The league of the Iroquois and other legends : from the Indian muse

88 THE LEAGUE OF THE IROQUOIS.
To grow great 0-nust's luscious grain,
The care and labor all her own,
With but the love to soothe her pain,
Of him her sire, so feeble grown ;
If lonely oft with aching breast
Her lowly couch she weary sought,
The tired limbs more sweetly rest
In slumber whence new strength
is wrought.
Her might no evil omen dread
Nor joy-betokening prophecy
Lure from the path where duty led
Her willing footstep's day by day ;
Still round the hills upspringing green
She softly drew the mellow loam ;
While brightened more the morning sheen,
The morning sun still higher clomb.
And still her patient hand she plied ;
Nor left her maiden-toil to make
Her face more seemly when she spied
That stranger Chee-maun on the lake ;
Nor yet incurious, bending low,
Nor quite suppressed a chastened eye ;
The while her cheek a warmer glow
Emmantled fair, she knew not why.