oot,
And the firm and patient heart,
And the never blanching-cheek,
Whither goest thou?"
"I go to make an offering,
I go to give to the Idols flesh,
The juicy flesh of the elk,
The Man, and Woman, and Dog of Stone,
That stand on the willow bank,
On the willow bank that o'erlooks the stream,
The shallow and turbid stream;
I go to ask that my eye maybe true
To follow the trail of the deer,
And to lead in the fox's track,
And strong my arm to send the dart
To the life of the bison-ox,
And stout my heart, when I list to the growl
Of the cubs in the panther's den."
"Go! Hunter, go!"

"Whither goest thou, Priest?
Man of wisdom, whither goest thou?
Man that commun'st with the Voice[A],
And notest the lightning's words;
Man that hast knowledge of things unseen
By the eye of thy brothers,
Whither goest thou?"

"I go to make an offering:
I go to lay my magic robe,
My shaggy hide of the old black bear,
Before the Idols,
The Man, and Woman, and Dog of Stone,
That stand on the willow bank,
On the willow bank that o'erlooks the stream,
The shallow and turbid stream;
I go to ask my Okkis[B] to give
To the sleep of my nights the dream that shows
The image of things to come,
That I may behold the fate of my tribe,
And the fate of the Indian race;
And count the scalps from Mahas torn,
And the prisoners brought from Pawnee lands,
And the beads from the town of the Rock[C];
And number the coal-black horses,
The Ricara Braves shall steal
From the men who wear the cross,
That shines like the cold, pale moon"[D].
"Go! Priest, go!"

"And whither goest thou, Maiden?
Dove of the forest, whither goest thou?
Maiden, as bright as the Hunter's Star,
Maiden, whose hair is the grape-clustered vine,
Whose neck is the neck of the swan,
Whose eyes are the eyes of the dove,
Whose hand is as small as the red-oak's leaf,
Whose foot is the length of the lark's spread wing,
Whose step is the step of the antelope's child,
Whose voice is the voice of a rill in the moon,
Of the rill's most gentle song;
Whither goest thou?"

"I go to make an offering.
I go to lay the gifts of my Brave,
The crest of the Song Sparrow[E], that which sang
From her bower in the bush, on the beautiful night,
Whe