When the robin sings and the whippowil;
But the land of the Spirits is fairer still,
For the winds of winter blow never there;
And forever the songs of the whippowils
And the robins are heard on the leafy hills.
Thy mother looks from her lodge above--
Her fair face shines in the sky afar,
And the eyes of thy sisters are bright with love,
As they peep from the _tee_ of the mother-star.
To her happy lodge in the Spirit land
She beckons Wiwaste with shining hand.'

"My Father--my Father, her words were true;
And the death of Wiwaste will rest on you.
You have pledged me as wife to the tall Red Cloud;
You will take the gifts of the warrior proud;
But I, Wakawa,--I answer--never!
I will stain your knife in my heart's red blood,
I will plunge and sink in the sullen river
Ere I will be wife to the dark Red Cloud!"

"Wiwaste," he said, and his voice was low,
"Let it be as you will, for Wakawa's tongue
Has spoken no promise;--his lips are slow,
And the love of a father is deep and strong.
Be happy, Micunksee;[29] the flames are gone--
They flash no more in the northern sky.
See the smile on the face of the watching moon;
No more will the fatal, red arrows fly;
For the singing shafts of my warriors sped
To the bad spirit's bosom and laid him dead,
And his blood on the snow of the North lies red.
Go--sleep in the robe that you won to-day,
And dream of your hunter--the brave Chaske."

Light was her heart as she turned away;
It sang like the lark in the skies of May.
The round moon laughed, but a lone, red star,[30]
As she turned to the _teepee_ and entered in,
Fell flashing and swift in the sky afar,
Like the polished point of a javelin.
Nor chief nor daughter the shadow saw
Of the crouching listener, Harpstina.

Wiwaste, wrapped in her robe and sleep,
Heard not the storm-sprites wail and weep,
As they rode on the winds in the frosty air;
But she heard the voice of her hunter fair;
For a fairy spirit with silent fingers
The curtains drew from the land of dreams;
And lo in her _teepee_ her lover lingers;
In his tender eyes all the love-light beams,
And his voice is the music of mountain streams.

And then with her round, brown arms she pressed
His phantom form to her throbbing breast,
And whispered the name, in her happy sleep,
Of her _Hohe_ hunter so fair and far:
And then she saw in her dreams the deep
Where the spirit wailed, and a falling star;
Then stealthily crouching under the trees,
By the light of t