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

THE AFTER-DAYS. 123
How wondrous strange a beauty hath
The glimmering life, so newly lit ;
How sweet along the home-led path
The pattering of the tiny feet.
Can rarer joy for mortal be,
A purer bliss may mortal know,
Than on love's bounteous breast to see
A dearer life in beauty grow ?
The bridal days come back again,
Love brightens to each fond caress ;
Aye !
even the mother's deeper pain
Do soft endearments turn to bliss ;
What good may heart of Woman own,
What joy her simple joy above,
Far dwelling in the forest lone ?
What is there more than home and love ? 42
When from the land had fled amain
The winter glooms, in cheerful toil
She took great
0-nust's luscious grain
And hid it in the fruitful soil.
She anxious watched the tiny spears,
Made mellow round each springing blade,
Or joyous plucked the ripened ears,
As meet for Indian wife or maid.
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