with shining feathers, Fluttering, falling, wafted downward, Like the painted leaves of Autumn; And the lodge with poles of silver, With its roof like wings of beetles, Like the shining shards of beetles, By the winds of heaven uplifted, Slowly sank upon the island, Bringing back the good Osseo, Bringing Oweenee, the faithful. "Then the birds, again transfigured, Reassumed the shape of mortals, Took their shape, but not their stature; They remained as Little People, Like the pygmies, the Puk-Wudjies, And on pleasant nights of Summer, When the Evening Star was shining, Hand in hand they danced together On the island's craggy headlands, On the sand-beach low and level. "Still their glittering lodge is seen there, On the tranquil Summer evenings, And upon the shore the fisher Sometimes hears their happy voices, Sees them dancing in the starlight!" When the story was completed, When the wondrous tale was ended, Looking round upon his listeners, Solemnly Iagoo added: "There are great men, I have known such, Whom their people understand not, Whom they even make a jest of, Scoff and jeer at in derision. From the story of Osseo Let us learn the fate of jesters!" All the wedding guests delighted Listened to the marvellous story, Listened laughing and applauding, And they whispered to each other: "Does he mean himself, I wonder? And are we the aunts and uncles?" Then again sang Chibiabos, Sang a song of love and longing, In those accents sweet and tender, In those tones of pensive sadness, Sang a maiden's lamentation For her lover, her Algonquin. "When I think of my beloved, Ah me! think of my beloved, When my heart is thinking of him, O my sweetheart, my Algonquin! "Ah me! when I parted from him, Round my neck he hung the wampum, As a pledge, the snow-white wampum, O my sweetheart, my Algonquin! "I will go with you, he whispered, Ah me! to your native country; Let me go with you, he whispered, O my sweetheart, my Algonquin! "Far away, away, I answered, Very far away, I answered, Ah me! is my native country, O my sweetheart, my Algonquin! "When I looked back to behold him, Where we parted, to behold him, After me he still was gazing, O my sweetheart, my Algonquin! "By the tree he still was standing, By the fallen tree was standing, That had dropped into the water, O my sweetheart, my Algonquin! "When I think of my beloved, Ah me! think of my beloved, When my heart is thinking of him, O my sweetheart, my Algonquin!" Such was Hiawatha's Wedding, Such the dance of Pau-Puk-Keewis, Such the story of Iagoo, Such the songs of Chibiabos; Thus the wedding banquet ended, And the wedding guests departed, Leaving Hiawatha happy With the night and Minnehaha.
This poem is a chapter from Longfellow's epic *The Song of Hiawatha*, presented as a story told during Hiawatha's wedding feast. The storyteller Iagoo shares the legend of Osseo, an old man who is really a spirit from the Evening Star, and his devoted wife Oweenee, who loves him despite his unattractive appearance. In the end, both are transformed and taken to live among the stars. The poem concludes with a love song that carries a moral warning: if you mock those you don’t understand, you could end up like a bird in a cage.
Line-by-line
Can it be the sun descending / O'er the level plain of water?
Over it the Star of Evening / Melts and trembles through the purple,
This with joy beheld Iagoo / And he said in haste: 'Behold it!
'Once, in days no more remembered, / Ages nearer the beginning,
'All these women married warriors, / Married brave and haughty husbands;
'Ah, but beautiful within him / Was the spirit of Osseo,
'And her lovers, the rejected, / Handsome men with belts of wampum,
'Once to some great feast invited, / Through the damp and dusk of evening,
'On their pathway through the woodlands / Lay an oak, by storms uprooted,
'But Osseo turned not from her, / Walked with slower step beside her,
'Wrapt in visions, lost in dreaming, / At the banquet sat Osseo;
'Then a voice was heard, a whisper, / Coming from the starry distance,
'Then the lodge began to tremble, / Straight began to shake and tremble,
'Then Osseo gazed around him, / And he saw the nine fair sisters,
'And again the wigwam trembled, / Swayed and rushed through airy currents,
'Many years, in peace and quiet, / On the peaceful Star of Evening
'Round and round they wheeled and darted, / Filled the Evening Star with music,
'After him he saw descending / All the birds with shining feathers,
When the story was completed, / When the wondrous tale was ended,
Then again sang Chibiabos, / Sang a song of love and longing,
Tone & mood
The tone navigates several registers while staying firmly grounded. The opening feels almost like a spell, weaving together images of the sunset with a sense of breathless awe. The story of Osseo carries a warm moral message without coming off as preachy — the sisters' cruelty is presented plainly, which makes it hit harder than any commentary could. The transformation scenes have a grand, fairy-tale quality, bursting with silver, scarlet, and starlight. And in the closing moment, where the wedding guests chuckle and question whether Iagoo is referring to himself, there’s a touch of wry, self-deprecating humor that keeps everything relatable. Longfellow's use of trochaic tetrameter (the same meter as *Kalevala*, his Finnish inspiration) lends the poem a steady, drum-like rhythm that feels ceremonial throughout.
Symbols & metaphors
- The Evening Star — Venus as the Evening Star is the poem's main symbol. It represents inner beauty, spiritual origins, and the truth hidden beneath appearances. Osseo literally descends from it and serves as both a home and a parent—the place where true worth is seen and valued.
- The hollow oak trunk — The rotting, hollow oak serves as the boundary between Osseo's cursed form and his true self. It's a portal hidden within decay — something that appears dead and worthless on the outside actually holds a passage to transformation. It reflects Osseo perfectly.
