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

THE COUNCIL. 143
When lost unto her anxious sight,
She homeward turned with weary tread
To mourn the wigwam's lost delight ;
While unto him, as on he sped,
Ti-o-to's banks, receding, grew
More dim and faint still ; on, away
To where the hurrying currents drew
Of swiftly-running Seneca.
And many an ill-foreboding bird
Along the reedy borders woke ;
A grief-betokening tono he heard
In great Da-hin-da's hoarser croak ;
The war Ke-neu, with screech and squall,
Bore to his ear a sorrow-cry ;
In noisy Wa-wa's honking call
He heard an evil prophecy.
The pretty maid, with heart elate,
Her paddle in the limpid sea,
Sat,
only so to keep it straight,
The Ghee-maun lightly speeding free ;
Or more to charm her maiden care
Or so the lingering hour to chide,
She pulled the lilies blooming fair,
Or watched the silver ripples glide.