expects my return, that I may be buried with my supposed fathers, but none looks so eagerly for the great warrior as
PINE LEAF, THE INDIAN HEROINE.
I've seen her in her youthful years;
Her heart was light and free,
Her black eyes never dimm'd with tears,
So happy then was she.
When warriors from the fight return'd,
And halted for display,
The trophies that the victors won
She was first to bring away.
I've seen her kiss her brother's cheek
When he was called to go
The lurking enemy to seek,
Or chase the buffalo.
She loved him with a sister's love:
He was the only son;
And "Pine Leaf" prized him far above
The warriors' hearts she'd won.
I've seen her in her mourning hours—
That brother had been slain:
Her head, that oft was decked with flowers,
Now shed its crimson rain;
Her bleeding head and bleeding hand—
Her crimson, clotted hair—
Her brother's in the spirit land,
And hence her keen despair,
I've heard her make a solemn vow—
"A warrior I will be
Until a hundred foes shall bow,
And yield their scalps to me;
I will revenge my brother's death—
I swear it on my life,
Or never, while I draw a breath,
Will I become a wife."
I've seen her on her foaming steed,
With battle-axe in hand,
Pursuing at her utmost speed
