In the land of the heathen he died, meekly following the voice of his Master,
One mourner alone by his side—Ta-té-psin's compassionate daughter.
She wailed the dead father with tears, and his bones by her kindred she buried.
Then winter followed winter. The years sprinkled frost on the head of her father;
And three weary winters she dreamed of the fearless and fair, bearded Frenchmen;
At midnight their swift paddles gleamed on the breast of the broad Mississippi,
And the eyes of the brave strangers beamed on the maid in the midst of her slumber.
She lacked not admirers; the light of the lover oft burned in her teepee—
At her couch in the midst of the night,—but she never extinguished the flambeau.
The son of Chief Wazi-kuté—a fearless and eagle-plumed warrior—
Long sighed for Winona, and he was the pride of the band of Isántees.
Three times, in the night at her bed, had the brave held the torch of the lover, [[75]]
And thrice had she covered her head and rejected the handsome Tamdóka. [[T]]
'Twas Summer. The merry-voiced birds trilled and warbled in woodland and meadow;
And abroad on the prairies the herds cropped the grass in the land of the lilies,—
And sweet was the odor of rose wide-wafted from hillside and heather;
In the leaf-shaded lap of repose lay the bright, blue-eyed babes of the summer;
And low was the murmur of brooks, and low was the laugh of the Ha-Ha; [a/][[76]]
And asleep in the eddies and nooks lay the broods of magá [a/][[60]]and the mallard.
'Twas the moon of Wasúnpa. [a/][[71]] The band lay at rest in the tees at Ka-thá-ga,
And abroad o'er the beautiful land walked the spirits of Peace and of Plenty—
Twin sisters, with bountiful hand wide scattering wild-rice and the lilies.
An-pé-tu-wee[a/][[70]] walked in the west—to his lodge in the far-away mountains,
And the war-eagle flew to her nest in the oak on the Isle of the Spirit.[[U]]
And now at the end of the day, by the shore of the Beautiful Island,[[V]]
A score of fair maidens and gay made joy in the midst of the waters.
Half-robed in their dark, flowing hair, and limbed like the fair Aphroditè,
They played in the waters, and there they dived and they swam like the beavers,
Loud-laughing like loons on the lake when the moon is a round shield of silver,
And the songs of the whippowils wake on the shore in the midst of the maples.
But hark!—on the river a song,—strange voices commingled in chorus;
On the current a boat swept along with DuLuth and his hardy companions;
To the stroke of their paddles they sung, and this the refrain that they chanted:
"Dans mon chemin j'ai rencontré
Deux cavaliers bien montés.
Lon, lon, laridon daine,
Lon, lon, laridon da."
"Deux cavaliers bien montés;
L'un à cheval, et l'autre à pied.
Lon, lon, laridon daine,
Lon, lon, laridon da."[[W]]
[Illustration: ARRIVAL OF DULUTH AT KATHAGA]
Like the red, dappled deer in the glade alarmed by the footsteps of hunters,
Discovered, disordered, dismayed, the nude nymphs fled forth from the waters,
And scampered away to the shade, and peered from the screen of the lindens.
A bold and adventuresome man was DuLuth, and a dauntless in danger,
And straight to Kathága he ran, and boldly advanced to the warriors,
Now gathering, a cloud on the strand, and gazing amazed on the strangers;
And straightway he offered his hand unto Wázi-kuté, the Itáncan.[[X]]
To the Lodge of the Stranger were led DuLuth and his hardy companions;
Robes of beaver and bison were spread, and the Peace-pipe[a/][[23]] was smoked with the Frenchman.
There was dancing and feasting at night, and joy at the presents he lavished.
All the maidens were wild with delight with the flaming red robes and the ribbons,
With the beads and the trinkets untold, and the fair, bearded face of the giver;
And glad were they all to behold the friends from the Land of the Sunrise.
But one stood apart from the rest—the queenly and silent Winona,
Intently regarding the guest—hardly heeding the robes and the ribbons,
Whom the White Chief beholding admired, and straightway he spread on her shoulders
A lily-red robe and attired with necklet and ribbons the maiden.
The red lilies bloomed in her face, and her glad eyes gave thanks to the giver,
And forth from her teepee apace she brought him the robe and the missal
Of the father—poor René Menard; and related the tale of the "Black Robe."
She spoke of the sacred regard he inspired in the hearts of Dakotas;
That she buried his bones with her kin, in the mound by the Cave of the Council;
That she treasured and wrapt in the skin of the red-deer his robe and his prayer book—
"Till his brothers should come from the East—from the land of the far Hochelága,
To smoke with the braves at the feast, on the shores of the Loud-laughing Waters. [a/][[16]]
For the 'Black Robe' spake much of his youth and his friends in the Land of the Sunrise;
It was then as a dream; now in truth I behold them, and not in a vision."
But more spake her blushes, I ween, and her eyes full of language unspoken,
As she turned with the grace of a queen and carried her gifts to the teepee.