A near-ruined scrap of buckskin found amongst the personal artifacts of Longfellow's travel desk, translated from an unknown script in his hand, written in what is presumed to be his blood (sample too old for verifiable analyisis)
Toward the spray his hands were lifted,
Both the palms spread out against it,
And between the parted fingers
Fell froth upon his splendour,
Flecked with spray his naked shoulders,
As deafening the torrents white roar
Through the streaming river boulders.
O'er the water floating, flying,
Something in the hazy distance,
Something in the mists of twilight,
Loomed and lifted from the river,
Now seemed floating, now seemed flying,
Coming nearer, nearer, nearer.
Was it Shingebis the diver?
Or the pelican, the Shada?
Or the heron, the Shuh-shuh-gah?
Or the white goose, Waw-be-wawa,
With the water dripping, flashing,
From its glossy neck and tendrils?
It was neither goose nor diver,
Neither pelican nor heron,
O'er the water floating, flying,
Through the shining mist of morning,
But a black soul with lightining,
Rising, sinking on the water,
Shining, flashing like eld Enil;
And within it came a people
Away from dark Nihodilhil,
From the farthest realms of morning
Came the Black-Clad soul, the Wonder,
He the Spirit of night sighs mourning,
Onguiaahra, black-spine Thunder.