Where the tall pine-forest made

Where the tall pine-forest made
Deepest, darkest, holiest shade,
Came Nesota, sorrow-laden,
She, the lovely Indian maiden.
Came, ere she had waited long,
Karanb, the swift, the strong ;
He, who bowed to nought beside,
Bent to her in lowly pride;
Bent, until his lofty brow,
Loftiest of the tribes around,
Touched the greensward hallowed now,
Where her first had kissed the ground.

'Karanb ! arise and fly !
Hands of power and wrath are nigh,
From thy side shall I be driven,
Like a willow lightning-riven.
Karanb, ere thou depart,
Lay this second on thy heart,
Token of Nesota's love,
From thy own, thy stricken dove.'
Trembling in his hand she laid
My shining second, then farewell !
She is gone, through bush and blade,
Fleetly as a wild gazelle.

Karanb, the swift, the strong,
Baffles all pursuers long,
Till the moon is on the wane ;
Then a red deer they have slain.
To the treacherous banquet led,
When the new moon's feast is spread,
They have mingled in his bowl,
Secretly, my deadly whole.
Karanb hath found repose
Where my whole doth darkly wave,
And the tall pine-forests close
O'er Nesota's quiet grave.