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OUTALISSI'S DEATH-SONG.

"And I could weep,"—the Oneyda chief

His descant wildly thus begun—

"But that I may not stain with grief

The death-song of my father's son,

Or bow his head in woe!

For, by my wrongs and by my wrath,

To-morrow Areouski's breath,

That fires yon heaven with storms of death,

Shall light us to the foe:

And thou shalt share, my Christian boy,

The foeman's blood, the avenger's joy!

But thee, my flower, whose breath was given

By milder genii o'er the deep,

The spirits of the white man's heaven

Forbid not thee to weep:—

Nor will the Christian host,

Nor will thy father's spirit grieve.

To see thee, on the battle's eve,

Lamenting, take a mournful leave

Of her who loved thee most:

She was the rainbow to thy sight!

Thy sun—thy heaven—of lost delight!