James Athearn Jones, Traditions of the North American Indians…
“ Her bright black eyes, and long black locks, her melodious voice, and her gentleness, and her sweet temper, and her winning air, have caught my heart, as a bird is entangled in the snare of the fowler, or a deer entrapped in the toils of the hunter. She has become the light of my soul—when I see her not, all is darkness. I have no eyes but for her; my ears drink in no other accents than hers; my last thought when I sink to rest is of the beautiful Fawn, my first when I awake of the bright-eyed little maiden who gits by the cabin-fire of the wise priest of her nation. ”
