_MON-DAW-MIN_;

OR, THE ORIGIN OF THE INDIAN-CORN.

Cherry bloom and green buds bursting
Fleck the azure skies;
In the spring wood, hungering, thirsting,
Faint an Indian lies.

To behold his guardian spirit
Fasts the dusky youth;
Prays that thus he may inherit
Warrior strength and truth.

Weak he grows, the war-path gory
Seems a far delight;
Now he scans the flowers, whose glory
Is not won by fight.

"Hunger kills me; see my arrow
Bloodless lies: I ask,
If life's doom be grave-pit narrow,
Deathless make its task.

"For man's welfare guide my being,
So I shall not die
Like the flow'rets, fading, fleeing,
When the snow is nigh.