the clematis and wild woodbine
Festoon the flowering eglantine;
Where in every flower, shrub, and tree
Is heard the hum of the honey-bee,
And the linden blossoms are softly stirred,
As the fanning wings of the humming-bird
Scatter a perfume of pollen dust,
That mounts to the kindling soul like must;
Where the turtles each spring their loves renew--
The old, old story, "coo-roo, coo-roo,"
Mingles with the wooing note
That bubbles from the song-bird's throat;
Where on waves of rosy light at play,
Mingle a thousand airy minions,
And drifting as on a golden bay,
The butterfly with his petal pinions,
From isle to isle of his fair dominions
Floats with the languid tides away;
Where the squirrel and rabbit shyly mate,
And none so timid but finds her fate;
The meek hen-robin upon the nest
Thrills to her lover's flaming breast.
Youth, Love, and Life, 'mid scenes like this,
Go to the same sweet tune of bliss;
E'en the flaming flowers of passion seem
Pure as the lily buds that dream
On the bosom of a mountain stream.

Such was the grove that lured of yore,
Overlooking Minnetonka's shore,
Lured to their deepest woe and joy
A happy maiden and careless boy,--
Lured their feet to its inmost core;
Where still mysterious shadows slept,
While the plenilune from her path above
With liquid amber bathed the grove,
That through the tree-tops trickling crept,
And every tender alley swept.
The happy maiden and careless boy,
Caught for a moment their deepest joy,
And the iris hues of Youth and Love,
A tender glamour about them wove;
But the trembling shadows the aspens cast
From the maiden's spirit never passed;
And the nectar was poisoned that thrilled and filled,
From every treacherous leaf distilled,
Her veins that night with a strange alloy.

Swift came the hour that maid and boy must part;
A glow unwonted, tinged with dusky red
Winona's conscious face as home she sped;
And to the song exultant in her heart,
Beat her light moccasins with rhythmic tread.
But at the summit of a little hill,
Along whose base the village lay outspread,
A sudden sense of some impending ill
Smote the sweet fever in her veins with chill.
The lake she skirted, on whose mailed breast
Rode like a shield the moon from out the west,
She neared her lodge, but there her quick eye caught
The voice of Gray Cloud, and her steps were stayed,
For over her of late an icy fear
Brooded with vulture wings when he was near.

She knew not why, her eye he