onfiding wife,
What clouds were gathering o'er thy life!
For vanity alone will stay
With human nature to the last;
Each happy day will slip away
Into the valleys of the past,
Returning but a ghostly thing
When the spirit drinks at Memory's spring.

Why did he vow to cherish ever?
Or why allow his heart to change?
What maid was she who came to sever
Thy love and thee? What magic strange
Had she to work her strange endeavor?
What mind shall solve the mystery
Of loves that come and loves that flee?
Why should Anpetusapa give
Her heart's whole life, her richest treasure,
To one whose boasted flame could live
Through but a dozen moons' small measure;
Whose passion was for selfish pleasure?

Yet so it was; another came
Her heart to cloud, her place to claim.
Her lodge became another's nest;
The first wife, she was second now;
'Neath custom's yoke compelled to bow
And see her rival fondly pressed.
The death gloom settled on her brow,
Day brought no sun, the night no rest.
The beam of sadness lit her eye,
And memories that could never die
Until her body, void of breath,
Became the precious spoil of Death.
Morn after morn beheld her still
Slow sinking, like a mountain rill
Whose fountain-head, once bubbling bright,
Hath dried away, and left the white
And pulseless sand to mark where long
Began the sparkle and the song.

One joy alone was left to bring
The heart-swept thrill of other days,
When to her baby she would sing
Her lullaby of love and praise;
And this, even this, renewed the thought
Of joyous hopes that came to naught.
Betrayed by faith, yet faithful to the last,
She murmured not; but patiently she passed
Each day in kindly service, given
As if her heart were all unriven,
Until at length heroic strength
Could bear no more.

Upon the shore
Of wild Messipi's plunging flood,
Where they were camped so long before,
They camped again; again their blood
Marched to the music of its roar.

* * * * *

'Tis morning: every bird its matin sings
And beats the air with throbbing wings,
The air so sweet and quick; the glistening dew
Hangs crystal beauty on all verdant things,--
Each trembling drop reflecting true
The overspread, unclouded blue;
While from the east the cohorts of the sun
With dazzling spears begin to strew
The morning vapors, damp and dun,
Whose melting ranks are closed anew
To vanish where the rapid waters run.

Anpetusapa hides her woe