On an arm of an oak hangs the prize for the swiftest and strongest of runners—
 A blanket as red as the skies, when the flames sweep the plains in October.
 And beside it a strong, polished bow, and a quiver of iron-tipped arrows,
 Which Kapóza's tall chief will bestow on the fleet-footed second that follows.
 A score of swift runners are there from the several bands of the nation,
 And now for the race they prepare, and among them fleet-footed Tamdóka.
 With the oil of the buck and the bear their sinewy limbs are annointed,
 For fleet are the feet of the deer and strong are the limbs of the bruin.
Hark!—the shouts and the braying of drums, and the Babel of tongues and confusion!
 From his teepee the tall chieftain comes, and DuLuth brings a prize for the runners—
 A keen hunting-knife from the Seine, horn-handled and mounted with silver.
 The runners are ranged on the plain, and the Chief waves a flag as a signal,
 And away like the gray wolves they fly—like the wolves on the trail of the red-deer;
 O'er the hills and the prairie they vie, and strain their strong limbs to the utmost,
 While high on the hills hangs a cloud of warriors and maidens and mothers,
 To see the swift-runners, and loud are the cheers and the shouts of the warriors.
Now swift from the lake they return o'er the emerald hills of the prairies;
 Like grey-hounds they pant and they yearn, and the leader of all is Tamdóka.
 At his heels flies Hu-pá-hu,[AA] the fleet—the pride of the band of Kaóza,—
 A warrior with eagle-winged feet, but his prize is the bow and the quiver.
 Tamdóka first reaches the post, and his are the knife and the blanket,
 By the mighty acclaim of the host and award of the chief and the judges.
 Then proud was the tall warrior's stride, and haughty his look and demeanor;
 He boasted aloud in his pride, and he scoffed at the rest of the runners.
 "Behold me, for I am a man![AB] my feet are as swift as the West-wind.
 With the coons and the beavers I ran; but where is the elk or the cabri?80
 Come!—where is the hunter will dare match his feet with the feet of Tamdóka?
 Let him think of Taté[AC] and beware, ere he stake his last robe on the trial."
 "Ohó! Ho! Hó-héca!"[AD] they jeered, for they liked not the boast of the boaster;
 But to match him no warrior appeared, for his feet wore the wings of the west-wind.
Then forth from the side of the chief stepped DuLuth and he looked on the boaster;
 "The words of a warrior are brief,—I will run with the brave," said the Frenchman;
 "But the feet of Tamdóka are tired; abide till the cool of the sunset."
 All the hunters and maidens admired, for strong were the limbs of the stranger.
 "Hiwó Ho!"[AE] they shouted and loud rose the cheers of the multitude mingled;
 And there in the midst of the crowd stood the glad-eyed and blushing Winona.
Now afar o'er the plains of the west walked the sun at the end of his journey,
 And forth came the brave and the guest, at the tap of the drum, for the trial.
 Like a forest of larches the hordes were gathered to witness the contest;
 As loud as the drums were their words and they roared like the roar of the Ha-ha.
 For some for Tamdóka contend, and some for the fair, bearded stranger,
