f a tender youth untried,--
When he, the twin we know of, seeks her side
And murmurs in her ear, who loves him so,--
"Mother, my elder brother bids me go
On a lone war-path." Knowing well 'twere vain
To plead with him, her tears must fall like rain
On 'broidered moccasins for those dear feet;
His pouch, her choicest store of pounded meat
Must fill before the dawn, which sends him forth
On foot, alone, to pierce the savage north.

(DAKOTA WAR SONG.)

_I hear them coming who made thee weep![A]
Leap on thy father's steed
And urge him to his utmost speed,
And rush to meet the warlike host,
And meet them first, who hurt thee most.
Strike one among ten thousand,
And make but one to bleed!
So shall thy name be known,
Through all the world be known,
If one is made to bleed!
Heh-eh-eh-eh! Heh!_

Now to the journey gallantly addressed,
(Still at his twin's mysterious behest),
He kills a buck with branching horns, and takes
The tongue and heart for food--then straightway makes
A sacrifice to that stern deity--
The thunder-god--who rules his destiny.
On a fair, level spot, encompassed round
With trees, he pins the carcass to the ground;
Prays for success, his burning heart's desire,--
Then sleeps beside the embers of his fire.

How wearisome, how long the painful days
That follow, as he treads by unknown ways
A mazy wilderness, where lurk unseen
All perils challenging his eye-sight keen.
Yet on--with tattered shoes and blistering feet--
To find the savage foe he longs to meet!
At last, to wearied eyes that search in vain,
The far-off meeting-place of sky and plain,
A fleck of dazzling whiteness doth appear.
The youth exclaims, "My enemy is near!"
Toward that white gleam his cautious steps are bent,
Surely some roving Blackfoot's lonely tent.

Nearer and nearer creeps, with cat-like tread,
The watchful Sioux. Above his lowered head
The plumy grasses rear a swaying crest;
His sinuous motion ripples the broad breast
Of this ripe prairie, like a playful wind
That leaves its shining, silver track behind.

A tent of skins--that piercing eye saw true--
Wondrously white and beautifully new;
In all the colors known to savage art,
A life-size figure with a blood-red heart
Guards the low door. But who shall more divine,
Since not a thread of smoke, nor sound, nor sign
Of human presence makes the story clear,
Save yonder dappled ponies grazing near?

Crouched in deep grass the wily Indian lies,
Ambitiou