And piled the banks of the Bloody River. [40]
His bow unstrung and forgotten hung
With his beaver hood and his otter quiver;
He sat spell-bound by the artless grace
Of her star-lit eyes and her moon-lit face.
Ah, little he cared for the storms that blew,
For Wiwaste had found her a way to woo.
When he spoke with Wakawa her sidelong eyes
Sought the handsome chief in his hunter-guise.
Wakawa marked, and the lilies fair
On her round cheeks spread to her raven hair.
They feasted on rib of the bison fat,
On the tongue of the Ta [41] that the hunters prize,
On the savory flesh of the red Hogan, [42]
On sweet tipsanna [43] and pemmican,
And the dun-brown cakes of the golden maize;
And hour after hour the young chief sat,
And feasted his soul on the maiden's eyes.

The sweeter the moments the swifter they fly;
Love takes no account of the fleeting hours;
He walks in a dream mid the blooming of flowers,
And never awakes till the blossoms die.
Ah, lovers are lovers the wide world over--
In the hunter's lodge and the royal palace.
Sweet are the lips of his love to the lover,--
Sweet as new wine in a golden chalice,
From the Tajo's [44] slopes or the hills beyond;
And blindly he sips from his loved one's lips,
In lodge or palace the wide world over,