 And the betting runs high to the end, with the skins of the bison and beaver.
 A wife of tall Wází-kuté—the mother of boastful Tamdóka—
 Brought her handsomest robe from the tee with a vaunting and loud proclamation:
 She would stake her last robe on her son who, she boasted, was fleet as the cabri,
 And the tall, tawny chieftain looked on, approving the boast of the mother.
 Then fleet as the feet of a fawn to her lodge ran the dark-eyed Winona,
 She brought and she spread on the lawn, by the side of the robe of the boaster,
 The lily-red mantel DuLuth, with his own hands, had laid on her shoulders.
 "Tamdóka is swift, but forsooth, the tongue of his mother is swifter,"
 She said, and her face was aflame with the red of the rose and the lily,
 And loud was the roar of acclaim; but dark was the face of Tamdóka.
 They strip for the race and prepare,—DuLuth in his breeches and leggins;
 And the brown, curling locks of his hair down droop to his bare, brawny shoulders,
 And his face wears a smile debonair, as he tightens his red sash around him;
 But stripped to the moccasins bare, save the belt and the breech-clout of buckskin,
 Stands the haughty Tamdóka aware that the eyes of the warriors admire him;
 For his arms are the arms of a bear and his legs are the legs of a panther.
The drum beats,—the chief waves the flag, and away on the course speed the runners,
 And away leads the brave like a stag,—like a bound on his track flies the Frenchman;
 And away haste the hunters once more to the hills, for a view to the lakeside,
 And the dark-swarming hill-tops, they roar with the storm of loud voices commingled.
 Far away o'er the prairie they fly, and still in the lead is Tamdóka,
 But the feet of his rival are nigh, and slowly he gains on the hunter.
 Now they turn on the post at the lake,—now they run full abreast on the home-stretch:
 Side by side they contend for the stake for a long mile or more on the prairie
 They strain like a stag and a hound, when the swift river gleams through the thicket,
 And the horns of the riders resound, winding shrill through the depths of the forest.
 But behold!—at full length on the ground falls the fleet-footed Frenchman abruptly,
 And away with a whoop and a bound springs the eager, exulting Tamdóka
 Long and loud on the hills is the shout of his swarthy admirers and backers,
 "But the race is not won till it's out," said DuLuth, to himself as he gathered,
 With a frown on his face, for the foot of the wily Tamdóka had tripped him.
 Far ahead ran the brave on the route, and turning he boasted exultant.
 Like spurs to the steed to DuLuth were the jeers and the taunts of the boaster;
 Indignant was he and red wroth at the trick of the runner dishonest;
 And away like a whirlwind he speeds—like a hurricane mad from the mountains;
 He gains on Tamdóka,—he leads!—and behold, with the spring of a panther,
 He leaps to the goal and succeeds, 'mid the roar of the mad acclamation.
 Then glad as the robin in May was the voice of Winona exulting;
 Tamdóka turned sullen away, and sulking he walked by the river;
 He glowered as he went and the fire of revenge in his bosom was kindled:
 Dark was his visage with ire and his eyes were the eyes of a panther.

