In the reeds of the meadow the stag
lifts his branchy head stately and listens,
And the bobolink, perched on the flag,
her ear sidelong bends to the chorus.
From the brow of the Beautiful Isle,[AV]
half hid in the midst of the maples,
The sad-faced Winona, the while,
watched the boat growing less in the distance,
Till away in the bend of the stream,
where it turned and was lost in the lindens,
She saw the last dip and the gleam
of the oars ere they vanished forever.
[AU] "Burnt woods"--half-breeds.
[AV] _Wita Waste_--"Beautiful Island"; the Dakota name for Nicollet
Island.
Still afar on the waters the song,
like bridal bells distantly chiming,
The stout, jolly boatmen prolong,
beating time with the stroke of their paddles;
And Winona's ear, turned to the breeze,
lists the air falling fainter and fainter,
Till it dies like the murmur of bees
when the sun is aslant on the meadows.
Blow, breezes,--blow softly and sing
in the dark, flowing hair of the maiden;
But never again shall you bring
the voice that she loves to Winona.
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