Alas for her waiting! the wings
of the East-wind have brought her no tidings;
On the meadow the meadow-lark sings,
but sad is her song to Winona,
For the glad warbler's melody brings
but the memory of voices departed.
The Day-Spirit walked in the west
to his lodge in the land of the shadows;
His shining face gleamed on the crest
of the oak-hooded hills and the mountains,
And the meadow-lark hied to her nest,
and the mottled owl peeped from her cover.
But hark! from the _teepees_ a cry!
Hear the shouts of the hurrying warriors!
Are the feet of the enemy nigh,--
of the crafty and cruel Ojibways?
Nay; look!--on the dizzy cliff high--
on the brink of the cliff stands Winona!
Her sad face up-turned to the sky.
Hark! I hear the wild wail of her death-song:
"My Father's Spirit, look down, look down--
From your hunting grounds in the shining skies;
Behold, for the light of my heart is gone;
The light is gone and Winona dies.
I looked to the East, but I saw no star;
The face of my White Chief was turned away.
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