The warriors rally beneath the moon;
They shoot their shafts at the evil spirit. 
The spirit is slain and the flame is gone,
But his blood lies red on the snow-fields near it;
And again from the dead will the spirit rise,
And flash his spears in the northern skies.

Then the chief and the queenly Wiwaste stood
Alone in the moon-lit solitude,
And she was silent and he was grave. 
“And fears not my daughter the evil spirit? 
The strongest warriors and bravest fear it. 
The burning spears are an evil omen;
They threaten the wrath of a wicked woman,
Or a treacherous foe; but my warriors brave,
When danger nears, or the foe appears,
Are a cloud of arrows—­a grove of spears.”

“My Father,” she said, and her words were low,
“Why should I fear? for I soon will go
To the broad, blue lodge in the Spirit-land,
Where my fond-eyed mother went long ago,
And my dear twin-sisters walk hand in hand. 
My Father, listen—­my words are true,”
And sad was her voice as the whippowil
When she mourns her mate by the moon-lit rill,
“Wiwaste lingers alone with you;
The rest are sleeping on yonder hill—­
Save one—­and he an undutiful son—­
And you, my Father, will sit alone
When Sisoka[27] sings and the snow is gone. 
I sat, when the maple leaves were red,
By the foaming falls of the haunted river;
The night-sun was walking above my head,
And the arrows shone in his burnished quiver;
And the winds were hushed and the hour was dread
With the walking ghosts of the silent dead. 
I heard the voice of the Water-Fairy;[28]
I saw her form in the moon-lit mist,
As she sat on a stone with her burden weary,
By the foaming eddies of amethyst. 
And robed in her mantle of mist the sprite
Her low wail poured on the silent night. 
Then the spirit spake, and the floods were still—­
They hushed and listened to what she said,
And hushed was the plaint of the whippowil
In the silver-birches above her head: 
’Wiwaste, the prairies are green and fair
When the robin sings and the whippowil;
But the land of the Spirits is fairer still,
For the winds of winter blow never there;
And forever the songs of the whippowils
And the robins are heard on the leafy hills. 
Thy mother looks from her lodge above—­
Her fair face shines in the sky afar,
And the eyes of thy sisters are bright with love,
As they peep from the tee of the mother-star. 
To her happy lodge in the Spirit land
She beckons Wiwaste with shining hand.’

“My Father—­my Father, her words were true;
And the death of Wiwaste will rest on you. 
You have pledged me as wife to the tall Red Cloud;
You will take the gifts of the warrior proud;
But I, Wakawa,—­I answer—­never! 
I will stain your knife in my heart’s red blood,
I will plunge and sink in the sullen river
Ere I will be wife to the dark Red Cloud!”