THE WAKAN-WACEPEE, OR SACRED DANCE. [81]

Lo the lights in the "Teepee-Wákan!" 'tis the night of the Wákan Wacépee.
 Round and round walks the chief of the clan, as he rattles the sacred Ta-shá-kay; [81]
 Long and loud on the Chán-che-ga [81] beat the drummers with magical drumsticks,
 And the notes of the Chô-tánka [81] greet like the murmur of winds on the waters.
 By the friction of white-cedar wood for the feast was a Virgin-fire [20] kindled.
 They that enter the firm brotherhood first must fast and be cleansed by E-neé-pee;[81]
 And from foot-sole to crown of the head must they paint with the favorite colors;
 For Unktéhee likes bands of blood-red, with the stripings of blue intermingled.
 In the hollow earth, dark and profound, Unktéhee and fiery Wakínyan
 Long fought, and the terrible sound of the battle was louder than thunder;
 The mountains were heaved and around were scattered the hills and the boulders,
 And the vast solid plains of the ground rose and fell like the waves of the ocean.
 But the god of the waters prevailed. Wakín-yan escaped from the cavern,
 And long on the mountains he wailed, and his hatred endureth forever.
When Unktéhee had finished the earth, and the beasts and the birds and the fishes,
 And men at his bidding came forth from the heart of the huge hollow mountains,[69]
 A band chose the god from the hordes, and he said: "Ye are the sons of Unktéhee:
 Ye are lords of the beasts and the birds, and the fishes that swim in the waters.
 But hearken ye now to my words,—let them sound in your bosoms forever:
 Ye shall honor Unktéhee and hate Wakinyan, the Spirit of Thunder,
 For the power of Unktéhee is great, and he laughs at the darts of Wakinyan.
 Ye shall honor the Earth and the Sun,—for they are your father and mother; [70]
 Let your prayer to the Sun be:—Wakán Até; on-si-md-da oheé-neé."[AF]
 And remember the Táku Wakán[73] all-pervading in earth and in ether—
 Invisible ever to man, but He dwells in the midst of all matter;
 Yea, he dwells in the heart of the stone—in the hard granite heart of the boulder;
 Ye shall call him forever Tunkán—grandfather of all the Dakotas.
 Ye are men that I choose for my own; ye shall be as a strong band of brothers,
 Now I give you the magical bone and the magical pouch of the spirits,[AG]
 And these are the laws ye shall heed: Ye shall honor the pouch and the giver.
 Ye shall walk as twin-brothers; in need, one shall forfeit his life for another.
 Listen not to the voice of the crow.[AH] Hold as sacred the wife of a brother.
 Strike, and fear not the shaft of the foe, for the soul of the brave is immortal.
 Slay the warrior in battle, but spare the innocent babe and the mother.
 Remember a promise,—beware,—let the word of a warrior be sacred
 When a stranger arrives at the tee—be he friend of the band or a foeman,
 Give him food; let your bounty be free; lay a robe for the guest by the lodge-fire;
 Let him go to his kindred in peace, if the peace-pipe he smoke in the teepee;
 And so shall your children increase, and your lodges shall laugh with abundance.
 And long shall ye live in the land, and the spirits of earth and the waters
 Shall come to your aid, at command, with the power of invisible magic.
 And at last, when you journey afar—o'er the shining "Wanágee Ta-chán-ku,"[68]
 You shall walk as a red, shining star[8] in the land of perpetual summer."
All the night in the teepee they sang, and they danced to the mighty Unktéhee,
 While the loud-braying Chán-che-ga rang and the shrill-piping flute and the rattle,
 Till Anpétuwee [70] rose in the east—from the couch of the blushing Han-nân-na,
 And thus at the dance and the feast sang the sons of Unktéhee in chorus:
"Wa-dú-ta o-hná mi-ká-ge!
 Wa-dú-ta o-hná mi-ká-ge!
 Mini-yâta ité wakândè makú,
 Atè wakán—Tunkánsidân.
Tunkânsidân pejihúta wakán
 Micâgè—he Wicâgè!
 Miniyáta ité wakándè makú.
 Taukánsidan ité, nápè dú-win-ta woo,
 Wahutôpa wan yúha, nápè dú-win-ta woo."
TRANSLATION.
In red swan-down he made it for me;
 In red swan-down he made it for me;
 He of the water—he of the mysterious face—
 Gave it to me;
 Sacred Father—Grandfather!
Grandfather made me magical medicine.
 That is true!
 Being of mystery,—grown in the water—
 He gave it to me!
 To the face of our Grandfather stretch out your hand;
 Holding a quadruped, stretch out your hand!
Till high o'er the hills of the east Anpétuwee walked on his journey,
 In secret they danced at the feast, and communed with the mighty Unktéhee.
 Then opened the door of the tee to the eyes of the wondering Dakotas,
 And the sons of Unktéhee to be, were endowed with the sacred Ozúha[82]
 By the son of tall Wazí-kuté, Tamdóka, the chief of the Magi.
 And thus since the birth-day of man—since he sprang from the heart of the mountains,[69]
 Has the sacred "Wacépee Wakán" by the warlike Dakotas been honored,
 And the god-favored sons of the clan work their will with the help of the spirits.

WINONA'S WARNING.

