THE FEAST OF THE VIRGINS

The sun sails high in his azure realms;
Beneath the arch of the breezy elms
The feast is spread by the murmuring river.
With his battle-spear and his bow and quiver,
And eagle-plumes in his ebon hair,
The chief Wakâwa himself is there;
And round the feast, in the Sacred Ring,[48]
Sit his weaponed warriors witnessing.
Not a morsel of food have the Virgins tasted
For three long days ere the holy feast;
They sat in their _teepee_ alone and fasted,
Their faces turned to the Sacred East.[21]
In the polished bowls lies the golden maize,
And the flesh of fawn on the polished trays.
For the Virgins the bloom of the prairies wide--
The blushing pink and the meek blue-bell,
The purple plumes of the prairie's pride,[49]
The wild, uncultured asphodel,
And the beautiful, blue-eyed violet
That the Virgins call "Let-me-not forget,"
In gay festoons and garlands twine
With the cedar sprigs[50] and the wildwood vine.
So gaily the Virgins are decked and dressed,
And none but a virgin may enter there;
And clad is each in a scarlet vest,
And a fawn-skin frock to the brown calves bare.