And dread excitement, while his flying feet,
Swifter than hers who spurned the lingering seas,
Bore him across the land that lay between.
And as her dear-remembered warrior son,
Once more her own, approached the wigwam low,
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Maquaso gave one tender dying cry,
And fell, a happy mother, on his neck.
True souls, who loved with such devoted hearts,
That she from separation did not shrink
For her son's comfort, and he could not live
With others in her absence. Faithful hearts,
To whom the petty joys of village life
Were nothing when they could not firmly clasp
Each other in undying sympathy.
W. P. E.