Music of the American Indian

The Place of Breaking Light 
Is red upon the sky;
Through the forest pines, 
Beloved, comes a sigh.
Is it sigh or winds
The dreaming cedars wake?
Doth thy signal gleam
Or wing-flash on the lake?

Ah, if my calling flute
Implore thee soft and clear,
In thy forest lodge,
Beloved, wouldst thou hear?
Should my signal flash
Across the hills to thee,
Beloved, wouldst thou come 
To keep a tryst with me?

From the long room of the sea 
Came a spirit weeping, 
In my wigwam stood by me, 
Woke me from my sleeping.

In a whisper soft as breath, 
Thus the spirit wailing:
"In the white canoe of death 
Is thy warrior sailing."

Ho, ye warriors on the warpath, 
Lonely, camping in a land of strangers, 
Ho,ye hunters,ye moccasin carriers, 
Ye who build the fires,
All ye who have gone forth:
Lest your hearts know fear in darkness, 
Through the ghostly chill of midnight,
I send my thoughts to you.

Ho,ye warriors on the warpath,
Moving silent through the mist of daybreak, 
Ho,ye hunters,ye moccasin carriers,
Ye who build the fires,
All ye who have gone forth:
Lest your arrows fail in battle, 
Through the tender light of morning, 
I send my thoughts to you.

The thunderbirds come from their forest of cedars,
The Thunder God roars as they hide the sun's beams;
The winds path I tread with their black wings above me, 
Yet fearless am I who have known them in dreams.

The swallows before and the bird-hawks that follow, 
They herald the storm and the Thunder Gods might;
Yet brave is my heart when his yellow eye flashes, 
And forth at my call comes the Maker of Light.

E tho he the tho!

He who moves in the dew is waiting
unter the willows, beside the sunset waters;
Idle is his canoe, quiet the paddles,
but his heart I know is leaping, 
Hoping I come.
So shall I have the lodge at moonrise,
So shall I move silently thro' the darkness,
Following the signal of his flute call.
He who moves in the dew is waiting,
He watches thro' the drooping willow branches,
He listens for my step on the grasses,
Knowing I come.

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I found him on the mesa
When the long fight was done.
He lay like stricken sapling 
Beneath the setting sun.

I found him on the mesa,
A dead and stranger foe.	
Why should my heart go leaping, 
Then beat so sad and slow?

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