VIII. SONG OF INDIAN WOMEN.

The Dark eye has left us,

The Spring-bird has flown;

On the pathway of spirits

She wanders alone.

The song of the wood-dove has died on our shore

Mat wonck kunna-monee! ( ) We hear it no more!

O dark water Spirit

We cast on thy wave

These furs which may never

Hang over her grave;

Bear down to the lost one the robes that she wore

Mat wonck kunna-monee! We see her no more!

Of the strange land she walks in

No Powah has told:

It may burn with the sunshine,

Or freeze with the cold.

Let us give to our lost one the robes that she wore:

Mat wonck kunna-monee! We see her no more!

The path she is treading

Shall soon be our own;

Each gliding in shadow

Unseen and alone!

In vain shall we call on the souls gone before:

Mat wonck kunna-monee! They hear us no more!

O mighty Sowanna! ( )

Thy gateways unfold,

From thy wigwam of sunset

Lift curtains of gold!

Take home the poor Spirit whose journey is o'er

Mat wonck kunna-monee! We see her no more!

So sang the Children of the Leaves beside

The broad, dark river's coldly flowing tide;

Now low, now harsh, with sob-like pause and swell,

On the high wind their voices rose and fell.

Nature's wild music,— sounds of wind-swept trees,

The scream of birds, the wailing of the breeze,

The roar of waters, steady, deep, and strong,—

Mingled and murmured in that farewell song.