[Illustration: FATHER RENE MENARD]
[M] It is wonderful!
[N] The morning.
In the lodge of the Stranger[O] he sat,
awaiting the crown of a martyr;
His sad face compassion begat
in the heart of the dark-eyed Winona.
Oft she came to the _teepee_ and spoke;
she brought him the tongue of the bison,
Sweet nuts from the hazel and oak,
and flesh of the fawn and the mallard.
Soft _hanpa_[P] she made for his feet
and leggins of velvety fawn-skin,
A blanket of beaver complete,
and a hood of the hide of the otter.
And oft at his feet on the mat,
deftly braiding the flags and the rushes,
Till the sun sought his _teepee_
she sat, enchanted with what he related
Of the white-winged ships on the sea
and the _teepees_ far over the ocean,
Of the love and the sweet charity of the Christ
and the beautiful Virgin.
[O] A lodge set apart for guests of the village.
[P] Moccasins.
She listened like one in a trance
when he spoke of the brave, bearded Frenchmen,
From the green, sun-lit valleys of France
to the wild _Hochelaga_[Q] transplanted,
Oft trailing the deserts of snow
in the heart of the dense Huron forests,
Or steering the dauntless canoe
through the waves of the fresh-water ocean.
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