" Can it be the sun descending 

 O'er the level plain of water ? 

 Or the Red Swan floating, flying, 

 Wounded by the magic arrow, 

 Staining all the waves with crimson, 

 With the crimson of its life-blood, 

 Filling all the air with splendor 

 With the splendor of its plumage ? 



" Yes ; it is the sun descending, 

 Sinking down into the wa*er -, 

 All the sky is stained with purple, 

 All the water flushed with crimson! 

 No; it is the Red Swan floating, 

 Diving down beneath the water ; 

 To the sky its wings are lifted. 

 With its blood the waves are reddened ! 

 Over it the Star of Evening 

 Melts and trembles in the purple, 

 Hangs suspended in the twilight. 

 No ■ it is a bead of wampum, 

 On the robes of the Great Spirit, 

 As he passes through the twilight, 

 Walks in silence through the heavens !" 



LOKGFELIOW. 



