The mother looked at the faces of her sleeping sons, and
listened to their heavy breathing; they had but started on the
journey of life.
She turned to her husband: it was but the wreck of a deserted house, the
tenant had departed.
The warrior was already far on his journey; ere this, he had reached the
lodge where the freed spirit adorns itself ere entering upon its
new abode.
Some days after, Harpstenah entered her native village, bearing a
precious burden. Strapped to her back was the body of her husband. By
day, she had borne it all the weary way; at night, she had stopped to
rest and to weep. Nor did her strength fail her, until she reached her
home; then, insensible to sorrow and fatigue, she sunk to the earth.
The women relieved her from the burden, and afterwards helped her to
bury her dead.
Many waters could not quench her love, nor could the floods drown it. It
was strong as death.
Well might she sit in her lodge and weep! The village where she passed
her childhood and youth was deserted. Her husband forgotten by all but
herself. Her two sons were murdered by the Chippeways, while defending
their mother and their young brother.
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