The shouts of the riders rang loud and clear,
As their foaming steeds to the chase they spurred.
And now like the roar of an avalanche
Rolls the bellowing wrath of the maddened bulls
They charge on the riders and runners stanch,
And a dying steed in the snow drift rolls,
While the rider, flung to the frozen ground,
Escapes the horns by a panther's bound.
But the raging monsters are held at bay,
While the flankers dash on the swarthy rout:
With lance and arrow they slay and slay;
And the welkin rings to the gladsome shout----
To the loud _Iná's_ and the wild _Ihó's_, [34]
And dark and dead, on the bloody snows,
Lie the swarthy heaps of the buffaloes.
All snug in the _teepee_ Wiwâstè lay,
All wrapped in her robe, at the dawn of day,
All snug and warm from the wind and snow,
While the hunters followed the buffalo.
Her dreams and her slumber their wild shouts broke;
The chase was afoot when the maid awoke;
She heard the twangs of the hunters' bows,
And the bellowing bulls and the loud _Ihó_'s,
And she murmured--"My hunter is far away
In the happy land of the tall _Hóhè_----
My handsome hunter, my brave Chaskè;
But the robins will come and my warrior too,
And Wiwâstè will find her a way to woo."

And long she lay in a reverie,