An old Omaha, interested to observe how some of the tribe would conduct themselves in their first battle, made his way toward the scene of conflict. It chanced that just as a Sioux warrior had fallen, pierced by an arrow, and the Omaha men were rushing forward to secure their war honours, this old man was discovered coming up the hill, aided by his bow, which he used as a staff. One of the young warriors called to his companions:-- "Hold! Yonder comes Zo_n_-zi'-mo_n_-de, let us give him the honours." Then, out of courtesy to the veteran, each young warrior paused and stepped aside, while the old man, all out of breath, hastened to the fallen foe. There he turned and thanked the young men for permitting him, whom age had brought to the edge of the grave, to count yet one more honour as a warrior.[5] [Footnote 5: To be the first to touch the body of an enemy counts as a war honour.] The words of the song give the exclamation of the generous youth: "Zo_n_-zi'-mo_n_-de comes! Stand aside! He comes." AN OMAHA LOVE-SONG. The words of many love-songs refer to the dawn, the time of the day when they are usually sung; but this reference is not a literal one. It figures the dawn of love in the breast of the singer. The Indian stands so close to Nature that he sees his own moods reflected or interpreted in hers. The Indian words of this song, freely translated, are:-- As the day comes forth from night, So I come forth to seek thee. Lift thine eyes and behold him Who comes with the day to thee. [Music: LOVE SONG. _Omaha._ Harmonized by PROF. J.C. FILLMORE. Fades the star of morning, West winds gently blow, gently blow, gently blow. Soft the pine trees murmur, Soft the waters flow, Soft the waters flow, Soft the waters flow. Lift thine eyes, my maiden, To the hill-top nigh. Night and gloom will vanish When the pale stars die, When the pale stars die, When the pale stars die. Lift thine eyes, my maiden, Hear thy lover's cry.] Miss Edna Dean Proctor has rendered into charming verse the scene and the feeling of the hour, giving us an Indian love-song in its entirety. By her courtesy I am able to reproduce here her poem written some years ago, on hearing the melody which I had then recently transcribed during one of my sojourns among the Omaha Indians:-- Fades the star of morning, West winds gently blow, Soft the pine-trees murmur, Soft the waters flow. Lift thine eyes, my maiden, To the hill-top nigh, Night and gloom will vanish When the pale stars die; Lift thine eyes, my maiden, Hear thy lover's cry! From my tent I wander, Seeking only thee, As the day from darkness Comes for stream and tree. Lift thine eyes, my maiden, To the hill-top nigh; Lo! the dawn is breaking, Rosy beams the sky; Lift thine eyes, my maiden, Hear thy lover's cry!