'Twas sunrise; the spirits of mist trailed their white robes on dewy savannas,
 And the flowers raised their heads to be kissed by the first golden beams of the morning.
 The breeze was abroad with the breath of the rose of the Isles of the Summer,
 And the humming-bird hummed on the heath from his home in the land of the rainbow.[AI]
 'Twas the morn of departure. DuLuth stood alone by the roar of the Ha-ha;
 Tall and fair in the strength of his youth stood the blue-eyed and fair-bearded Frenchman.
 A rustle of robes on the grass broke his dream as he mused by the waters,
 And, turning, he looked on the face of Winona, wild-rose of the prairies,
 Half hid in her dark, flowing hair, like the round, golden moon in the pine-tops.
 Admiring he gazed—she was fair as his own blooming Flore in her orchards,
 With her golden locks loose on the air, like the gleam of the sun through the olives,
 Far away on the vine-covered shore, in the sun-favored land of his fathers.
 "Lists the chief to the cataract's roar for the mournful lament of the Spirit?"[AJ]
 Said Winona,—"The wail of the sprite for her babe and its father unfaithful,
 Is heard in the midst of the night, when the moon wanders dim in the heavens."
"Wild-Rose of the Prairies," he said, "DuLuth listens not to the Ha-ha,
 For the wail of the ghost of the dead for her babe and its father unfaithful;
 But he lists to a voice in his heart that is heard by the ear of no other,
 And to-day will the White Chief depart; he returns to the land of the sunrise."
 "Let Winona depart with the chief,—she will kindle the fire in his teepee;
 For long are the days of her grief, if she stay in the tee of Ta-té-psin,"
 She replied, and her cheeks were aflame with the bloom of the wild prairie lilies.
 "Tanke[AK], is the White Chief to blame?" said DuLuth to the blushing Winona.
 "The White Chief is blameless," she said, "but the heart of Winona will follow
 Wherever thy footsteps may lead, O blue-eyed, brave Chief of the white men.
 For her mother sleeps long in the mound, and a step-mother rules in the teepee,
 And her father, once strong and renowned, is bent with the weight of his winters.
 No longer he handles the spear,—no longer his swift, humming arrows
 Overtake the fleet feet of the deer, or the bear of the woods, or the bison;
 But he bends as he walks, and the wind shakes his white hair and hinders his footsteps;
 And soon will he leave me behind, without brother or sister or kindred.
 The doe scents the wolf in the wind, and a wolf walks the path of Winona.
 Three times have the gifts for the bride[55] to the lodge of Ta-té-psin been carried,
 But the voice of Winona replied that she liked not the haughty Tamdóka.
 And thrice were the gifts sent away, but the tongue of the mother protested,
 And the were-wolf[52] still follows his prey, and abides but the death of my father."
"I pity Winona," he said, "but my path is a pathway of danger,
 And long is the trail for the maid to the far-away land of the sunrise;
 And few are the braves of my band, and the braves of Tamdóka are many;
 But soon I return to the land, and a cloud of my hunters will follow.
 When the cold winds of winter return and toss the white robes of the prairies,
 The fire of the White Chief will burn in his lodge at the Meeting-of-Waters;[AL]
 And when from the Sunrise again comes the chief of the sons of the Morning,
 Many moons will his hunters remain in the land of the friendly Dakotas.
 The son of Chief Wází-Kuté guides the White Chief afar on his journey;
 Nor long on the Tânka Medé[AM]—on the breast of the blue, bounding billows—
 Shall the bark of the Frenchman delay, but his pathway shall kindle behind him."
She was pale, and her hurried voice swelled with alarm as she questioned replying—
 "Tamdóka thy guide?—I beheld thy death in his face at the races.
 He covers his heart with a smile, but revenge never sleeps in his bosom;
 His tongue—it is soft to beguile; but beware of the pur of the panther!
 For death, like a shadow, will walk by thy side in the midst of the forest,
 Or follow thy path like a hawk on the trail of a wounded Mastínca.[AN]
 A son of Unktéhee is he,—the Chief of the crafty magicians;
 They have plotted thy death; I can see thy trail—it is red in the forest;
 Beware of Tamdóka,—beware. Slumber not like the grouse of the woodlands,
 With head under wing, for the glare of the eyes that sleep not are upon thee."
"Winona, fear not," said DuLuth, "for I carry the fire of Wakínyan[AO]
 And strong is the arm of my youth, and stout are the hearts of my warriors;
 But Winona has spoken the truth, and the heart of the White Chief is thankful.
 Hide this in thy bosom, dear maid,—'tis the crucified Christ of the white men.[AP]
 Lift thy voice to his spirit in need, and his spirit will hear thee and answer;
 For often he comes to my aid; he is stronger than all the Dakotas;
 And the Spirits of evil, afraid, hide away when he looks from the heavens."
 In her swelling, brown bosom she hid the crucified Jesus in silver;
 "Niwástè,"[AQ] she sadly replied; in her low voice the rising tears trembled;
 Her dewy eyes turned she aside, and she slowly returned to the teepees.
 But still on the swift river's strand, admiring the graceful Winona,
 As she gathered, with brown, dimpled hand, her hair from the wind, stood the Frenchman.

