  Minneopa was a maiden Fleet of foot and fond of sport, She, her mother's only daughter, Cared not for the harsh report That she left the woman's labor To her only parent, while With the hunt and ramble busied, Oft she wandered many a mile. Scarce her cousins could excel her In the bending of the bow, Though they were so tall and manly, With them hunting she would go. She had shot the timid rabbit, With her arrows swift and keen, Now she wished to slay the red-deer As the hunters she had seen. Beautiful she was, and graceful, Like the young fawn she pursued, Gayly decked with beads and wampum, For her mother fond endured As her sire a chief had been, E'en the boyish pranks and pastime For her no reproof could win. Tiny moccasins, so dainty, Well her little feet encased, And her long braids streamed behind her As down woodland paths she raced. "I will go alone and find them, Then the red-deer I will kill." So she went, for all she minded Was her own caprice and will. Warm and smoky Indian summer Lent the earth a russet glow, And the hazel nuts dropped softly 'Mong the rustling leaves below. Far she wandered, but no creature Caught her ear or crossed her path, Save the blue-jay in the treetop Screaming oft in seeming wrath. Suddenly she heard a roaring, Crackling sound. In sickening dread Looked and saw the forest burning With a lurid flame and red. Fast she flew; the flames spread faster, Caught her in their fierce embrace; Minneopa, never, never, Will you now the wild deer chase. Ashes gray and failing cinders Made for her a lonely grave. And the kindly grasses waved; Peeping up came gorgeous blossoms, Never seen on earth before, Shaped and colored like the moccasins That the Indian maiden wore. Some there were of heavenly coloring, Such as clouds at sunset wear, White and rosy; they were emblems Of the new ones waiting where In the spirit land she wanders With her father strong and brave; And the mother, when she saw them, Knew they marked her daughter's grave. IDA SEXTON SEARLS. THE END. |
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