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

166 THE LEAGUE OF THE IBOQUOIS.
Like a dirge, the sorrow-moan
That the night-birds, waking, sing
To his anguished breast alone.
Clear the dew-drops pearly cling,
Glistening on each shrub and tree ;
Tears are they by Nature shed,
Tears of loving sympathy
For the dear, untimely dead.
Through the moonlight falling faint
Where the deeper shadows gloam,
In the Wa-won-ais-se's plaint
Hears he still the voice of home ;
Hears he a lament and sigh
In the zephyr, winging on ;
Like his darling's dying cry
Seems the sighing of the Swan.
On he wends in deeper care,
Pensive on the lonely trail ;
Lo ! he startles, what is there ?
And his cheek is wan and pale ;
Now is seen 'and now is gone,
Yanished
like the little maid.
It is but the frightened fawn
Springing in the dusky shade.