DULUTH'S DEPARTURE

To bid the brave White Chief adieu, on the shady shore gathered the warriors;
 His glad boatmen manned the canoe, and the oars in their hands were impatient.
 Spake the Chief of Isántees: "A feast will await the return of my brother.
 In peace rose the sun in the East, in peace in the West he descended.
 May the feet of my brother be swift till they bring him again to our teepees,
 The red pipe he takes as a gift, may he smoke that red pipe many winters.
 At my lodge-fire his pipe shall be lit, when the White Chief returns to Kathága;
 On the robes of my tee shall he sit; he shall smoke with the chiefs of my people.
 The brave love the brave, and his son sends the Chief as a guide for his brother,
 By the way of the Wákpa Wakán[AR] to the Chief at the Lake of the Spirits.
 As light as the foot-steps of dawn are the feet of the stealthy Tamdóka;
 He fears not the Máza Wakán;[AS] he is sly as the fox of the forest.
 When he dances the dance of red war howl the wolves by the broad Mini-ya-ta,[AT]
 For they scent on the south-wind afar their feast on the bones of Ojibways."
 Thrice the Chief puffed the red pipe of peace, ere it passed to the lips of the Frenchman.
 Spake DuLuth: "May the Great Spirit bless with abundance the Chief and his people;
 May their sons and their daughters increase, and the fire ever burn in their teepees."
 Then he waved with a flag his adieu to the Chief and the warriors assembled;
 And away shot Tamdóka's canoe to the strokes of ten sinewy hunters;
 And a white path he clove up the blue, bubbling stream of the swift Mississippi;
 And away on his foaming trail flew, like a sea-gull, the bark of the Frenchman.

[Illustration:TWO HUNDRED WHITE WINTERS AND MORE HAVE FLED FROM THE FACE OF THE SUMMER ...

* * * * *

AH, LITTLE HE DREAMED THEN, FORSOOTH, THAT A CITY WOULD STAND ON THAT HILL SIDE]

Then merrily rose the blithe song of the voyageurs homeward returning,
 And thus, as they glided along, sang the bugle-voiced boatmen in chorus:
SONG.
Home again! home again! bend to the oar!
 Merry is the life of the gay voyageur.
 He rides on the river with his paddle in his hand,
 And his boat is his shelter on the water and the land.
 The clam has his shell and the water-turtle too,
 But the brave boatman's shell is his birch-bark canoe.
 So pull away, boatmen; bend to the oar;
 Merry is the life of the gay voyageur.
Home again! home again! bend to the oar!
 Merry is the life of the gay voyageur,
 His couch is as downy as a couch can be,
 For he sleeps on the feathers of the green fir-tree.
 He dines on the fat of the pemmican-sack,
 And his eau de vie is the eau de lac.
 So pull away, boatmen; bend to the oar;
 Merry is the life of the gay voyageur.
Home again! home again! bend to the oar!
 Merry is the life of the gay voyageur.
 The brave, jolly boatman,—he never is afraid
 When he meets at the portage a red, forest maid,
 A Huron, or a Cree, or a blooming Chippeway;
 And he marks his trail with the bois brulés[AU]
 So pull away, boatmen; bend to the oar;
 Merry is the life of the gay voyageur.
 Home again! home again! bend to the oar!
 Merry is the life of the gay voyageur.
In the reeds of the meadow the stag lifts his branchy head stately and listens,
 And the bobolink, perched on the flag, her ear sidelong bends to the chorus.
 From the brow of the Beautiful Isle,[AV] half hid in the midst of the maples,
 The sad-faced Winona, the while, watched the boat growing less in the distance,
 Till away in the bend of the stream, where it turned and was lost in the lindens,
 She saw the last dip and the gleam of the oars ere they vanished forever.
Still afar on the waters the song, like bridal bells distantly chiming,
 The stout, jolly boatmen prolong, beating time with the stroke of their paddles;
 And Winona's ear, turned to the breeze, lists the air falling fainter and fainter,
 Till it dies like the murmur of bees when the sun is aslant on the meadows.
 Blow, breezes,—blow softly and sing in the dark, flowing hair of the maiden;
 But never again shall you bring the voice that she loves to Winona.

