ns, and stamped upon
the ground as if they were trampling their enemies under their feet.

At length the prophet uttered his final prediction of success; and the
warriors dropping off, one by one, from the fire, took their way to the
place appointed for the rendezvous, on the confines of the enemy's
country. Their leader was not among the last to depart, but he did not
leave the village without seeking an interview with the daughter of
Wawanosh. He disclosed to her his firm determination never to return,
unless he could establish his name as a warrior. He told her of the
pangs he had felt at the bitter reproaches of her father, and declared
that his soul spurned the imputation of effeminacy and cowardice
implied by his language. He averred that he could never be happy until
he had proved to the whole tribe the strength of his heart, which is
the Indian term for courage. He said that his dreams had not been
propitious, but he should not cease to invoke the power of the Great
Spirit. He repeated his protestations of inviolable attachment, which
she returned, and, pledging vows of mutual fidelity, they parted.

That parting proved final. All she ever heard from her lover after this
interview was brought by one of his successful warriors, who said that
he had distinguished himself by the most heroic bravery, but, at the
close of the fight, he had received an arrow in his breast. The enemy
fled, leaving many of their warriors dead on the field. On examining
the wound, it was perceived to be beyond their power to cure. They
carried him towards home a day's journey, but he languished and expired
in the arms of his friends. From the moment the report was received, no
smile was ever seen in the once happy lodge of Wawanosh. His daughter
pined away by day and by night. Tears, sighs, and lamentation, were
heard continually. Nothing could restore her lost serenity of mind.
Persuasives and reproofs were alternately employed, but employed in
vain. She would seek a sequestered spot, where she would sit under a
shady tree, and sing her mournful laments for hours together. Passages
of these are yet repeated by tradition.

It was not long before a small bird of beautiful plumage flew upon the
tree under which she usually sat. This mysterious visitor, which, from
its sweet and artless notes, is called Chileeli, seemed to respond in
sympathy to her plaintive voice. It was a strange bird, such as had not
before been observed. It came ever