And once they came and yet again,
As to an elder brother,
For I am free as they and we,
Are kin to one another.
And many a song I sang of thee,
Songs full of love and passion,
To which those small birds tuned their throat,
And sang them in their fashion.
So when I visited the copse,
Where those sweet birds were singing,
I marvelled much to hear the grove,
With my own love notes ringing.
IX.
Your arm about some supple waist,
To thread the waltz—what joyous pleasure!
Come, pale-face, join the dance with us,
I’ll bid them play a measure.
But pale-face shivered e’en as though
Chill frost was o’er his limbs congealing,
And o’er that pale wan face of his,
I saw the hot tears stealing.
X.
The greatest hero is not he,
Who being struck returns the blow,
But he is great who, though deceived,
Will not his faith forego.
