Why she fled from the Feast to a safe retreat.
She laid her heart at her lover's feet,
And her words were tears and her lips were slow.
As she sadly related the bitter tale
His face was aflame and anon grew pale,
And his dark eyes flashed with a brave desire,
Like the midnight gleam of the sacred fire. [65]
"Mitawin," [66] he said, and his voice was low,
"Thy father no more is the false Little Crow;
But the fairest plume shall Wiwaste wear
Of the great Wanmdee [13] in her midnight hair.
In my lodge, in the land of the tall Hohe,
The robins will sing all the long summer day
To the beautiful bride of the brave Chaske."

Aye, love is tested by stress and trial
Since the finger of time on the endless dial
Began its rounds, and the orbs to move
In the boundless vast, and the sunbeams clove
The chaos; but only by fate's denial
Are fathomed the fathomless depths of love.
Man is the rugged and wrinkled oak,
And woman the trusting and tender vine--
That clasps and climbs till its arms entwine
The brawny arms of the sturdy stoke. [67]
The dimpled babes are the flowers divine
That the blessing of God on the vine and oak
With their cooing and blossoming lips invoke.

To the pleasant land of the brave Hohe