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

HAYO-WENT-HA'S MOURNING. 167
Slowly, as in anxious quest,
With a measured step he strides ;
Greatly heaves his mighty breast,
As a mighty grief it hides.
Now he stalks with mournful gaze
Far along the pebbly strand ;
Now his troubled feet he stays
On the blood-besprinkled sand.
There still lies the awful bird,
Wide its broken wings are spread :
Now his deeper soul is stirred,
Grieving for the loved one dead ;
To his yearning fatherhood
Now he bows his lofty pride ;
Now is loosed the anguished flood.
Where the beauteous maiden died.
Low he bends upon the sands
Red with many a crimson stain ;
Now he wrings his brawny hands
In his deepening grief and pain ;
Tears that at their fountain stayed
Water all the grassy plain
Pouring for the little maid
He shall never see again.