THE CANOE RACE.

Now a light rustling wind from the South shakes his wings o'er the wide, wimpling waters:
 Up the dark-winding river DuLuth follows fast in the wake of Tamdóka.
 On the slopes of the emerald shores leafy woodlands and prairies alternate;
 On the vine-tangled islands the flowers peep timidly out at the white men;
 In the dark-winding eddy the loon sits warily watching and voiceless,
 And the wild-goose, in reedy lagoon, stills the prattle and play of her children.
 The does and their sleek, dappled fawns prick their ears and peer out from the thickets,
 And the bison-calves play on the lawns, and gambol like colts in the clover.
 Up the still-flowing Wákpa Wakán's winding path through the groves and the meadows,
 Now DuLuth's brawny boatmen pursue the swift-gliding bark of Tamdóka;
 And hardly the red braves out-do the stout, steady oars of the white men.
Now they bend to their oars in the race—the ten tawny braves of Tamdóka;
 And hard on their heels in the chase ply the six stalwart oars of the Frenchmen.
 In the stern of his boat sits DuLuth; in the stern of his boat sits Tamdóka,
 And warily, cheerily, both urge the oars of their men to the utmost.
 Far-stretching away to the eyes, winding blue in the midst of the meadows,
 As a necklet of sapphires that lies unclaspt in the lap of a virgin,
 Here asleep in the lap of the plain lies the reed-bordered, beautiful river.
 Like two flying coursers that strain, on the track, neck and neck on the home-stretch,
 With nostrils distended and mane froth-flecked, and the neck and the shoulders,
 Each urged to his best by the cry and the whip and the rein of his rider,
 Now they skim o'er the waters and fly, side by side, neck and neck, through the meadows,
 The blue heron flaps from the reeds, and away wings her course up the river:
 Straight and swift is her flight o'er the meads, but she hardly outstrips the canoemen.
 See! the voyageurs bend to their oars till the blue veins swell out on their foreheads;
 And the sweat from their brawny breasts pours; but in vain their Herculean labor;
 For the oars of Tamdóka are ten, and but six are the oars of the Frenchman,
 And the red warriors' burden of men is matched by the voyageurs' luggage.
 Side by side, neck and neck, for a mile, still they strain their strong arms to the utmost,
 Till rounding a willowy isle, now ahead creeps the boat of Tamdóka,
 And the neighboring forests profound, and the far-stretching plain of the meadows
 To the whoop of the victors resound, while the panting French rest on their paddles.

IN CAMP.

