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Page 14 - The breaking waves dashed high On a stern and rock-bound coast, And the woods against a stormy sky Their giant branches tossed; And the heavy night hung dark The hills and waters o'er, When a band of exiles moored their bark On the wild New England shore.
Page 319 - I bled — have I bled — And here, on my breast, have I bled. "Our chiefs shall return no more — no more — Our chiefs shall return no more...
Page 319 - On that day when our heroes lay low, I fought by their side, and thought ere I died, Just vengeance to take on the foe — the foe — Just vengeance to take on the foe. " On that day when our chieftains lay dead — lay dead — On that day when our chieftains lay dead, I fought hand to hand, at the head of my band, And here, on my breast, have I bled — have I bled — And here, on my breast, have I bled.
Page 322 - And it press'd on the waves with as lightsome a bound As a basket suspended in air. The heav'ns in their brightness and glory below Were reflected quite plain to the view; And it moved like a swan — with as graceful a show, Our beautiful birchen canoe. The trees on the shore as we glided along, Seemed moving a contrary way; And our voyageurs lighted their toil with a song, That caused ev'ry heart to be gay.
Page 321 - And bound down its high swelling sides. No compass or gavel was used on the bark, No art but the simplest degree; But the structure was finished, and trim to remark, And as light as a sylph's could be. Its rim was with tender young roots woven round, Like a pattern of wicker-work rare; And it press'd on the waves with as lightsome a bound As a basket suspended in air.
Page 321 - In the region of lakes where the blue waters sleep, Our beautiful fabric was built; Light cedar supported its weight on the deep, And its sides with the sun-beams were gilt. The bright leafy bark of the betula* tree, A flexible sheathing provides; And the fir's thready roots drew the parts to agree, And bound down its high-swelling sides.
Page 315 - ... a level with the most distinguished of her sex. As it is she is a prodigy. As a wife she is devoted to her husband, as a mother tender and affectionate, as a friend faithful. She manages her domestic concerns in a way that might afford lessons to the better instructed. They are rarely exceeded anywhere, whilst she vies with her generous husband in his hospitality to strangers. She understands but will not speak English. As to influence, there is no chief in the Chippewa nation who exercises it,...
Page 247 - I am an aged hemlock. The winds of an hundred winters have whistled through my branches ; I am dead at the top. The generation to which I belonged have run away and left me : why I live the Great Good Spirit only knows. Pray to my Jesus that I may have patience to wait for my appointed time to die.