oiced children,
And the dark waters silently flow,
broad and deep, to the plunge of the Ha-ha.

[a] Wee-chah kah--literally "Faithful".

By his side sat Winona.
He laid his thin, shriveled hand on her tresses,
"Winona my daughter," he said,
"no longer thy father beholds thee;
But he feels the long locks of thy hair,
and the days that are gone are remembered,
When Sisoka [BG] sat faithful and fair
in the lodge of swift footed Ta-te-psin.
The white years have broken my spear;
from my bow they have taken the bow-string;
But once on the trail of the deer,
like a gray wolf from sunrise till sunset,
By woodland and meadow and mere,
ran the feet of Ta-te-psin untiring.
But dim are the days that are gone,
and darkly around me they wander,
Like the pale, misty face of the moon
when she walks through the storm of the winter;
And sadly they speak in my ear.
I have looked on the graves of my kindred.
The Land of the Spirits is near.
Death walks by my side like a shadow.
Now open thine ear to my voice,
and thy heart to the wish of thy father,
And long will Winona rejoice
that she heeded the words of Ta-te-psin.
The cold, cruel winter is near,
and famine will sit in the teepee.
What hunter will bring me the deer,
or the flesh of the bear or the bison?
For my kinsmen before me have gone;
they hunt in the land of the shadows.
In my old age forsaken, alone,
must I die in my teepee of hunger?
Winona, Tamdoka can make my empty lodge
laugh with abundance;
For thine aged and blind father's sake,
to the son of the Chief speak the promise.
For gladly again to my tee
will the bridal gifts come for my daughter.
A fleet-footed hunter is he,
and the good spirits feather his arrows;
And the cold, cruel winter
will be a feast-time instead of a famine."

[BG] The Robin--the name of Winona's Mother.

"My father," she said, and her voice
was filial and full of compassion,
"Would the heart of Ta-te-psin rejoice
at the death of Winona, his daughter?
The crafty Tamdoka I hate.
Must I die in his _teepee_ of sorrow?
For I love the White Chief and I wait
his return to the land of Dakotas.
When the cold winds of winter return,
and toss the white robes of the prairies,
The fire of the White Chief will