Beneath the glow of the Virgin Star
They raised the song of the red war dance.
At the break of dawn with the bow and lance
They followed the chief on the path of war.
To the north--to the forests of fir and pine--
Led their stealthy steps on the winding trail,
Till they saw the Lake of the Spirit [55] shine
Through somber pines of the dusky dale.

Then they heard the hoot of the mottled owl; [56]
They heard the gray wolf's dismal howl;
Then shrill and sudden the war whoop rose
From an hundred throats of their swarthy foes,
In ambush crouched in the tangled wood.
Death shrieked in the twang of their deadly bows,
And their hissing arrows drank brave men's blood.
From rock, and thicket, and brush, and brakes,
Gleamed the burning eyes of the forest snakes. [57]
From brake, and thicket, and brush, and stone,
The bow string hummed and the arrow hissed,
And the lance of a crouching Ojibway shone,
Or the scalp-knife gleamed in a swarthy fist.
Undaunted the braves of Wakawa's band
Jumped into the thicket with lance and knife,
And grappled the Chippewas hand to hand;
And foe with foe, in the deadly strife,
Lay clutching the scalp of his foe and dead,
With a tomahawk sunk in his ghastly head,
Or his still heart sheathing a bloody blade.
Like a bear in the battle Wakawa raves,