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THE CHIEFTAIN'S DAUGHTER.
Three summers scarce' have flown since of our tribe,Some roaming in the hunting-chase yon plains,Despoiled the fruitful fields of some who dweltRemote from others of their pale-faced race;And thou dost know the dwellers of the plainsHave vowed dire vengeance if it e'er befallThat they should meet with any of our race,Or, should they learn our dwelling-place, to comeTogether, with a strong, united power,Despoil our homes, and drive us from the land.Oh, may Great Spirit punishment awardTo those who spoiled their fields; but for their crimesBe not the innocent to suff'ring brought.And now, before thy journey thou dost take,Bring hither Sunny-Eye; and, with your eyesTo yonder heavens raised, the promise give,Whatever may befall you, that ye ne'erTo white man will reveal our dwelling-place." The promise giv'n, all needful things prepared,They started on their long and dang'rous way. And, oh! what joy at last their souls did feel,When, after days of toil and weariness,They saw the white man's fields with plenty crowned,And num'rous spires of distant cities gleam!A kindly welcome unto them was giv'n.The white man's language they but little knew;That little they had learned from those who came