- Birds — The sisters and their husbands are transformed into birds as punishment for their mockery. In this context, birds symbolize individuals who lack depth — they may have bright feathers and sing pretty songs, but they are shallow. They can be beautiful without possessing wisdom, ultimately finding themselves in a cage, completely reliant on the very people they once ridiculed.
- Wampum — Wampum, which are shell beads used in ceremonies and trade, serves as a symbol of spiritual value throughout. The Great Spirit adorns itself with it, and the lodge's bowls are turned into it. It indicates that something has moved from the everyday world into the sacred realm.
- The silver feather — When Oweenee's youth is restored on the Evening Star, her walking staff — which represented her age and suffering — turns into a silver feather. This change from a symbol of her weakness to something light and radiant captures the essence of redemption in the poem's most vivid image.
- The Red Swan — The Red Swan mentioned in the opening riddle comes from Ojibwe mythology. It is struck by a magical arrow, causing its blood to stain the water. This event hints at the arrow that eventually injures the bird-woman on the Evening Star, breaking her enchantment. In both instances, blood on a sacred surface disrupts magic.
Historical context
Longfellow published *The Song of Hiawatha* in 1855, a time when American Romanticism was at its peak, just a decade before the Civil War. He based the poem's meter on the Finnish epic *Kalevala* and primarily sourced his story material from Henry Rowe Schoolcraft's ethnographic writings, especially *Algic Researches* (1839) and *Historical and Statistical Information Respecting the History, Condition and Prospects of the Indian Tribes of the United States* (1851–57). Schoolcraft documented Ojibwe oral traditions, and the story of Osseo is included in his collections. The poem was a massive hit, selling 50,000 copies in its first year, and it introduced countless readers to Native American mythological figures. However, modern scholars point out that Longfellow interpreted these traditions through a European Romantic perspective, which simplified their complexity and imposed a melancholic narrative of a vanishing race that reflected the assumptions of his time, rather than the true Ojibwe experience.
FAQ
It's a chapter from *The Song of Hiawatha* (1855), Longfellow's narrative poem that tells the story of the Ojibwe hero Hiawatha. This part, often referred to as 'The Son of the Evening Star,' is presented as a tale shared by the wedding guest Iagoo during Hiawatha's wedding feast. While it stands alone as a legend, it is also part of a much larger epic.
Yes, but there are some caveats. Longfellow drew the Osseo story from Henry Rowe Schoolcraft's recordings of Ojibwe oral traditions. A version of the tale—a man who comes from a star and is transformed by a hollow log—exists in Ojibwe tradition. However, Longfellow significantly reimagined it, infusing his own Romantic sensibility and incorporating the trochaic meter from the Finnish *Kalevala*. What you're reading is essentially a 19th-century American poet's interpretation of a Native story, rather than the original as the Ojibwe told it.
The poem presents it as a form of justice: they ridiculed Osseo for how he looked and failed to recognize his true value, so they become beings focused solely on outward appearances — vibrant feathers, charming songs, but lacking substance. Iagoo clearly states the lesson at the end: those who deride what they don't grasp will encounter repercussions. The poem leaves open the question of whether this is 'fair' — the wedding guests chuckle uneasily and ponder if they are the aunts and uncles, hinting that Longfellow understood the moral struck a personal chord.
The poem uses trochaic tetrameter — four pairs of stressed and unstressed syllables in each line, beginning with a stressed syllable. Longfellow directly drew this from the Finnish epic *Kalevala*. The repetition of phrases like 'Wasted, wrinkled, old, and ugly' throughout is a purposeful element of that oral tradition, where repeating lines aided listeners in tracking the narrative and imparted a chant-like, ceremonial feel to the verse. This can come across as hypnotic or monotonous, depending on your level of patience.
Iagoo is the renowned storyteller and braggart of the Hiawatha cycle — a character famous for his tall tales and penchant for exaggeration. He sees the Evening Star at the wedding feast and uses it as a cue to share the legend of Osseo. In the end, he offers a sharp moral about those who ridicule what they don't comprehend, prompting the guests to question if he's referring to himself. Longfellow adds a self-aware, slightly humorous touch that prevents the moral from coming across as overly preachy.
Sort of. They live peacefully on the Evening Star for many years and have a son. However, when the son accidentally shoots one of the bird-aunts with an arrow, the spell breaks, and everyone falls back to earth. The sisters are turned back into humans, but now they're the size of the Puk-Wudjies (Little People). Osseo and Oweenee return as well. They find themselves on a green island in the great lake, where the Little People dance on summer nights, and their lodge still sparkles. It's bittersweet — they lose the star but gain a kind of earthly immortality as a legend.
After Iagoo finishes his story, Chibiabos — the musician from the Hiawatha cycle, known as the finest of all singers — sings a maiden's lament. A young woman expresses her sorrow about leaving her Algonquin lover, recalling how he draped wampum around her neck and watched her until she disappeared from view. This song reflects the devoted love of Oweenee and Osseo, but with a somber twist — it's about separation rather than reunion. It brings the wedding feast to a close with a sense of longing instead of celebration.
Most scholars today are critical of it, and with good reason. Longfellow relied on Schoolcraft's secondhand recordings instead of engaging directly with Ojibwe people. He interpreted everything through a European Romantic lens that portrayed Native peoples as noble yet doomed — a 'vanishing race' destined to disappear in the face of American expansion. The poem uses Ojibwe mythology as mere material for a literary project rather than respecting it as a vibrant tradition. It's important to read this as a significant piece of 19th-century American literature while keeping that critique in mind.