To the Indian in his wild home, with his national costume, surrounded by warriors ready to go forth to battle, and young men panting for fame, their war songs [[100]]were soul-inspiring, and kindled an enthusiasm which can scarcely be imagined by those who have not witnessed a war-dance and listened to a war song.
The following is a specimen, but tame indeed compared with the original:
But who are my foes? they shall die.
They shall fly o’er the plains like a fox;
They shall shake like a leaf in the storm,
Perfidious dogs—they roast our sons with fire.
Five winters in hunting we’ll spend,
While mourning our warriors slain,
Till our youth grown to men
For the battle path trained,