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XXII

Has conscience never whispered in our ear,
The untutored Redman too has had a mother,
His brow is holy with a mother's tear—
Baptismal font more pure than any other—

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He too has held some dark-eyed maiden dear,
His wayward heart has yearned towards a brother—
Nay, more—perchance the pure, undying light
Of sister's love has made his wigwam bright?