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

WINONA. 243
In troubled thought she might not tell,
Low on her simple couch outspread,
Winona, where the shadows fell,
Sat burdened with a nameless dread.
In fear that darker purpose takes
When hope is dead, she turned on him
Such tearful glance as only wakes
In eyes that sorrows overbrim.
Scarce conscious of the passing scene
She took in all nor lot nor part ;
Till, with familiar voice and mien,
That pierced with woe the maiden heart,
u
Bespoke her sire : Ho, daughter mine !
Make haste to be, like maiden good,
The bride of him of noble line,
And worthy of our warrior blood !
"
Quick rising thence the stricken maid
Low bent the haughty chief beside ;
Her heaving breast its strife betrayed
With maiden grief and maiden pride
:
"No, father, no !
pray do not let !
My heart is not for him you say ;
Too few my maiden summers yet,
I cannot be a bride to-day
!
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