"Wampum beads and birchen strands Dropping from her careless hands, Listening ever for the fleet Patter of a dead child's feet!
"When the moon a year ago Told the flowers the time to blow, In that lonely wigwam smiled Menewee, our little child.
"Ere that moon grew thin and old, He was lying still and cold; Sent before us, weak and small, When the Master did not call!
"On his little grave I lay; Three times went and came the day; Thrice above me blazed the noon, Thrice upon me wept the moon.
"In the third night-watch I heard, Far and low, a spirit-bird; Very mournful, very wild, Sang the totem of my child.
"'Menewee, poor Menewee, Walks a path he cannot see: Let the white man's wigwam light With its blaze his steps aright.
"'All-uncalled, he dares not show Empty hands to Manito: Better gifts he cannot bear Than the scalps his slayers wear.'
"All the while the totem sang, Lightning blazed and thunder rang; And a black cloud, reaching high, Pulled the white moon from the sky.
"I, the medicine-man, whose ear All that spirits hear can hear,-- I, whose eyes are wide to see All the things that are to be,--
"Well I knew the dreadful signs In the whispers of the pines, In the river roaring loud, In the mutter of the cloud.
"At the breaking of the day, From the grave I passed away; Flowers bloomed round me, birds sang glad, But my heart was hot and mad.
"There is rust on Squando's knife From the warm red springs of life; On the funeral hemlock-trees Many a scalp the totem sees.
"Blood for blood! But evermore Squando's heart is sad and sore; And his poor squaw waits at home For the feet that never come!
"Waldron of Cocheco, hear! Squando speaks, who laughs at fear: Take the captives he has ta'en; Let the land have peace again!"
As the words died on his tongue, Wide apart his warriors swung; Parted, at the sign he gave, Right and left, like Egypt's wave.
And, like Israel passing free Through the prophet-charmèd sea, Captive mother, wife, and child Through the dusky terror filed.
One alone, a little maid, Middleway her steps delayed, Glancing, with quick, troubled sight, Round about from red to white.
Then his hand the Indian laid On the little maiden's head, Lightly from her forehead fair Smoothing back her yellow hair.