With sable wings wide o'er the land night sprinkles the dew of the heavens;
 And hard by the dark river's strand, in the midst of a tall, somber forest,
 Two camp fires are lighted and beam on the trunks and the arms of the pine trees.
 In the fitful light darkle and gleam the swarthy-hued faces around them.
 And one is the camp of DuLuth, and the other the camp of Tamdóka.
 But few are the jests and uncouth of the voyageurs over their supper,
 While moody and silent the braves round their fire in a circle sit crouching;
 And low is the whisper of leaves and the sough of the wind in the branches;
 And low is the long-winding howl of the lone wolf afar in the forest;
 But shrill is the hoot of the owl, like a bugle-blast blown in the pine-tops,
 And the half-startled voyageurs scowl at the sudden and saucy intruder.
 Like the eyes of the wolves are the eyes of the watchful and silent Dakotas;
 Like the face of the moon in the skies, when the clouds chase each other across it,
 Is Tamdóka's dark face in the light of the flickering flames of the camp-fire.
 They have plotted red murder by night, and securely contemplate their victims.
 But wary and armed to the teeth are the resolute Frenchmen, and ready,
 If need be, to grapple with death, and to die hand to hand in the forest.
 Yet skilled in the arts and the wiles of the cunning and crafty Algonkins[AW]
 They cover their hearts with their smiles, and hide their suspicions of evil.
 Round their low, smouldering fire, feigning sleep, lie the watchful and wily Dakotas;
 But DuLuth and his voyageurs heap their fire that shall blaze till the morning,
 Ere they lay themselves snugly to rest, with their guns by their sides on the blankets,
 As if there were none to molest but the gray, skulking wolves of the forest.
'Tis midnight. The rising moon gleams, weird and still, o'er the dusky horizon;
 Through the hushed, somber forest she beams, and fitfully gloams on the meadows;
 And a dim, glimmering pathway she paves, at times, on the dark stretch of river.
 The winds are asleep in the caves—in the heart of the far-away mountains;
 And here on the meadows and there, the lazy mists gather and hover;
 And the lights of the Fen-Spirits[72] flare and dance on the low-lying marshes,
 As still as the footsteps of death by the bed of the babe and its mother;
 And hushed are the pines, and beneath lie the weary-limbed boatmen in slumber.
 Walk softly,—walk softly, O Moon, through the gray, broken clouds in thy pathway,
 For the earth lies asleep and the boon of repose is bestowed on the weary.
 Toiling hands have forgotten their care; e'en the brooks have forgotten to murmur;
 But hark!—there's a sound on the air!—'tis the light-rustling robes of the Spirits,
 Like the breath of the night in the leaves, or the murmur of reeds on the river,
 In the cool of the mid-summer eyes, when the blaze of the day has descended.
 Low-crouching and shadowy forms, as still as the gray morning's footsteps,
 Creep sly as the serpent that charms, on her nest in the meadow, the plover;
 In the shadows of pine-trunks they creep, but their panther-eyes gleam in the fire-light,
 As they peer on the white-men asleep, in the glow of the fire, on their blankets.
 Lo in each swarthy right-hand a knife; in the left-hand, the bow and the arrows!
 Brave Frenchmen, awake to the strife!—or you sleep in the forest forever.
 Nay, nearer and nearer they glide, like ghosts on the field of their battles,
 Till close on the sleepers, they bide but the signal of death from Tamdóka.
 Still the sleepers sleep on. Not a breath stirs the leaves of the awe-stricken forest;
 The hushed air is heavy with death; like the footsteps of death are the moments.
 "Arise!"—At the word, with a bound, to their feet spring the vigilant Frenchmen;
 And the depths of the forest resound to the crack and the roar of their rifles;
 And seven writhing forms on the ground clutch the earth. From the pine-tops the screech-owl
 Screams and flaps his wide wings in affright, and plunges away through the shadows;
 And swift on the wings of the night flee the dim, phantom-forms through the darkness.
 Like cabris[80] when white wolves pursue, fled the four yet remaining Dakotas;
 Through forest and fen-land they flew, and wild terror howled on their footsteps.
 And one was Tamdóka. DuLuth through the night sent his voice like a trumpet:
 "Ye are Sons of Unktéhee, forsooth! Return to your mothers, ye cowards!"
 His shrill voice they heard as they fled, but only the echoes made answer.
 At the feet of the brave Frenchmen, dead, lay seven swarthy Sons of whitehead;
 And there, in the midst of the slain, they found, as it gleamed in the fire-light,
 The horn-handled knife from the Seine, where it fell from the hand of Tamdóka.

