a_, my heart is stone;
The light is gone from my longing eyes;
The wounded loon in the lake alone
Her death-song sings to the moon and dies.

[CP] _Mee-heen-yah_--My husband.

Swiftly down the turbid torrent, as she sung her song she flew;
Like a swan upon the current, dancing rode the light canoe.
Hunters hurry in the gloaming; all in vain Wanata calls;
Singing through the surges foaming, lo she plunges o'er the Falls.

Long they searched the sullen river--searched for leagues along the shore,
Bark or babe or mother never saw the sad Dakotas more;
But at night or misty morning oft the hunters heard her song,
Oft the maidens heard her warning in their mellow mother-tongue.
On the bluffs they sat enchanted till the blush of beamy dawn;
Spirit Isle, they say, is haunted, and they call the spot Wakan[CQ]
Many summers on the highland in the full moon's golden glow--
In the woods on Fairy Island,[CR] walked a snow-white fawn and doe--
Spirits of the babe and mother sadly seeking evermore
For a father's love another turned away with evil power.

Sometimes still when moonbeams shimmer through the maples on the lawn,
In the gloaming and the glimmer walk the silent doe and fawn;
And on Spirit Isle or near it, under midnight's misty moon,
Oft is seen the mother's spirit, oft is heard her mournful tune.

[CQ] Pronounced Walk-on,--Sacred, inhabited by a spirit.

[CR] Fairy Island,--_Wita-Waste_--Nicollet Island.

CHICKADEE

Chickadee, chickadee, chickadee-dee!
That was the song that he sang to me--Sang
from his perch in the willow tree--
Chickadee, chickadee, chickadee-dee.
My little brown bird,
The song that I heard
Was a happier song than the minstrels sing--
A paean of joy and a carol of spring;
And my heart leaped throbbing and sang with thee
Chickadee, chickadee, chickadee-dee.

My birdie looked wise
With his little black eyes,
As he peeked and peered from his perch at me
With a throbbing throat and a flutter of glee,
As if he would say--
Sing trouble away,
Chickadee, chickadee, chickadee-dee.

Only one note
From his silver throat;
Only one word
From my wise little bird;
But a sweeter note or a wiser word
From the tongue of mortal I never have heard,
Than my little philosopher sang to me
From his bending perch in the willow tree--
Chickadee, chickadee, chickadee-dee.

Come foul or fair,
Come trouble and care--
No--never a sigh
Or a thought of de