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

THE FORE-WORLD. 23
Or, as to riper years he grew,
His hand from meaner toils aloof,
He builded fit his bark canoe,
Or wove the wigwam's reedy roof.
Or when the solemn midnight hour
Shone red, with blazing camp-fires lit,
He led the dance where strength and power
Are firm in limb and muscle knit.
Or, more his greatening heart to show,
Would eager hunt the prowling bear ;
Or chase afar the frightened roe,
Or panther to his lonely lair.
Or boldly on to strife and din
Of war's wild turmoil, unafraid ;
If only so to woo and win
The beauteous, dark -eyed Indian maid.
Still growing childhood meets my eye
With faces like the drifting snow ;
The tread of tiny feet go by,
But not the tiny feet I know.
And happy voices,, glad and gay,
Soft murmur like a rippled sea ;
But only wake the memory
Of silent voices dear to me.