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ON THE TRAIL OF YESTERDAY
(An Indian Legend)
Camped in the foot hills, their fires bright With spears of flame flung back the night. And there we smoked, the chief and I, And hearkened to the soft wind sigh, The distant music of the mountain stream, And all the voices that e'er seem, Half-hushed to whispers in the trees, To speak of night's vast mysteries. The old Sioux spoke and his eyes grew dim, As Mem'ry kissed her hand to him, And lured him on to tell the tale, Of why the lonesome pine trees wail, Thro' long, long nights of murk and dread, Like hopeless spirits of the dead.
Onjinjintka, the Rose, lovelier than the flower, She came and blossomed in our hearts; We loved her as a child of the sunlight, Smiles of the dawn rested in her eyes, The spirit of the Good Spirit abided with her
spirit, Thus we loved Onjinjintka, the Rose.