 | THE YOUNG SIOUX. The book of my lady |  |
212
THE YOUNG SIOUX.
Deep hidden in the forest wild,
Where yet the savage wander'd free,
A manly Sioux boy beguiled
The hours beneath a tree;
And gaily, in his native tongue,
A wild, unmeasured lay he sung.
Its theme was love, yet none was near,
No sunny maid to list the strain,
And save my own, no other ear
Might know the lover's pain;
Yet, as to please some secret thought,
This story of his flame he wrought.
“To-morrow, on the Pawnee's trail,
Sweet Manné, must the warrior go;
And I must hear his women wail,
And meetly use the bended bow;
And hurl the spear, and lift the knife,
And win or lose the forfeit life.
“I glad me that the time is come
To win among the tribe a name,
And in thy tent no longer dumb,
To tell thee of my flame;
Nor whisper, when the path is clear,
What thou dost tremble still to hear.
“And 'mong my people thou shalt be,
The youthful warrior-hunter's love;
Where yet the savage wander'd free,
A manly Sioux boy beguiled
The hours beneath a tree;
And gaily, in his native tongue,
A wild, unmeasured lay he sung.
Its theme was love, yet none was near,
No sunny maid to list the strain,
And save my own, no other ear
Might know the lover's pain;
Yet, as to please some secret thought,
This story of his flame he wrought.
“To-morrow, on the Pawnee's trail,
Sweet Manné, must the warrior go;
And I must hear his women wail,
And meetly use the bended bow;
And hurl the spear, and lift the knife,
And win or lose the forfeit life.
“I glad me that the time is come
To win among the tribe a name,
And in thy tent no longer dumb,
To tell thee of my flame;
Nor whisper, when the path is clear,
What thou dost tremble still to hear.
“And 'mong my people thou shalt be,
The youthful warrior-hunter's love;
213
And he shall shoot the deer for thee,
As bounding through the grove,
With head erect, and hoof of steel,
He scorns the shrinking sands to feel.
“And 'neath the gentle summer sky,
With me in valley and in grove,
Sweet Manné, fearless wilt thou fly,
To see the bison rove;
While, with an arrow from my bow,
I lay their boldest leader low.
“And bring thee from the morning chase
Unhurt, the young and spotted fawn,
While, proudly, at thy feet I place
The skin from leopard drawn;
Torn from him, with a warrior's art,
Whilst yet the life is at his heart.
“And thou shalt make the moccasin,
And well repay the hunter's deeds,
When thou hast wrought the red-deer's skin,
Worked with thy many beads;
Meet for a chief, when from the west
An hundred braves become his guest.”
As bounding through the grove,
With head erect, and hoof of steel,
He scorns the shrinking sands to feel.
“And 'neath the gentle summer sky,
With me in valley and in grove,
Sweet Manné, fearless wilt thou fly,
To see the bison rove;
While, with an arrow from my bow,
I lay their boldest leader low.
“And bring thee from the morning chase
Unhurt, the young and spotted fawn,
While, proudly, at thy feet I place
The skin from leopard drawn;
Torn from him, with a warrior's art,
Whilst yet the life is at his heart.
“And thou shalt make the moccasin,
And well repay the hunter's deeds,
When thou hast wrought the red-deer's skin,
Worked with thy many beads;
Meet for a chief, when from the west
An hundred braves become his guest.”
| THE YOUNG SIOUX. The book of my lady | |