You, a good man, never harmed us; you, a brave man, never killed;
Farewell! Farewell! Father! Man of God in kindness skilled.”
And the blue jay—bad Mootsito—scolding cries out from the oak,
“Good night! Good night! Father! Would that I could be your cloak,
Would that I could travel with you, would that I could shield from harm,
Good night! Farewell! Father! The woods are cold. They’ve lost their charm.”
Gently! Gently! Paddling northward, past the shallow pebbled bays,
See the cortége wanders slowly, near the scenes of other days,
When the good priest taught the Hurons how to live in peace and love,