For the woman that spits in my face, and the shaven heads that gibe,

This night shall a woman show you the tents of the Huron tribe.

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They are lodged in a deep valley. With all things good it abounds.

Where the red-eyed, green-mooned river

Glides like a snake to the darkness,

I will show you a valley, Mohawks, like the Happy Hunting Grounds.

Follow! They chuckled, and followed like wolves to the glittering stream.

Shadows obeying a shadow, they launched their canoes in a dream.

Alone, in the first, with the blood on her breast, and her milk-white crown,

She stood. She smiled at them, Follow,

Then urged her canoe to the darkness,

And, silently flashing their paddles, the Mohawks followed her down.

.......

And now—-as they slid thro’ the pine-woods with their peaks of midnight blue,

She heard, in the broadening distance, the deep sound that she knew,

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A mutter of steady thunder that grew as they glanced along;

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