Of mingled indignation, fear, and shame
Like a resistless tempest shook her frame,
The earth swam round her, and her senses reeled;
Better for her a thousand times the grave
Than life in Gray Cloud’s tent, but what could she
Against the stern, implacable decree
Of one whose will was never known to yield?
Winona fled, scarce knowing where or how;
Fled like a phantom through the moonlight cool
Until she stood upon the rocky brow