AN INDIAN LEGEND. 139 



with the loveliest blossoms of the changing year. But Mo-na- 

 wing knew nothing of this. She only knew that it was a 

 fair and secluded spot, where she could be alone in the 

 presence of nature, and the timid girl loved it for its quiet 

 beauty. 



One summer day Mo-na-wing had loitered long in the sweet 

 glen, and as she lay upon the soft grass, beneath the shadow 

 of a spreading tree, sleep fell upon her eye-lids. She dreamed, 

 and beautiful was the vision that blessed her slumbering eyes. 

 Before her stood a boy, graceful but delicate as the waving 

 willow-branch. On his head he wore a crown of the rich 

 crimson blossoms of the Indian-feather, while a mantle woven 

 from the silken tufts of the thistle down covered his shoulders. 

 He bore in his hand a bow and arrows, but the bow was 

 unbent, and the arrows, though barbed with the sharp thorns 

 of the wild rose were feathered with its fragrant blossoms. 

 His eyes were full of light, and his lips were as bright as the 

 scarlet berry of the mountain ash. 



Mo-na-wing gazed with tender awe upon this beautiful 

 apparition, and a new delight filled her soul. Suddenly a 

 strain of music, so sweet, so faint, and so strangely blended 

 with the perfume of flowers that she could scarce tell which 

 sense was addressed, rose upon the air, and as it died away, 

 she heard these words : 



Mortal, who, with gentle feet, 

 Roamest through my lone retreat, 



