"Whither goest thou, valiant warrior? Whither goest thou, Son of the Beaver? Man whom the Mahas fear; Man whom the Pawnees shun; Man of the red and painted cheek; Man of the fierce and fearful shout; Whither goest thou?" "I go to make an offering, I go to give to the Idols a bow, An arrow, and a spear, The Man, and Woman, and Dog of Stone, That stand on the willow bank, On the willow bank, that o'erlooks the stream, The shallow and turbid stream; I go to ask that my heart may be made, Like the heart of the panther, fierce and stout, And my soul as clean as the soul of a child, And my foot as swift as the foot of a buck, That victory may be mine, That the pole of my lodge may bend with scalps, And the song of my lips Be the song of a Brave, Who sings of bright deeds in the ears of his tribe." "Go! Warrior, go!" "Whither goest thou, Hunter? Whither goest thou, keen eyed-man? Man whom the Beaver fears; Man whom the Panther shuns; Man of the fleet and ardent foot, And the firm and patient heart, And the never blanching-cheek, Whither goest thou?" "I go to make an offering, I go to give to the Idols flesh, The juicy flesh of the elk, The Man, and Woman, and Dog of Stone, That stand on the willow bank, On the willow bank that o'erlooks the stream, The shallow and turbid stream; I go to ask that my eye maybe true To follow the trail of the deer, And to lead in the fox's track, And strong my arm to send the dart To the life of the bison-ox, And stout my heart, when I list to the growl Of the cubs in the panther's den." "Go! Hunter, go!" "Whither goest thou, Priest? Man of wisdom, whither goest thou? Man that commun'st with the Voice[A], And notest the lightning's words; Man that hast knowledge of things unseen By the eye of thy brothers, Whither goest thou?" "I go to make an offering: I go to lay my magic robe, My shaggy hide of the old black bear, Before the Idols, The Man, and Woman, and Dog of Stone, That stand on the willow bank, On the willow bank that o'erlooks the stream, The shallow and turbid stream; I go to ask my Okkis[B] to give To the sleep of my nights the dream that shows The image of things to come, That I may behold the fate of my tribe, And the fate of the Indian race; And count the scalps from Mahas torn, And the prisoners brought from Pawnee lands, And the beads from the town of the Rock[C]; And number the coal-black horses, The Ricara Braves shall steal From the men who wear the cross, That shines like the cold, pale moon"[D]. "Go! Priest, go!"