E. Pauline Johnson,
Flint and Feather — The Pilot of the Plains
(1914)
“ And they never saw her more. Late at night, say Indian hunters, when the starlight clouds or wanes, Far away they see a maiden, misty as the autumn rains, Guiding with her lamp of moonlight Hunters lost upon the plains. ”
E. Pauline Johnson,
Flint and Feather — The Pilot of the Plains
(1914)
“ I am dying, love, for you." Leagues afar, across the prairie, she had risen from her bed, Roused her kinsmen from their slumber: "He has come to-night," she said. "I can hear him calling, calling; But his voice is as the dead. "Listen!" and they sate all silent, while the tempest louder grew, And a spirit-voice called faintly, "I am dying, love, for you." Then they wailed, "O! Yakonwita. He was Pale, but he was true." Wrapped she then her ermine round her, stepped without the tepee door, Saying, "I must follow, follow, though he call for evermore, Yakonwita, Yakonwita;" ”
