MON-DAW-MIN;

Cherry bloom and green buds bursting

Fleck the azure skies;

In the spring wood, hungering, thirsting,

Faint an Indian lies.

To behold his guardian spirit

Fasts the dusky youth;

Prays that thus he may inherit

Warrior strength and truth.

Weak he grows, the war-path gory

Seems a far delight;

Now he scans the flowers, whose glory

Is not won by fight.

“Hunger kills me; see my arrow

Bloodless lies: I ask,

If life's doom be grave-pit narrow,

Deathless make its task.

“For man's welfare guide my being,

So I shall not die

Like the flow'rets, fading, fleeing,

When the snow is nigh.

“Medicine from the plants we borrow,

Salves from many a leaf;

May they not kill hunger's sorrow,

Give with food relief?”

Suddenly a spirit shining

From the sky came down,

Green his mantle, floating, twining,

Gold his feather crown.

“I have heard thy thought unspoken;

Famous thou shall be;

Though no scalp shall be the token,

Men shall speak of thee.

“Bravely borne, men's heaviest burden

Ever lighter lies;

Wrestling with me, win the guerdon;

Gain thy wish, arise!”

Now he rises, and, prevailing,

Hears the angel say:

“Strong in weakness, never failing,

Strive yet one more day.

“Now again I come, and find thee

Yet with courage high,

So that, though my arms can bind thee,

Victor thou, not I.

“Hark! to-morrow, conquering, slay me,

Blest shall be thy toil:

After wrestling, strip me, lay me

Sleeping in the soil.

“Visit oft the place; above me

Root out weeds and grass;

Fast no more; obeying, love me;

Watch what comes to pass.”

Waiting through the long day dreary,

Still he hungers on;

Once more wrestling, weak and weary,

Still the fight is won.

Stripped of robes and golden feather,

Buried lies the guest:

Summer's wonder-working weather

Warms his place of rest.

Ever his commands fulfilling,

Mourns his victor friend,

Fearing, with a heart unwilling,

To have known the end.

No! upon the dark mould fallow

Shine bright blades of green;

Rising, spreading, plumes of yellow

O'er their sheaves are seen.

Higher than a mortal's stature

Soars the corn in pride;

Seeing it, he knows that Nature

There stands deified.

“‘ Tis my friend,” he cries, “the guerdon

Fast and prayer have won;

Want is past, and hunger's burden

Soon shall torture none.”