And dreamed, wide-awake, of the brave Chaskè,
Till a trampling of feet on the crispy snow
She heard, and the murmur of voices low:----
Then the warriors' greeting--_Ihó! Ihó!_
And behold, in the blaze of the risen day,
With the hunters that followed the buffalo----
Came her tall, young hunter--her brave Chaskè.
Far south has he followed the bison-trail
With his band of warriors so brave and true.
Right glad is Wakâwa his friend to hail,
And Wiwâstè will find her a way to woo.

Tall and straight as the larch-tree stood
The manly form of the brave young chief,
And fair as the larch in its vernal leaf,
When the red fawn bleats in the feathering wood.
Mild was his face as the morning skies,
And friendship shone in his laughing eyes;
But swift were his feet o'er the drifted snow
On the trail of the elk or the buffalo,
And his heart was stouter than lance or bow,
When he heard the whoop of his enemies.
Five feathers he wore of the great Wanmdeè
And each for the scalp of a warrior slain,
When down on his camp from the northern plain,
With their murder-cries rode the bloody _Cree_.[35]
But never the stain of an infant slain,
Or the blood of a mother that plead in vain,
Soiled the honored plumes of the brave _Hóhè_.
A mountain bear to his enemies,