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LEGEND OP THE BLOOD-EOOT 

 (Sanguinaria Canadensis.) 



In the dawning of the summer, 



k Mid the forest bow'rs, 

 Sat a wood-thrush gaily singing, 

 To his mate, while softly springing, 



List'ning came the flow'rs. 



Murmurs on the restless water, 



In its rippling flow ; 

 While from tree-tops bending over, 

 Nodding to the faithful lover, 



Shadows come and go. 



Hark ! a footfall in the bracken, — 



And a wailing cry, 

 On the silence sharply ringing, 

 Terror to the woodland bringing, 

 By its agony. 



' Tis from her, the loved, — the gentle, 



Drawn through fear and pain ; 

 While her mate is calling, calling, 

 List'ning for the answer falling, 

 Ne'er to sound again. 



Sore the tender breast is wounded, 



By the hunter's dart ; 

 She will soon for aye be sleeping, 

 And the flowers o'er her weeping, 



That they thus must part. 



Bear her from the mossy shelter — 



From the peaceful nest ; 

 Let her soft eyes, now fast closing, 

 All life's light and lustre losing, 



On her lover rest. 



Lay her deep among the leaflets, 



On the breast of Earth j 

 Pray the Mother, all Life-giving, 

 That the lost one, death out-living, 



Have a second birth. 



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