Have crushed the fair flower of thy maidenhood,
Will weary of thy swiftly fading charms,
And seek another when thy beauty wanes.
Aha, thou shudderest; in thy tense veins,
Fierce and rebellious, leaps the mingling blood
Of countless warriors, high of soul and brave;
And would’st thou quench their spirit ’neath the wave?
Is Gray Cloud’s life more dear to thee than thine?
The village sleeps, unguarded is his tent,
Thy knife is keen, and unto thee is lent