He fears not the Maza Wakan;[AS]
          he is sly as the fox of the forest. 
When he dances the dance of red war
          howl the wolves by the broad Mini-ya-ta,[AT]
For they scent on the south-wind afar
          their feast on the bones of Ojibways.” 
Thrice the Chief puffed the red pipe of peace,
          ere it passed to the lips of the Frenchman. 
Spake DuLuth:  “May the Great Spirit bless
          with abundance the Chief and his people;
May their sons and their daughters increase,
          and the fire ever burn in their teepees.” 
Then he waved with a flag his adieu
          to the Chief and the warriors assembled;
And away shot Tamdoka’s canoe
          to the strokes of ten sinewy hunters;
And a white path he clove up the blue,
          bubbling stream of the swift Mississippi;
And away on his foaming trail flew,
          like a sea-gull, the bark of the Frenchman.

[AO] i.e. fire-arms which the Dakotas compare to the roar of the wings of the Thunder-bird and the fierey arrows he shoots.

[AP] DuLuth was a devout Catholic.

[AQ] Nee-wah-shtay—­Thou art good.

[AR] Spirit-River, now called Rum River.

[AS] Fire-arm—­spirit-metal.

[AT] Lake Superior—­at that time the home of the Ojibways (Chippewas).

[Illustration:  TWO HUNDRED WHITE WINTERS AND MORE HAVE FLED FROM THE FACE OF THE SUMMER ...

* * * * *

AH, LITTLE HE DREAMED THEN, FORSOOTH, THAT A CITY WOULD STAND ON THAT HILL SIDE]

Then merrily rose the blithe song
          of the voyageurs homeward returning,
And thus, as they glided along,
          sang the bugle-voiced boatmen in chorus: 

  SONG.

  Home again! home again! bend to the oar! 
  Merry is the life of the gay voyageur.
  He rides on the river with his paddle in his hand,
  And his boat is his shelter on the water and the land. 
  The clam has his shell and the water-turtle too,
  But the brave boatman’s shell is his birch-bark canoe. 
  So pull away, boatmen; bend to the oar;
  Merry is the life of the gay voyageur.

  Home again! home again! bend to the oar! 
  Merry is the life of the gay voyageur,
  His couch is as downy as a couch can be,
  For he sleeps on the feathers of the green fir-tree. 
  He dines on the fat of the pemmican-sack,
  And his eau de vie is the eau de lac. 
  So pull away, boatmen; bend to the oar;
  Merry is the life of the gay voyageur.

  Home again! home again! bend to the oar! 
  Merry is the life of the gay voyageur. 
  The brave, jolly boatman,—­he never is afraid
  When he meets at the portage a red, forest maid,
  A Huron, or a Cree, or a blooming Chippeway;
  And he marks his trail with the bois brules[AU]
  So pull away, boatmen; bend to the oar;
  Merry is the life of the gay voyageur. 
  Home again! home again! bend to the oar! 
  Merry is the life of the gay voyageur.