Go not to the chase, my brave hunter, to-day, There's a mist o'er the sun--there's a snare in the way; Manitto revealed last night in my dream A deep dark shadow o'erhanging the stream; The deer, from his thicket, sprung out in thy path-- Then he changed to a tiger, and roared in his wrath-- Then the warrior hunter, so fearless and brave, Was driven away, like a captive slave; Then the smoke rolled up, and the flames curled high, And the forest rung with the foeman's cry; Then the wind swept by with a desolate wail-- The avenger of blood was on thy trail;-- Minaree looked out at the cabin door, But her bold brave hunter returned no more. Go not to the chase, my brave hunter, to-day, There's a mist o'er the sun--there's a snare in the way. So, in sweetly plaintive strains, chanted the beautiful young bride of a Katahba chief, as she prepared his frugal morning meal, while he was busying himself in examining the string of his bow, replenishing his quiver with straight polished shafts, and renewing the edge of his trusty hatchet. In all the forest homes of the native tribes, there was not a fairer flower than Minaree, the loved and devoted wife of the brave Ash-te-o-láh. The only daughter of a chief of the Wateree tribe, which was one branch of the great family of the Katahbas, she inherited the spirit and pride of her father, with all the simple beauty, and unsophisticated womanly tenderness of her mother. She was the idol of Ash-te-o-láh's heart; for, savage as the world would call him, and ignorant of the codes of chivalry and of the courtly phrase of love, he was as true to all the warmer and purer affections, which constitute the bliss of domestic life, as to the lofty sentiments of heroic virtue, which made him early conspicuous in the councils of his people. Though fearless as the lion, fleet as the roe, and adventurous, sagacious and powerful as any that ever sounded the war-whoop, or startled the deer, in those interminable wilds--he was noble, generous, warm-hearted, and devotedly tender to the objects of his love. The winning tones, and the affectionate glances of Minaree, as she chanted her simple prophetic lay, had almost won Ash-te-o-láh from his purpose. But, half doubting whether her oracular dream was any thing more than a little artifice of affection, and always superior to that prevailing superstition of his people, which gave to dreams all the sanctity and force of divine revelation, and excited by the preparations he had been making, he flung his rattling quiver to his back, whispered a gentle intimation that Ash-te-o-láh feared neither tiger nor foeman, and returning the affectionate glance of his bride, left the wigwam.