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

II
THE GREAT SNAKE.
How oft, alas !
is sorrow wrought
When but of joy we careless dream ;
How oft the fairest path is fraught
With danger that we little deem.
How oft the flower we nurture best
But hides the wasp with fatal sting ;
Or fondling cherished in the breast,
But proves at last a cursed thing.
What time, when passed the winter glooms,
The Wild-goose clanged his song amain,
What time the tender-burgeoned blooms
Of spring-time brightened all the plain ;
When bearing proud their lesser bow
Beyond the Nun-dow-aga Hill,
With eager feet that come and go,
Elate their little game to kill,