Something of hope around its brightness cast.
Ere yet the winter's moons had waxed and waned
Their early half, grim want stood at the door:
Their meal was spent; strong hands grew trembling, weak;
The arrow failed to bring its forest store.
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And sickness came: upon his low rude bed
The red-man laid him down in dark despair;
While Nosha softly sang her olden songs,
And twined her fingers 'mid his dusky hair.
Ere fell the last soft notes of plaintive song
Upon his waiting ear, his life had flown;
And, save her faithful dog crouched at her feet,
The Indian woman faced her grief alone.
The island grave was made 'neath fleecy snow,
And o'er his lifeless breast his blanket spread,
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