[Illustration:NEARER AND NEARER THEY GLIDE LIKE GHOSTS ON THE FIELDS OF THEIR BATTLES. TILL CLOSE ON THE SLEEPERS, THEY BIDE FOR THE SIGNAL OF DEATH FROM TAMDOKA]

In the gray of the morn, ere the sun peeped over the dewy horizon,
 Their journey again was begun, and they toiled up the swift, winding river;
 And many a shallow they passed on their way to the Lake of the Spirits;[AX]
 But dauntless they reached it at last, and found Akee-pá-kee-tin's[AY] village,
 On an isle in the midst of the lake; and a day in his teepees they tarried.
 Of the deed in the wilderness spake, to the brave Chief, the frank-hearted Frenchman.
 A generous man was the Chief, and a friend of the fearless explorer;
 And dark was his visage with grief at the treacherous act of the warriors.
 "Brave Wází-kuté is a man, and his heart is as clear as the sunlight;
 But the head of a treacherous clan and a snake-in-the-grass, is Tamdóka,"
 Said the chief; and he promised DuLuth, on the word of a friend and a warrior,
 To carry the pipe and the truth to his cousin, the chief at Kathága;
 For thrice at the Tânka Medé he smoked in the lodge of the Frenchman;
 And thrice had he carried away the bountiful gifts of the trader.
When the chief could no longer prevail on the white men to rest in his teepees,
 He guided their feet on the trail to the lakes of the winding Rice-River.[AZ]
 Now on speeds the light bark canoe, through the lakes to the broad Gitchee Seebee;[BA]
 And up the great river they row,—up the Big Sandy Lake and Savanna;
 And down through the meadows they go to the river of blue Gitchee-Gumee.[BB]
 Still onward they speed to the Dalles—to the roar of the white-rolling rapids,
 Where the dark river tumbles and falls down the ragged ravine of the mountains.
 And singing his wild jubilee to the low-moaning pines and the cedars,
 Rushes on to the unsalted sea o'er the ledges upheaved by volcanoes.
 Their luggage the voyageurs bore down the long, winding path of the portage,[BC]
 While they mingled their song with the roar of the turbid and turbulent waters.
 Down-wimpling and murmuring there 'twixt two dewy hills winds a streamlet,
 Like a long, flaxen ringlet of hair on the breast of a maid in her slumber.
All safe at the foot of the trail, where they left it, they found their felucca,
 And soon to the wind spread the sail, and glided at ease through the waters,—
 Through the meadows and lakelets and forth, round the point stretching south like a finger,
 From the pine-plumed hills on the north, sloping down to the bay and the lake-side
 And behold, at the foot of the hill, a cluster of Chippewa wigwams,
 And the busy wives plying with skill their nets in the emerald waters.
 Two hundred white winters and more have fled from the face of the Summer
 Since DuLuth on that wild, somber shore, in the unbroken forest primeval,
 From the midst of the spruce and the pines, saw the smoke of the wigwams up-curling,
 Like the fumes from the temples and shrines of the Druids of old in their forests.
 Ah, little he dreamed then, forsooth, that a city would stand on that hill-side,
 And bear the proud name of DuLuth, the untiring and dauntless explorer,—
 A refuge for ships from the storms, and for men from the bee-hives of Europe,
 Out-stretching her long, iron arms o'er an empire of Saxons and Normans.
The swift west-wind sang in the sails, and on flew the boat like a sea-gull,
 By the green, templed hills and the dales, and the dark, rugged rocks of the North Shore;
 For the course of the brave Frenchman lay to his fort at the Gáh-mah-na-ték-wáhk,[83]
 By the shore of the grand Thunder Bay, where the gray rocks loom up into mountains;
 Where the Stone Giant sleeps on the Cape, and the god of the storms makes the thunder,[83]
 And the Makinak[83] lifts his huge shape from the breast of the blue-rolling waters.
 And thence to the south-westward led his course to the Holy Ghost Mission,[84]
 Where the Black Robes, the brave shepherds, fed their wild sheep on the isle Wauga-bá-mè,[84]
 In the enchanting Cha-quám-e-gon Bay defended by all the Apostles,[BD]
 And thence, by the Ké-we-naw, lay his course to the Mission Sainte Marie,[BE]
 Now the waves clap their myriad hands, and streams the white hair of the surges;
 DuLuth at the steady helm stands, and he hums as he bounds o'er the billows:
O sweet is the carol of bird,
 And sweet is the murmur of streams,
 But sweeter the voice that I heard—
 In the night—in the midst of my dreams.

WINONA AND TA-TE-PSIN.