To good Queen Ocean[340] far away—
Deep sheltered from the hostile world
The smoke from many a tent up-curled,
Where, round the wigwam fire, red dames
Talked o’er their tawny lords’ brave names,
While they, with feathered death and bow
And trackless step, now quick, now slow,
Gave chase, in neighboring hills,[341] the game,
There pasturing heedless, till death came
In one fell dart. Life surely here—