The Feast of the Virgins and Other Poems | Page 7

afar?In the happy land of the tall _Hóhè_----?My handsome hunter--my brave Chaskè."
[Illustration: BUFFALO CHASE]
_"Ta-tánka! Ta-tánka!"_[33] the hunters cried,?With a joyous shout at the break of dawn?And darkly lined on the white hill-side,?A herd of bison went marching on?Through the drifted snow like a caravan.?Swift to their ponies the hunters sped,?And dashed away on the hurried chase.?The wild steeds scented the game ahead,?And sprang like hounds to the eager race.?But the brawny bulls in the swarthy van?Turned their polished horns on the charging foes?And reckless rider and fleet footman?Were held at bay in the drifted snows,?While the bellowing herd o'er the hilltops ran,?Like the frightened beasts of a caravan?On Sahara's sands when the simoon blows.?Sharp were the twangs of the hunters' bows,?And swift and humming the arrows sped,?Till ten huge bulls on the bloody snows?Lay pierced with arrows and dumb and dead.?But the chief with the flankers had gained the rear,?And flew on the trail of the flying herd.?The shouts of the riders rang loud and clear,?As their foaming steeds to the chase they spurred.?And now like the roar of an avalanche?Rolls the bellowing wrath of the maddened bulls?They charge on the riders and runners stanch,?And a dying steed in the snow drift rolls,?While the rider, flung to the frozen ground,?Escapes the horns by a panther's bound.?But the raging monsters are held at bay,?While the flankers dash on the swarthy rout:?With lance and arrow they slay and slay;?And the welkin rings to the gladsome shout----?To the loud _Iná's_ and the wild _Ihó's_, [34]?And dark and dead, on the bloody snows,?Lie the swarthy heaps of the buffaloes.?All snug in the teepee Wiwastè lay,?All wrapped in her robe, at the dawn of day,?All snug and warm from the wind and snow,?While the hunters followed the buffalo.?Her dreams and her slumber their wild shouts broke;?The chase was afoot when the maid awoke;?She heard the twangs of the hunters' bows,?And the bellowing bulls and the loud _Ihó_'s,?And she murmured--"My hunter is far away?In the happy land of the tall _Hóhè_----?My handsome hunter, my brave Chaskè;?But the robins will come and my warrior too,?And Wiwastè will find her a way to woo."
And long she lay in a reverie,?And dreamed, wide-awake, of the brave Chaskè,?Till a trampling of feet on the crispy snow?She heard, and the murmur of voices low:----?Then the warriors' greeting--_Ihó! Ihó!_?And behold, in the blaze of the risen day,?With the hunters that followed the buffalo----?Came her tall, young hunter--her brave Chaskè.?Far south has he followed the bison-trail?With his band of warriors so brave and true.?Right glad is Wakawa his friend to hail,?And Wiwastè will find her a way to woo.
Tall and straight as the larch-tree stood?The manly form of the brave young chief,?And fair as the larch in its vernal leaf,?When the red fawn bleats in the feathering wood.?Mild was his face as the morning skies,?And friendship shone in his laughing eyes;?But swift were his feet o'er the drifted snow?On the trail of the elk or the buffalo,?And his heart was stouter than lance or bow,?When he heard the whoop of his enemies.?Five feathers he wore of the great Wanmdeè?And each for the scalp of a warrior slain,?When down on his camp from the northern plain,?With their murder-cries rode the bloody Cree.[35]?But never the stain of an infant slain,?Or the blood of a mother that plead in vain,?Soiled the honored plumes of the brave _Hóhè_.?A mountain bear to his enemies,?To his friends like the red fawn's dappled form;?In peace, like the breeze from the summer seas----?In war, like the roar of the mountain storm.?His fame in the voice of the winds went forth?From his hunting grounds in the happy North,?And far as the shores of the _Great Medè_ [36]?The nations spoke of the brave Chaskè.
Dark was the visage of grim Red Cloud,?Fierce were the eyes of the warrior proud,?When the chief to his lodge led the brave _Hóhè_,?And Wiwastè smiled on the tall Chaskè.?Away he strode with a sullen frown,?And alone in his teepee he sat him down.?From the gladsome greeting of braves he stole,?And wrapped himself in his gloomy soul.?But the eagle eyes of the Harpstinà?The clouded face of the warrior saw.?Softly she spoke to the sullen brave:?"Mah-pí-ya Dúta--his face is sad;?And why is the warrior so glum and grave??For the fair Wiwastè is gay and glad;?She will sit in the teepee the live-long day,?And laugh with her lover--the brave _Hóhè_?Does the tall Red Cloud for the false one sigh??There are fairer maidens than she, and proud?Were their hearts to be loved by the brave Red Cloud.?And trust not the chief with the smiling eyes;?His tongue is swift, but his words are lies;?And the proud Mah-pí-ya will surely find?That Wakawa's promise is hollow wind.?Last night I stood by his lodge, and lo?I heard the voice of the Little Crow;?But the fox is sly