 | Childhood songs |  |
85
MANITOU'S GARDEN.
Come, play in my garden!”
Called flaxen-haired Fred,
Peeping out from the edge
Of a hyacinth-bed,
Through the stout oaken rails
At a Chippewa boy
Who ran along, dragging
A snake, for a toy.
Called flaxen-haired Fred,
Peeping out from the edge
Of a hyacinth-bed,
Through the stout oaken rails
At a Chippewa boy
Who ran along, dragging
A snake, for a toy.
“I'll give you some flowers
To twist in your hair.”
“The son of a sachem
No blossoms will wear
That the white man has planted;
Nor yet will he go
Where roses and lilies
Like pale captives grow.
To twist in your hair.”
“The son of a sachem
No blossoms will wear
That the white man has planted;
Nor yet will he go
86
Like pale captives grow.
“In Manitou's garden
Are gay flowers to see:
Come out, little pale-face,
And play here with me!
The fawn will play with us,—
The squirrel and hare;
No fences to stop us,—
We 're free as the air.
Are gay flowers to see:
Come out, little pale-face,
And play here with me!
The fawn will play with us,—
The squirrel and hare;
No fences to stop us,—
We 're free as the air.
“In Manitou's garden
How bright is the dawn!
We know where his trail
Through the deer-path has gone.
The moccasin-flower
Springs up where he stopped;
And the dewdrops are beads,
From his blanket's edge dropped.”
How bright is the dawn!
We know where his trail
Through the deer-path has gone.
The moccasin-flower
Springs up where he stopped;
And the dewdrops are beads,
From his blanket's edge dropped.”
87
“I'm afraid, little Indian,
To come out to you.
I'm afraid of the snakes,
And the barking wolves, too.”
“Ugh! white-hearted pale-face,
They 're Manitou's snakes;
And the wolves are the hounds
That a-hunting he takes.
To come out to you.
I'm afraid of the snakes,
And the barking wolves, too.”
“Ugh! white-hearted pale-face,
They 're Manitou's snakes;
And the wolves are the hounds
That a-hunting he takes.
“We, too, on wild mustangs
Chase bisons and deer.
We are Manitou's hunters,
A race without fear.
Our arrow's flight leaves
The swift eagle behind.
Whoop! after them, quick
As the rushing north-wind!”
Chase bisons and deer.
We are Manitou's hunters,
A race without fear.
Our arrow's flight leaves
The swift eagle behind.
Whoop! after them, quick
As the rushing north-wind!”
But the son of the Chippewa
Stands there alone,
At his whoop timid Fred
To his mother has flown.
Off the red boy runs, shouting,
“Whoop! whoop! let him be!
In Manitou's garden
Are playmates for me!”
Stands there alone,
88
To his mother has flown.
Off the red boy runs, shouting,
“Whoop! whoop! let him be!
In Manitou's garden
Are playmates for me!”
| Childhood songs | |