ed,
Oft with miscodeed[124] roots shred,
Fed thee in thy baby bed.

Abbinochi, droop not so,
Leave me not--away to go
To strange lands--thy little feet
Are not grown the path to greet
Or find out, with none to show
Where the flowers of grave-land grow.
Stay, my dear one, stay till grown,
I will lead thee to that zone
Where the stars like silver shine,
And the scenes are all divine,
And the happy, happy stray,
And, like Abbinochi, play.

[123] A child.

[124] Claytonia Virginica.

TO PAUGUK.

(This is the impersonation of death in Indian mythology. He is
represented with a bow and arrows.)

Pauguk! 'tis a scene of woe,
This world of troubles; let me go
Arm'd to show forth the Master's will,
Strike on thy purpose to fulfil.
I fear not death--my only fear
Is ills and woes that press me here.
Want stares me in the face, or woe,
Where'er I dwell--where'er I go;
Fishing and hunting only give
The pinching means to let me live;
And if, at night, I lay me down,
In dreams and sleep my rest to crown,
Ere day awakes its slumbering eyes,
I start to hear the foe's mad cries,
Louder and louder, as I clutch
My club, or lance, or bow and dart,
And, springing with a panther's touch,
Display the red man's bloody art.

Nay, I am sick of life and blood,
That drowns my country like a flood,
Pouring o'er hill, and vale, and lea,
Lodge, ville, and council, like a sea,
Where one must gasp and gasp for breath
To live--and stay the power of death.
Ah! life's good things are all too poor,
Its daily hardships to endure.
My fathers told me, there's a land
Where peace and joy abound in hand,
And plenty smiles, and sweetest scenes
Expand in lakes, and groves, and greens.
No pain or hunger there is known,
And pleasure reigns throughout alone--
I would go there, and taste and see
A life so beauteous, bless'd and free,
Where man has no more power to kill,
And the Great Spirit all things fills.
Blanch not, Pauguk, I have no fear,
And would not longer linger here;
But bend thy bow and aim thy dart,
Behold an honest hunter's heart:
Thereby a dart, a boon may give,
A happy life on high to live.

'Tis all the same, in countries here,
Or where Pacific billows roar,
We roved in want, and woe and fear
Along the Mississippi shore.
And where Missouri's waters rush,
To tell to man that God is strong,
We shrank as from a tiger's touch,
To hear the white man's shout or song.
O not for us is peace and