“Mah-pi-ya Duta, O listen to me! 
Revenge is swift and revenge is strong,
And sweet as the hive in the hollow tree;
The proud Red Cloud will avenge his wrong. 
Let the brave be patient, it is not long
Till the leaves be green on the maple tree,
And the Feast of the Virgins is then to be—­
The Feast of the Virgins is then to be!”

Proudly she turned from the silent brave,
And went her way; but the warrior’s eyes—­
They flashed with the flame of a sudden fire,
Like the lights that gleam in the Sacred Cave[38],
When the black night covers the autumn skies,
And the stars from their welkin watch retire.

Three nights he tarried—­the brave Chaske;
Winged were the hours and they flitted away;
On the wings of Wakandee[39] they silently flew,
For Wiwaste had found her a way to woo. 
Ah little he cared for the bison-chase,
For the red lilies bloomed on the fair maid’s face;
Ah little he cared for the winds that blew,
For Wiwaste had found her a way to woo. 
Brown-bosomed she sat on her fox-robe dark,
Her ear to the tales of the brave inclined,
Or tripped from the tee like the song of a lark,
And gathered her hair from the wanton wind. 
Ah little he thought of the leagues of snow
He trod on the trail of the buffalo;
And little he recked of the hurricanes
That swept the snow from the frozen plains
And piled the banks of the Bloody River.[40]
His bow unstrung and forgotten hung
With his beaver hood and his otter quiver;
He sat spell-bound by the artless grace
Of her star-lit eyes and her moon-lit face. 
Ah little he cared for the storms that blew,
For Wiwaste had found her a way to woo. 
When he spoke with Wakawa her sidelong eyes
Sought the handsome chief in his hunter-guise. 
Wakawa marked, and the lilies fair
On her round cheeks spread to her raven hair. 
They feasted on rib of the bison fat,
On the tongue of the Ta[41] that the hunters prize,
On the savory flesh of the red Hogan,[42]
On sweet tipsanna[43] and pemmican
And the dun-brown cakes of the golden maize;
And hour after hour the young chief sat,
And feasted his soul on her love-lit eyes.

The sweeter the moments the swifter they fly;
Love takes no account of the fleeting hours;
He walks in a dream ’mid the blooming of flowers,
And never awakes till the blossoms die. 
Ah lovers are lovers the wide world over—­
In the hunter’s lodge and the royal palace. 
Sweet are the lips of his love to the lover—­
Sweet as new wine in a golden chalice
From the Tajo’s[44] slope or the hills beyond;
And blindly he sips from his loved one’s lips,
In lodge or palace the wide world over,
The maddening honey of Trebizond.[45]