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

264 THE GREAT SNAKE OF CAXANDAIGVA.
If valor fired eacli manly arm,
Love more her hand its vigor lent,
To shield her little ones from harm
Her darlings in the waiting tent.
But for each murderous missile thrown
The more the brute their wrath defied ;
Till broke their spears, their arrows gone,
And none had pierced his scaly hide.
Till sore in every purpose foiled,
They, weak and wounded, sick and spent,
Loth from the fearful strife recoiled
Sought refuge in the inner tent.
And resting there their weary feet,
Their grief they bore with patient heart
Ate sparing of their little meat,
Until the monster might depart.
And so they tarried many a day,
Till on them frowned a darker fate ;
For still the awful reptile lay,
His jaws wide-yawning at the gate.