Page:The Atlantic Monthly, Volume 18.djvu/455

1866.] Where the dank greensward

Slopes to the pebbles,

Miantowona

Sat in her anguish.

Ice to her maidens,

Ice to the chieftains,

Fire to her lover!

Here he had won her,

Here they had parted,

Here could her tears flow.

With unwet eyelash,

Miantowona

Nursed her old father,

Oldest of Hurons,

Soothed his complainings,

Smiled when he chid her

Vaguely for nothing,—

He was so weak now,

Like a shrunk cedar

White with the hoar-frost

Sometimes she gently

Linked arms with maidens,

Joined in their dances:

Not with her people,

Not in the wigwam,

Wept for her lover.

Ah! who was like him?

Fleet as an arrow,

Strong as a bison,

Lithe as a panther,

Soft as the south-wind,

Who was like Wawah?

There is one other

Stronger and fleeter,

Bearing no wampum,

Wearing no war-paint,

Ruler of councils,

Chief of the war-path,—

Who can gainsay him,

Who can defy him?

His is the lightning,

His is the whirlwind.

Let us be humble,

We are but ashes,—

'T is the Great Spirit!

Ever at nightfall

Miantowona

Strayed from the lodges,

Passed through the shadows