|Share page||Visit Us On FB|
And crushed in deep defeat the Iroquois, Who wildly fled the lands of Illinois.
Where raged the battle fiercest on that field;
Amid the foremost, focal blaze of fight; In righteous anger for her people's wrongs,
The maid, with cheeks aglow, and eyes as bright And gleaming as incessant lightnings are
Among the storm clouds of the night, was first; And as the nodding helmet of Navarre,
Her form shone where revenge could slake its thirst, Thus, ere was heard the song of morning lark, Proud victory kissed this Indian Joan of Arc.
The years, in stately decades, passed along;
To gentle Peace, grim War had bent him low, And in the horizon his sable plume
Had, northward, disappeared, and now the bow Sped arrows only in the chase, or when
The youths and warriors, to match their craft, •■ At targets drove the whirring dart, and vied To send afar, and high, the feathered shaft, Fast filled the woof within the loom of fate, Where now the Indian lover wooed his mate.
From far off lands, across the mighty sea,
Whose bosom bore the glowing orb of day, * That, Great Manito sent to light the earth,