Page:Flint and Feather (1914).djvu/52



Then a night with nor'land tempest, nor'land snows a-swirling fast, Out upon the pathless prairie came the Pale-face through the blast, Calling, calling, "Yakonwita,   I am coming, love, at last."

Hovered night above, about him, dark its wings and cold and dread; Never unto trail or tepee were his straying footsteps led; Till benumbed, he sank, and pillowed On the drifting snows his head,

Saying, "O! my Yakonwita call me, call me, be my guide To the lodge beyond the prairie—for I vowed ere winter died I would come again, beloved;   I would claim my Indian bride."

"Yakonwita, Yakonwita!" Oh, the dreariness that strains Through the voice that calling, quivers, till a whisper but remains, "Yakonwita, Yakonwita,   I am lost upon the plains."

But the Silent Spirit hushed him, lulled him as he cried anew, "Save me, save me! O! beloved, I am Pale but I am true. Yakonwita, Yakonwita,   I am dying, love, for you."